Last Light of a Dark Future.

Game Master Bane88

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Fort save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Grimold emerges shirtless from his tent, knives in his hands. The threat isn't difficult to spot, standing there spewing madness from his lips. Grimold listens to the words, but they make no sense; he might as well still be dreaming. There's something sinister about the black hand upon the man's throat. Above and behind the man, Grimold catches sight of Akiton in the sky, when suddenly the body deflates, spewing black fog in place of mad words. Grimold holds his breath as it passes over the camp, and once it's cleared he does a quick sweep of the premises. Reporting to Daen, he calls it, "We are clear. It was only the one man. Zohruk, how many affected by the cloud?"

Kassie throws herself protectively in front of her sister as soon as the strange emaciated man comes forward, ranting. When Daen calls for them to look out, both girls cover their faces with their sleeves.

Kassie's Fort Save: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Allie's Fort Save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

"W-w-what w-w-was that thing?"

OK, so all caught up now I think...

Kassie keeps her blade out, scanning the surrounding area for more of the monsters. At her sister's words she nods. "And what in all the hells was he talking about? I don't think I caught more than one word in about ten."

The husk of a man withers to ash, leaving a bent over husk, grey and frozen in agony as it flakes in the light wind. The night becomes quiet and it seems that no further enemies are close.

Trained knights all but Taj react in a trained fashion to the dark danger that invaded their space. With her ancestor’s knowledge, Taj recognizes the gripping hand to be not an entity but a spell of approximately sixth level from the Necromancy school of magic. It is uncommon however and may be of the caster’s own creation.

At the coughing, Taj begins to feel tired and sick, like she suddenly caught a cold. Sweat breaks out on her brow and she begins to shiver.

Taj falls to the ground, coughing. “So cold... don’t feel...” She coughs again, then continues. “...right. soo cold. Woozy.” She’s outright shivering now. She tries reaching in her pack, but her scrolls shift away from her trembling hands, slipping away from her fingers as she reaches in. Oh, not now. Please, ancestors, not now...

She gives up searching herself and looks up at the others, her fear mounting. “This isn't normal. Scroll. Green ribbon. In pack. Need it. Can you... get it?”

“No, Taj. Nonononononono…”

Zohruk crosses the campsite in a flash to get to Rataji, covering most of the last twenty or so feet in a single leap, and landing in a crouch at her side. He quickly rifles her pack looking for the scroll Taj mentioned. Assuming he finds it, Zohruk presses it into her hand.

Taj, what is it? What else can I do? C’mon, stop making my life interesting like this…

Zohruk rises in a flash. His crossbow was dropped somewhere along the way to Rataji’s side; as he comes up, he has a mandela in each hand, as he scans around, looking for any more trouble.

----------

The jump thing was just for dramatic effect; if I use Leaping Dragon, my jump check comes out at like +26, so that shouldn’t be an issue. :)

Taj, what is it? What else can I do? C’mon, stop making my life interesting like this…

Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it interesting this way. The scroll is for Remove Disease. The antiplague was in my Dad’s bags, and I didn’t think to restock before leaving Lastwall. Then again, we only had two hours to shop...

Aiiee, tell the others this is NOT good. That spell, it was major magic from the sixth circle of magic. Tell your uhlak* commander that the ‘Baboushka’ knows what major magic is. It was necromancy, possibly custom built.

She coughs again, and then tries to clear her throat. “Daen, Gita says..”

The ‘Baboushka’ says...

“The Baboushka?” She's too woozy to get in the middle of whatever argument Gita had with Daen. “It was a sixth level..” She coughs again. “...necromantic spell. Major magic, maybe the necromancer’s own design?”

______
*Uhlak, n. and adj. ‘Smart-ass’ in polyglot.

"We are clear. It was only the one man. Zohruk, how many affected by the cloud?"

“Just one,” Zohruk looks at Grimold, his gold eyes betraying a hint of just-controlled panic. "Keep an eye out for more bad guys."

The antiplague was in my Dad’s bags…

Hurrying back to his tent as if he’d been shot from a ballista, Zohruk pulls a vial from his haversack, and returns to Rataji. It was also in mine, he says, trying to sound confident at the same time he’s trying not to freak himself out. He holds up the vial. “This stuff tastes like hell, but it still beats Grimold’s cooking,” he says, trying to keep the mood light. It occurs to Zoh that he’s never actually used a vial of this stuff, except the one he tasted on a dare from Grimold when he wasn’t sick. “How do we actually, you know, use this stuff?"

Once it was determined that the night was quiet again, Daen immediately rushed to his belongings and pulled out his quill and paper. "I'm going to write down what I remember." Thinking about the descriptions of the 'master', the half elf puzzled what it might be. After finishing his notes, he looked up at Kassie. "I'm not sure what he was talking about, but he was describing something that is definitely unique. It could be some kind of dragon, but I'm thinking that it's likely a demon of some kind. It opened it's diatribe with disdain toward loyalty. Then praising temptation and crying out to mother Abysmal, it seems quite clear."

Sleep Now. Post More Later.

“How do we actually, you know, use this stuff?”

Summoning all her bravado, she smiles weakly up at the well-prepared Zohruk. Like this!

“Skål!”* Taj uncorks the bottle, slamming the shot of milky liquid back in a single swallow like it was aquavit in an Ulfen drinking game. She still grimaces at the taste, but then she nods and says, “I learned that from Tam Tuskdrum, my childhood guard. He was a Skald, and taught me about all sorts of things that my father would have disapproved of.” Then she looks Zoh in the eyes. “Thank you. You keep saving me, but I swear I’ll return the favor one day.”

She’s still shivering, so she pulls a blanket around herself and gets closer to the fire. “Now we wait and see if I can kick this.” She puts the scroll back into her pack, hoping she won’t need it in the morning. “I’m going to switch spirits, inviting Ali to bond with me. He lived through a plague in Bloodcove, maybe he can help me fight this.”

Switching spirits to Ali One-Hand, and invoking Ward of the City for a +5 to fortitude saves vs Disease for the next 24 hours.

“I'm not sure what he was talking about, but he was describing something that is definitely unique. It could be some kind of dragon, but I'm thinking that it's likely a demon of some kind. It opened it's diatribe with disdain toward loyalty. Then praising temptation and crying out to mother Abysmal, it seems quite clear.”

She nods at Daen, admiring his cool will to decipher what can be learned from the words. “There’s something else to consider.” She looks up at her fellow half-elf. “Our necromancer is sending these diseased emissaries to prey upon your people’s desire to help the sick and the wounded. Where there was one exploding madman, there’s likely to be more. We’ll have to warn Vigil, somehow.”

“Thank you. You keep saving me, but I swear I’ll return the favor one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Zohruk teases, hoping the banter will keep her spirits up. “Where was this offer a couple weeks ago? I was in Urgir rescuing this damsel in distress, only she gets it all wrong and has a knife to my throat. Coulda used yer help for that one…!”

As much as I’d like to finish things with your father, given the choice, I think I’d rather find that Tuskdrum guy, look him in the eye, and thank him.

He watches Rataji as she pulls herself closer to the fire, marveling at her ability to keep herself together on little more than sheer nerve. “I’ve got a few more vials of that stuff on hand, here’s hoping we don’t need it.”

Turning to Daen, Zohruk says, “I’ll keep the perimeter further out from now on. Not gonna let any more cheap shots like that one happen if I can help it.”

Tam would love you. I hope he’s alright, wherever he is. Lalibai dismissed him months ago, saying he was too old to bodyguard and I was getting too old to need watching. She misses the old man something awful, feeling his loss like an ache in her side. Tam would have been fussing over her right now, though, and so angry at letting anything get past him that might hurt her. Perhaps it's better he’s not here.

She’s tired and achy, so she curls up, still shivering, trying to get back to sleep. She needs rest to kick this. She closes her eyes. Speaking of love... Bi chamd khairtai gej boddog.* I’d best tell you now, just in case...

She breaks off, not wanting to go there. Good night, Zoh.

_____
*Orc: “I think I love you.”

Morning, Sunshine. Ali's voice is caustic in her ears. I had a lovely night, thank you for asking. Chills, fever, sweating. Good times. Why in hells do you always bring me out when you're sick and there's nothing worth stealing that isn't attached to wary Knights with nasty sharp weapons? Once, just once, take me someplace swanky filled with fat and unsuspecting dowagers just dripping with jewels. Is that too much to ask?

Bi chamd khairtai gej boddog. I’d best tell you now, just in case... Good night, Zoh.

Zohruk misses a step as he’s walking, and hopes that if anyone else saw it, maybe it looked like he twisted his foot on a rock.

He wants to go to her, to hold her, to do something to reassure Rataji, and help her through this. The practical side of his mind warns against it, Mother only knows what’s happened to her. But he can’t do nothing.

Zohruk kneels down next to Rataji, lifiting her chin up with his hand until she’s looking into his eyes. Ta namaig margaash khelj bolno, daraagiin ödör*, he says, smiling.

“Now, you rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Burning Mother, please let her be okay…

The rest of Zohruk’s time on the night watch is spent stalking the perimeter of their camp as silently as possible, further out than it had been before. He tries as hard as he can to keep his mind on the matter at hand, but inside, he’s a mess. Everything that’s happened has left him without any time to catch his bearings. His current companions might be the last surviving Knights of Ozem. The campaign is on the verge of becoming a desperate holding action to prevent the fall of Lastwall. And, let’s not forget about the dire mastodon in the room. Rataji. Or to be more specific, Rataji, and how you may have just gotten her killed. Zohruk wasn’t really in the mood to hear it from his inner skepticism and self-doubt, but he was about to get it anyway.

I’ll bet Tam Tuskdrum wouldn’t have let that… thing get close enough to get Rataji sick! It should've never gotten to that point. And how in the hells is this supposed to work, anyway? How unprofessional can you get, falling for a girl on a mission! Hey! Hey, you listen to me…!

But Zohruk was no longer interested in beating himself up over this. The only beatings he was interested in now were the ones he wanted to give to the architect of this plan. Zohruk looked across the campsite, to where the tiny, beautiful, impossibly brave girl coughed in her sleep.

Gorum, let me find the mudak responsible for this when I have a blade in my hand.

The morning breaks, Taj finds that the chill in her bones has subsided. The taste of the Anti-Plague lingers in her mouth but other than that she feels normal. About forty yards out there is a worn path around the camp from Zohruk’s vigilant and somewhat violent pacing.

Daen prepares his spells and Grim pokes at a stew he’s cooking for breakfast. The sun is shining and it’s a warm late summer day. Judging your progress from yesterday, it should only take about three hours to reach the wall. To your dismay and relief, you can already hear the carts of the wounded rattling down the path some one hundred yards to your left.

I figure Zoh waved off whoever had watch after him, and pulled a double. After which, he may have let himself get as much as twenty minutes of sleep, sitting up, wrapped in a blanket, no further than an arm's length from Rataji.

Morning, Sunshine. I had a lovely night, thank you for asking. Chills, fever, sweating. Good times. Why in hells do you always bring me out when you're sick and there's nothing worth stealing that isn't attached to wary Knights with nasty sharp weapons? Once, just once, take me someplace swanky filled with fat and unsuspecting dowagers just dripping with jewels. Is that too much to ask?

Taj opens her eyes, taking in the sounds of morning, the smell of Grimold’s cooking, and Zohruk, who’d fallen asleep sitting up, next to her. There’s damp cloth on her forehead, her mouth still has the aftertaste of old carpet and antiplague, and she’s covered in sweat. However, her head’s clear, and she can breathe easily. Her stomach’s growling too, always a good sign.

Yeah, it was lovely for me too, Ali. She’s grinning now. I’m okay, and it’s likely due to you. The next fat unsuspecting dowager that we meet in the middle of this war zone, I’ll be sure to introduce to you.

Her monkey, Babu, catching her mood, shrieks happily. She reaches out and takes Zoh’s hand.

“I’m feeling better!” She smiles at him as he wakes. “I think between Ali and the antiplague, I kicked it.” Then she calls out to Grimold. “The morning’s stew smells great!”

Ta namaig margaash khelj bolno, daraagiin ödör.

She gets up out of her blankets, and hugs him so hard she doesn’t want to ever let go. Let it never be said that I don’t know how to follow orders. Bi chamd khairtai.

Then she sniffs herself. “Ugh. I’m going to take a few minutes, and wash off some of this. I think I could slay all of Hordeline Fort with just how I smell. Unfortunately, we’re due to meet your troops and Procenter Hailu first...”

Daen awoke, did his exercises and studied his book for the day, trying to fit in whatever he might need. Since he didn't have any solid plans yet, he decided to leave a place open for additional spells on the fly. An extra fifteen minutes for the right spell might make all the difference.

As they prepared to go, the swordsman took inventory and made sure everything was packed. Taj looked chipper, the Tilernos sisters were ready and Grimold was.... Well he was Grimold. "We'll have a short jaunt until we're there. I hope you are all decently rested. We'll want to assault any orcs during the day while they suffer from their light blindness, but for the rescue we may have to adjust our timetable according to what would be best. Mount up and let's go."

“Zohruk?”

At Rataji's touch, he awakens with a startle, more than a little panicked. He relaxes a moment when he sees Rataji. Then he focuses in on her sweat-matted hair, recalling the attack in the night, and he lurches right back into a panic. The… whatever that thing was in the night! The blood is roaring in Zohruk’s ears now. It takes him a moment to go back, and focus on what she said. He looks her in the eyes, practically hyperventilating.

She’s feeling better. She’s feeling better. She’s Rataji, and the first time she met you, she kicked your ass, and she ran from Urgir to Lastwall in tattered shoes, and she smiles like the Dawn itself, and she’s feeling better.

Zohruk does his best to get himself under control, drawing in a few long slow breaths, the best he can while she’s hugging him.

Bi ta naryg ch bas khairtai.

He holds her face, lightly, as lightly as he can because the only other choice is too tight, and gently as he can, kisses her on the forehead.

“Let’s… let’s try to not do that ever again, okay? Not sure I can take it." He eventually gets his feet back under him, and breathes in the morning. "Grimold, what do I have to do to get some of what I smell in that pot...?”

As Rataji talks of washing herself, Zohruk’s starts grinning for several reasons. “Whoa, wh-wh-wh-wh-whoa. Aren’t we wasting an opportunity here?” He turns to Daen. “Can’t we just, you know…” he points toward Taj, then makes a catapult-like motion with his cupped hand. “Right into the fort, no? Take out the lot of them? Or are we worried that by then Taj’ll be too ripe, and take out Lord Ulthun, too?”

We’ll get you that hot bath yet, just, y’know, after you’ve let your funk serve the cause! Zohruk does his best to smile and keep spirits up as he readies Mandakh for the morning's ride. For the most part, he's even actually feeling it, too.

===============

Captain Mood Swing, reporting for duty, sir!

“No!” Taj swats playfully at Zohruk, grinning. “You’ll have to come up with some other toxic weapon to take out Grask Uldeth’s forces!” She turns to Daen, apologetically. “There are limits to the ways I’m willing to serve the cause. Don’t worry, I’ll find other ways to offend your enemies.”

Grabbing soap, she goes in behind the trees, washing her face, hair, and as much else as she can reach with the cold water she creates in her hands. She comes out again, hair slicked back, her clothes slightly damp from where she splashed herself. She feels clean, alert, alive. Enjoying Grimold’s stew, she chats happily with the girls for a few minutes before remounting. She’s still not used to riding, but today is better. They may be riding off to war, but she has survived whatever that necromancer exploded all over her, and her Zohruk has told her that he loves her. She’s so happy, so radiant, she cannot contain herself. In the warm sunshine, she packs up, and discovers that her banner, neatly sewn and completed. Thank you, Gita. Smiling, she hoists it up on her spear. Looking to Daen, she smiles. “Ready, sir.”

A few hours later, the midmorning sun shining bright, your group rides up to the Lastwall. A large camp full of crusaders, most injured and dirty, but still able to fight. Things are orderly, tents, tack lines, the latrines. All speaks of a disciplined and veteran soldier group.

As some see you approaching, a squire or two goes running, and some salute or let up a weak cheer. Most just look and nod though. Wooden ramparts are built up on this, the south side, of the wall. Gangways and platforms house guard stations and command tents, as well as stairs up to the top of the wall. Fifty yards away, you see the flag of last wall flying above a large tent on the central platform. The command tent.

Taj’s eyes widen as she takes in the camp. Holding her flag high, she nods to the soldiers that she sees. She feels awkward being here, mounted, cheered along with the others in the middle of this elite group of knights. Zoh, I’ve never been to war or trained as a knight. I feel like such a fraud. Look at them. They’ve been battered. And me... My father was only weeks ago trying to arm their enemies. Still, she keeps the flag up, because the soldiers need this, need the appearance of hope and strength. I’m here, and I want to make a difference, but is this enough?

Well, this isn’t at ALL what I was expecting. Ali’s voice speaks with grudging respect. This lot, they’re the top of society, right? But they’re putting time in the trenches with the common folk. The regular soldiers look like they’ve all got shoes, and been fed regularly. No conspicuous consumption in sight. I was kind of hoping to see a bejeweled, fat ass sycophant running the command center in a silk tent with his very own chest of gold. Isn’t there supposed to be one of those in every army?

No, Ali. Taj closes her eyes. You’re not thinking about stealing, are you?

Who me? No, never. Besides, it wouldn’t be stealing, merely diverting funds and supplies to more essential priorities. He sighs. Everything looks to be too orderly and well guarded around here. What kind of a useless war have you dragged me into, anyway?

Aloud, she looks to the others. “Do we just tie up our horses and report directly to the command tent?”

As the Wall comes into view, Grimold's heart sinks. Lastwall's defensive perimeter had been reduced significantly; it hardly resembled the glorious bulwark it was always depicted as in murals and stories, defending the good and righteous against the massed forces of evil beyond it. Instead, it was just another reminder of how desperate their mission was, of how much was resting on their shoulders. He raises a hand in salute to the men they pass, drawing the his yellow fox mask over his face to hide his grim expression.

Since becoming a Knight, the mask had become something of a signature for Grimold. Depicting the smiling face of Keaton, the fey fox, it answered whatever danger he faced with playful nonchalance. In a past life, he had worn it to disguise his identity in Oathless black markets and Sczarni dealings. Once a symbol of his checkered past, it now embodied his public persona; if they managed to pull off this rescue mission, it would become his personal legend. Grimold, the Fox of Ozem, would go down in history.

From behind the mask, he answers Rataji. "We could. Or we could give them something to really cheer about. Come on!" Whipping his reins, he urges Sandja into a gallop, standing up in his stirrups and showing off for the troops.

Ride: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

The D Squad moved through the encampment with no less than a stir. While his teammates attempt to excite the morale of the battleweary. The sullen half elf did exactly what the other half elf mentioned. He stationed his horse outside the command tent and reported in. After all, what did they have to celebrate? What did they have to show? The army they were riding through had known nothing but defeat, and five knights along with one conscript weren't going to change the fact that ten times the expected amount of orcs lay just beyond their sight.

But he wasn't going to change his own. Their exuberance was their strength as much as his cold reason was his. They had much to do, and this is where he would shine. "Sir Daen reporting, I need to speak to the precentor.

As the squad ride into the encampment Kassie frowns. The wall had been a stable feature of her life since she had fist visited it with her mother and sister when she had been only five years old, and this and later visits had always reassured her of the safety the wall provided. Now, however, the structure, and the soldiers guarding it seemed a pale reflection of their former indomitable strength. Passing through the camp she does her best to wave at a few familiar faces, but the gesture seems hollow and petty. At Grimold's words, she smiles and urges her horse forward into a gallop and likewise waving at the crowd. Pulliong up her horse at the tent, she elegantly dismounts her horse, passing the reigns to a waiting boy with a smile.

ride: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15

“Zohruk says your color spray spell packs a whallop.”

It’s nice, having Grimold ride up like this next to her. He’d been so reserved at first, but it’s nice to see him trying. She accepts the opening he’s given her. “It really does,” she tries to says it as a statement of fact, not in a bragging way. “That’s why the elven sages in Kyonin initially wanted to study me. Because I knocked three of them out when I demonstrated it.” She looks up shyly. “I was eight, and Daddy was trying to show me and my spirits off at a party to a bunch of old elves, and I got bored and so I covered them in rainbows, thinking that it would get me out of there faster. Wow, was I wrong.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You know, one of my spirits, the one that pulled me through last night, Ali... He’s curious about you. He wanted to know how someone like you wound up being a Knight and having that second chance. Ali... Well let’s say in life he grew up as a scrappy kid from the wrong part of Bloodcove. I think you remind him of himself.” Then she grins. “I’m curious about you too. What’s with the mask? How did you meet Zoh? Do you have any stories you can tell me about the scrapes you two got in together?”

“We could. Or we could give them something to really cheer about. Come on!”

Up until this point, Taj’s horse, Igugu, has been placidly following the others. Taj has encouraged it to do so, given her poor riding skills, letting the horse have its lead. So when Grimold and Kassie urge their mounts forward, Igugu eagerly gallops after them and it’s all Taj can do to hang on.

Ride: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10
Bluff to pretend this what she actually intended: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

She smiles and waves at the soldiers, hoping that no one notices she can barely stay in the saddle.

As the morning’s ride starts, Zohruk has a small satisfied smile, seeing Grimold and Rataji talking together. That flight out of Belkzen had been such a headlong scramble, Zohruk managed to actually overlook something to worry about: what if Rataji didn’t get along with my teammates? He and Grimold had developed such a great working chemistry over time, that the thought of it being disrupted would’ve been awful, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be a concern.

He’d never held it against his friend that when they first met, he’d tried to feed him a line of chepukha about why he wanted to go into the catacombs. After all, they had just met; he’d have been more put off by Grimold being overly trusting than by that kind of suspicion. But he wasn’t going to start out on that note, so he asked Grimold to tell him what it was all about, which spooked him off. Zohruk figured he’d try being patient and wait him out; sure enough, a few days later, Grimold came to him. “So, uh, that thing. You still willing to hear me out?”

So they talked, and then they made their way into the tunnels under the fort. Looking back, Zohruk was still amazed at the number of times the two of them had to have each others’ backs just on that one night. After that, the two had been damn near inseparable. It got so they aggravated Trainer Fisk, who once made them do an entire week’s worth of obstacle course runs shackled together like prisoners.

To be fair, by Wealday, we were pretty good at that, Zohruk thinks, smiling.

Later, coming through the encampment, Zohruk sits tall in his saddle, trying to project what he hopes is an aura of quiet confidence. Listening to Taj’s question, he finds himself choking back a surprising flash of anger when she mentions her father.

He shakes his head, and turns to look at Rataji. Seeing this woman, like him a stranger in a strange land, ready and willing to take up arms in its defense, he’s taken with how brave she is, and how lucky he was to find her.

Rataji, take it from me, okay? The only blood anyone can hold you accountable for is your own, what’s in your heart. And I think that heart is damn near invincible. You fled Belkzen with barely more than a pack of clothes and a knife on your belt, and the second you got to safety, you geared up and rode back out to face the foes of people you’d only just met. You, a fraud? If anyone ever says that, I’ll punch them in the mouth.

And don’t worry about your dad. If we ever run across him again, I won’t let him give you any more trouble. Zoh again finds himself a bit surprised by the vehemence of his reaction to the man, but waves it off.

As Rataji takes off after Grimold, Zohruk's heart leaps into his throat. “Wh- the… Uh.” Still, he once again finds himself marveling at her fearlessness. You know, just yesterday you were asking for pointers. Now what, am I going to sign you up for next year’s Steeplechase…?

Zohruk looks over to see Daen’s expression; it doesn’t take much to guess what he’s thinking. “Maybe one guy sees that, tries that much harder to hold out one more day. Maybe three guys see that first fella, and do the same. Maybe he makes a skulking spy from Belkzen think he can be a hero, too,” Zoh says, with a light tone but meaning every word of it. “Gods save the hounds that chase that fox.”

Zohruk goes to the command tent, dismounts, and waits there for Rataji to help her down. After he’s helped her off Igugu, he brushes a few wind-swept strands of hair back off her face. Trying to outrace the East Wind on your second day with a new horse isn’t the wisest move a young lady can make.

The display of horsemanship, or lack thereof in Taj’s case draws some light cheers and claps, mostly from young squires as the older warriors seem to appreciate what the knights are trying to do, but are too tired to respond in any robust way.

Walking up the wooden stairs, the guards on duty nod to Daen and stand aside so that he and his men may enter the command platform. The tent is open to the air and a large wooden table is covered in maps and notes. Several armored men stand about discussing things and pointing to various places on the maps. At the head of the table is a tall woman, luscious red hair flowing past her shoulders, she has emerald green eyes brought out by her tight fitting and practical green dress.

This is the Precentor for Magic, acting leader of the crusade and Dean of the Lastwall Battlemage College, Veena Hailu. She looks up.

”Ah Knights, thank Iomedae, Lastwall sent word that you were on your way. I hope your trip was sound. We are in something of a dire situation here. As Saiville no doubt told you, the Lord Watcher has been captured.” she gestures to the map in front of her.

You see the current location of the group, the lastwall on the border between the nation and Belkzen, a mere two days ride from the capital. To the north four days is the wall that stood for centuries, the Hordeline. A great fortress is marked to the north east. ”The last place Ulthun was seen was near the Hordeline Fort. He was leading an assault to reclaim the bulwark for the crusade’s use. Our reports said that there would only be light resistance, yet the strike force that went there with him did not return to the man.” she furls her eyebrow worriedly. ”I’m fairly certain he has been captured, and we must assume he is in the fort, or at least some trace of where he went is in there. Obviously this is sensitive in nature, as most soldiers believe him to still be in the field. Knowledge otherwise would only sow discontent. I need your group to ride to the fort and investigate.”

Rataji, take it from me, okay? The only blood anyone can hold you accountable for is your own, what’s in your heart. And I think that heart is damn near invincible. You fled Belkzen with barely more than a pack of clothes and a knife on your belt, and the second you got to safety, you geared up and rode back out to face the foes of people you’d only just met. You, a fraud? If anyone ever says that, I’ll punch them in the mouth.

And don’t worry about your dad. If we ever run across him again, I won’t let him give you any more trouble.

Zohuk’s words are a balm to her heart until he mentions her dad. Zoh, you’re not planning to do anything rash, are you? Her heart is still churned up over Akbar’s betrayal, but her father is still the man who called her ‘umntanenkosi*’ and who once claimed her proudly as his own blood. He’d once loved her, hadn’t he? He must have.

Taj feels split in two. She'd always lived with her father, always believed in the parent who'd wanted her when her mother had not. Up until now, her life upbringing had been sheltered, living in one embassy or another, jealously guarded by Tam and other embassy security. Barely of age, she feels so many losses... Her country. Her friendship with Tam. The language she'll likely never speak again, Polyglot. She cannot bear to let her father, awful though he is, become another thing irrevocably lost. So long as he's alive, there's hope that she can somehow reconcile with him.

Zoh, please... If Daddy shows up, we’re going to let him go, right? I’m mad at him, I... I don’t understand why he wanted to trade me off like that. How he could do such a thing? But I don’t want his blood on our hands. Please, Zoh?

Trying to outrace the East Wind on your second day with a new horse isn’t the wisest move a young lady can make.

Taj accepts the help down gratefully. She’s trembling slightly from the ride, but Zoh’s touch steadies her. She smiles as he lifts her down from the horse. No, it's not, but I had no idea how to stop Igugu when she took it in her head to follow Sandja into a gallop. And I thought I was the one here who was spirited. She grins at Zoh, regaining her equilibrium. Yes, I know. My puns are terrible.

She hugs him fiercely, then takes his arm. Will you do me the honor of escorting me into the command tent, Sir Tusky, third earl of Stabbington?

In the command tent, she stays quiet. Although she has a dozen questions for Procentor Hailu, she'd caught Daen's look of frustration when she'd spoken ahead of him last time. This time, she'll wait and let him speak first.
___
*Umntanenkosi (n. from Polyglot). Princess.

Zoh, you’re not planning to do anything rash, are you? Zoh, please... If Daddy shows up, we’re going to let him go, right? I’m mad at him, I... I don’t understand why he wanted to trade me off like that. How he could do such a thing? But I don’t want his blood on our hands. Please, Zoh?

Zohruk takes a deep breath, does his best to clear his head. Let me put it this way. If your father forces a choice, where it’s his life or one of ours? I will cut that man to pieces, and sleep like a baby that night. Until that point, it’s your decision to make. Is that okay? Zohruk shakes his head. Oh, that freakin’ guy, he’s got no idea how lucky he is to have this girl as his daughter…

And I thought I was the one here who was spirited. Yes, I know. My puns are terrible.

Zohruk laughs out loud, snorting once through his nose, and shaking his head, so much for looking cool now. He looks about to say something, then pauses as if he lost the thought. No wait, I swear I had something for this. No, wait! Here it is, the mane thing...

“OK, remember what I was telling you yesterday, the horse is gonna respond to you. You just remind her who’s in charge. Who’s the boss here? You are, right?” He gently takes hold of Igugu’s bridle, and makes a show of talking to the horse in a stage whisper, and jerks a thumb over at Taj. “Now, Igugu, the pretty lady over there, she’s the boss, right? You do what she says, not the other way around. Don’t make me look bad here, or I got nothin’ to look forward to but gettin’ bread hucked at me by Miss Gita. We good? Okay. I’m glad we could talk like this.”

Zoh turns back to Rataji, pointing at the horse. “She says she’s sorry, and from now on you’re the boss.”

In all seriousness, when you want to stop, kind of shift your weight back in the saddle on your butt, almost like you’re tryin’ to sit through the horse, into the ground. You give your ‘whoa’ command, and if necessary, pull back on the reins. Don’t jerk ‘em, just steady pressure. And don’t squeeze with your legs. It’s a lot to keep track of all at once, I know, but I’ll help ya, ‘s’much as I can.

Will you do me the honor of escorting me into the command tent, Sir Tusky, third earl of Stabbington?

Again, Rataji has Zohruk chuckling. I don’t think it works like that, missy. I think I’ve gotta become a baron first. Or maybe a viscount? They didn’t really cover this stuff in our coursework… Hell, if we live through this thing, who knows, maybe that’s a thing that can happen. Hey, play your cards right, you could end up an earless? Wait, that can’t possibly be right. Zohruk shakes his head, still smiling broadly. Let’s just make sure we don’t all end up speaking Orc first, he says, offering his arm to Rataji as they prepare to enter.

Hey, play your cards right, you could end up an earless?

Her heart thumps. It’s ‘countess’. That’s the female equivalent of an earl. She tries to breathe. Had she understood him right? Zoh, what cards are you suggesting I play to make me a ‘countess’, assuming that we live through this?

As soon as she asks it, she regrets it. What if she’s pushed him too far? Or, I could just wait and see what cards are laid out on the table, when the hand is ready to be played. Um, whatever hand it is...

Maybe it’s time to just stop while she’s behind? Hastily, she changes the subject.

Trying for nonchalance, she raises an eyebrow while they wait for Daen to speak. Bid ali khediin Ülger yaridag gedgiig tand sanuulakh kheregtei baina uu*?

___
*Tr. from Orc: Need I remind you that we all already speak Orc?

When he's finished prancing around with Sandja, Grimold pulls her up next to Kassie's horse. Throwing his leg over and hopping out of the saddle, he whispers encouragement in her ear and pats her neck before letting the attending boy take the reins. Removing his mask, he grins at Kassie. "That was fun! We should have another race sometime, you and me. You have to give me a chance to catch up!" In their cohort's ongoing series of horse races, Grimold was losing to Kassie by two, but they hadn't had a chance to go head-to-head since the Bonewatch. It wouldn't be the same without the others, but now that he had Sandja to ride and Jalen wasn't around, Grimold thought he might stand a chance of tying it up. "You too, Rataji. You did great! That flag might come in handy."

Inside the command tent, Grimold grins at Daen as he falls in line. I should have asked if Alacarty had a book about fun for him to study.

After the Precentor’s briefing, Daen asks questions as is his nature. Status updates, anything that may be pertinent. Hailu glances at the group of knights and appears to weigh something in her mind.

”I wasn’t going to mention this, because I need you to focus on the mission at hand, but it would be a disservice, and everything I’ve read about you tells me that you’ll follow orders and I have no real reason to withhold from you.” she sighs and takes a breath.

Walking over to a desk off to the side of the tent that is littered in missives and parchment she picks up one and brings is back to the table. ”This is a request for aid from the Aghash Rukon Orc tribe.” She glances at Zohruk. ”It seems they’ve been besieged by another tribe, or some sort of army. They request aid, and unfortunately I am unable to give it at the moment.” She looks at Zohruk and adds a sincere ”I’m Sorry”

She hands the missive to Daen, who reads it and hands it to Zoh.

“I’m Sorry.”

Zohruk is silent for what seems like two-thirds of an eternity. Blinking, breathing deeply to the point of hyperventilating. Once or twice he opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again.

Finally, he says, “No. No, we got this. Yeah. Yeah, we… We can just get into the fort, get the Lord Watcher, bickety-bam, bust him out, get him back here, then turn right around, if we really haul ass we can be to Axe-Face Bluff in what, four days, five, tops. And we can… can do… We can do something,” his voice cracking.

Zohruk sits silent for a hell of a long moment.

“I’m Sorry.”

That SUKA! Taj grasps Zohruk’s hand, and hangs on tight. Her heart is aching for Zoh, and Zoh’s family, but she tries not to let the rage over Hailu’s casual destruction of Zohruk’s world show on her face. Her sojourn in the diplomatic world has served her well. She will not shame her new family, Daen, Grimold, Allie and Kassie with an ill-timed outburst.

I told you every army had one of these, didn’t I? Ali says thoughtfully. You think she’s not rendering aid ‘cause Zohruk’s tribe got too much orc in ‘em?

It was exactly what Taj thought, especially after her eye-opening conversation with Grimold. Zoh, listen to me. You’ve vowed to complete this mission, and you’ll do it. But there’s nothing to say we can’t render aid to your tribe on the way back. Daddy always said it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. In this case... I think he’s right.

Still speaking with an artificial calmness, Taj curtsies to Procentor Hailu. “Procentor, on the way here we encountered an exploding raving madman, who shattered into a miasma of black sickness. Most of us were able to cover our faces in time. I did not, but I managed to recover with magical aid. The spell that created that diseased emissary was necromantic, from the sixth level of magic or higher. You’re not just dealing with orc hordes. There’s a powerful necromancer on the other side. Where there was one diseased emissary, there may be more coming as well. You may want to send word to Vigil, as well as informing your sentries here. The man was alone, emaciated and raving, but not suffering from obvious wounds. Still with so many gravely wounded soldiers returning back to your lines, the necromancer might be tempted to try and slip one of his emissaries in amongst them.”

Then she nods to the others, sweeping out of the room before her rage overtakes her.

Aw. Ali sighs. Here I was thinking you’d leap on the Procentor like the matriarch of a troop of Charau-ka. Been a long time since I saw a proper monkey fight!

Zoh, listen to me. You’ve vowed to complete this mission, and you’ll do it. But there’s nothing to say we can’t render aid to your tribe on the way back. Daddy always said it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. In this case... I think he’s right.

Rataji’s words come through to Zohruk a little muted, but the meaning is clear. He straightens himself up, shrugging off the despair that had settled on him like an adamant cloak. Locking his gaze with the Precentor, he says, “I will fulfill my duty, ma’am. Please pardon me, I need some air.” And he heads outside before he passes out.

Once outside the command tent, Zohruk takes in a few great gulps of air, as if he’d spent the past ten minutes underwater. He’s so distracted it’s almost a minute before he realizes Taj is standing right beside him, steadying him with one tiny, perfect hand. He turns to her, and takes her hand in his own.

It feels like every time I find out how remarkable you are, it’s followed by me learnin’ I’ve underestimated you. It… it doesn’t seem fair to me, you getting roped into doing this, but I guess fair isn’t always an option. Part of me wishes I could talk you into gettin’ clear of this fight, but if I could… well then you wouldn’t be the girl I love, I guess. Zoh looks at his feet a moment, then stares back into Rataji’s eyes. Seems like a lot to ask, but will you help me save my tribe and my country?

While Precentor Hailu briefs them, Grimold stoically keeps his place in line. He lets Daen ask all the usual questions, trying to pay attention despite the distraction posed by the Precentor's tight-fitting dress. When she presents the letter, his eyes flit sideways to Zohruk, who takes the news far better than Grimold would have expected.

Once dismissed from the tent, he goes outside to console his friend, but stops short when he sees that Rataji has the situation in hand. It was probably for the best; Grimold wasn't sure what he could have said that would help matters.

Daen processed the information as quickly as possible. Four days march, two days on horseback, they had a long journey ahead of them to get to the keep. Keeping the information from the troops was fairly necessary at the time, but it would cause problems if they weren't able to have a successful mission. As optimistic as his leaders were, Daen held a bit of a different view but for the moment he held his tongue.

"Of course the Lord Watcher takes precedence. We will accomplish this mission with regard to it's importance." Daen said cooly and saluted before following the rest of the group out.

Once out of the hut, Daen immediately sought out his Half-Orc friend and clapped him on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. "Our sworn duty is to uphold Vigil and Lastwall. That being said, we must follow our orders to the best of our abilities. However, if the Lord Watcher is alive as they claim. He outranks what orders we've received and can send us up to the Burning Suns directly should he understand the benefit. Don't abandon your hopes yet. There may be room for both."

Third watch stuff coming later.

Part of me wishes I could talk you into gettin’ clear of this fight, but if I could… well then you wouldn’t be the girl I love, I guess. Seems like a lot to ask, but will you help me save my tribe and my country?

I thought you’d never ask. Taj puts her hand on Zohruk’s chest, and smiles up at him. Where you go, I go. Always. Unless of course you need to be quiet, and don’t want my ability to find the one dry branch to step upon and snap to give you away....

Then she looks to see Grimold and the girls standing uncomfortably on the sidelines, and smiles to all of them, waving them closer. “Come here! I’m not the only one who can offer hugs, right?”

“Our sworn duty is to uphold Vigil and Lastwall. That being said, we must follow our orders to the best of our abilities. However, if the Lord Watcher is alive as they claim. He outranks what orders we've received and can send us up to the Burning Suns directly should he understand the benefit. Don't abandon your hopes yet. There may be room for both.”

She nods to Sir Daen, and when her fellow half elf looks her way, she mouths two words: Thank you.

At Taj's beckoning, Grimold joins the others, opting for a clap on the shoulder instead of a hug. He breathes a sigh of relief when Daen proposes that they'll be able to offer aid once they rescue the Lord Watcher. "Surely the Lord Watcher will see the strategic value of having an orc tribe on our side. Their war intelligence alone would give us a more accurate picture of what we face on the other side of the Hordeline." An enraged Yhrrilka might be just the thing we need to turn the tide of this war! "Should we saddle up or do we ride with the dawn?"

"Our sworn duty is to uphold Vigil and Lastwall. That being said, we must follow our orders to the best of our abilities. However, if the Lord Watcher is alive as they claim. He outranks what orders we've received and can send us up to the Burning Suns directly should he understand the benefit. Don't abandon your hopes yet. There may be room for both."

The encouragement of his friends has a galvanizing effect on Zohruk. Looking around the group, he stares each of them in the eye, getting back some of his old self. When his eyes get to Daen, he says, “Only a fool abandons hope when he has friends like you. And Zohruk Burning Sun is no fool.”