It is an exceedingly long day for Mac. Fortunately, the wind is favorable so he doesn't have to flap the whole time. At some time approaching dusk, he begins to see signs of civilization such as more carefully maintained roads and farms. Not long after that, he sees his destination: Longshadow, set on the shores of the Marideth River.
Once he is close enough to make out details, he is disheartened at the first thing he notices: the city walls, which he can tell were once formidable, are weathered and crumbling. It is clear that this is a city which has not faced adversity in some time.
Mac can only hope that its people are more hearty than its walls.
Mac flies down to the road. They probably won't let a bird in. People in cities don't like animals unless they can control them. That's dumb, but not much he can do about it. He lands about thirty feet from the gate and shifts back into his human form, waving frantically at the guards.
"Take mee to Mayore Cawbort! Kent speak Cyommun! Orgent messive!"
One of the guards steps in front of Mac, looks at his partner, then back to Mac. "What?"
The other guard doesn't move, but Mac sees his hands tighten around his spear.
Mac digs out the paper with the letter from Grevayne on it and repeats himself as best he can.
"Take mee to Mayore Caw..." He pauses. Was there an 'R' in there? Maybe there was. "Craw? Bort? Kent speak Cyommun." Wait, was the 'Y' sound on the second syllable? Dammit. Why didn't everyone just speak Kellid like normal people? "Comm...yun?" He's starting to get flustered. "Org... Argent? Argent massive!" He waves the piece of paper again, as if that will make them understand. Seeing the guard tighten his grip on his spear, Mac grumbles to himself in Kellid about the idiocy of other languages and then just holds the piece of paper out in front of him, waiting for them to take it.
The guard in front of Mac looks back at the other guard again, then sighs and takes the paper. He reads it and, if he has any reaction, does a very good job of keeping it off of his face. He hands the paper to the other guard, who also reads it. His eyes grow ever so slightly wider and he looks at Mac again, as if studying him for the first time. "Wait here," he says, and he disappears through the gate. The first guard holds a hand up in front of Mac and repeats, loudly and slowly, since that is how you help people who don't speak your language to understand what you are saying.
Mac doesn't understand the words, but when the second guard yells and raises his hand, Mac gives him the side-eye and steps back. When the guard doesn't immediately attack him, he decides he must have been giving him an order of some kind. Mac dislikes the guard immediately.
Still, since he doesn't know what the Hells the guy said, he supposes the best thing he can do is wait. Maybe the first guard went to find someone who speaks Kellid. Surely someone in this stupid city speaks a real language? A druid would be better, but he doubts that's going to happen.
He folds his arms over his chest and waits for something to happen, doing his best to be patient.
A long five minutes pass, then the guard returns with another guard. The new guard's uniform is fancier than the others'; Mac assumes she is some sort of sergeant or captain. She points at Mac, waves for him to follow her, then turns and walks through the gates. The other guards resume their posts flaking the gate and do not hinder Mac in any way.
The woman leads Mac through the gate and two blocks to the south. She stops at a large building whose façade displays an intricate silver tree with a protruding brass sword.
This is the official symbol of Nirmathas.
Before entering, she turns to Mac, points at herself, and says, "Elise." Then she points at Mac and raises her eyebrows to indicate the obvious question.
Mac points at himself. "Mac."
He then stares awkwardly, waiting for her to continue. He supposes she doesn't speak Hallit, since she hasn't spoken to him in real sentences. He sighs; is there not one person in this stupid town that speaks Hallit?
If only there was a druid around here. He knows the Sacred Tongue, of course, and a smattering of the language of Magdh's children, the Fey. But he doubts this woman knows Sylvan, and she damn sure better not know Druidic.
He crosses his arms and scratches his head. Grevayne would know what to do. Of course, Grevayne speaks lots of languages. And if he were here he could just translate for Mac. Stupid friends not being able to turn into animals.
He raises his hands in a shrug at the woman. "Bruidhinn Sylvanidh?" he asks hopefully.
Elise says, "Mac," and nods. She just looks confused when he speaks Sylvan, but waves for him to follow her into the building.
Once inside, Mac sees open double doors to his left and a long hallway to the left. Looking through the double doors, he can see a large meeting space, sufficient to hold several hundred people. Elise heads the other way, past a number of closed doors, to a door at the end of the hall. There is an official-looking placard on the door . Elise enters without knocking.
On the other side, a rather large man (not as large as Mac, but definitely above average) dressed in fancy clothes perches casually on an enormous desk, speaking to three people seated before him. They all look up when Elise and Mac enter; two are human males and the third appears to be a half-elf female. Elise speaks to the mayor (at least Mac assumes this is the mayor) and holds out the letter from Grevayne for him to read; Mac can't understand what they are saying but he does hear his name. As they speak, the mayor looks from the letter to Mac and back several times. His face betrays no emotion.
The three seated people join the conversation. Mac can tell that they are asking questions, and they look skeptical. One of them turns to talk to Mac, and when Mac doesn't respond, Elise speaks up again, presumably to remind the person that Mac can't speak Common. At this point, the man seated right next to where Mac is standing rolls his eyes and reaches out to touch Mac on the hand. As the conversation continues, Mac gradually realizes that he can understand!
The mayor is looking at the man that touched Mac. "... did you do?"
The man shrugs and says, "I shared our language with him. I prepare the spell everyday because you often run into foreigners in my line of work."
The mayor nods. "Yes, of course, of course." He looks Mac in the eye. To his credit, he doesn't speak slowly or loudly. "Mac, can you understand me?"
Mac blinks. "Uh. Yes." He turns to the man who touched him. "Magic? My friend does Magic! He wrote the letter." He points at the letter the mayor is holding. He is oddly proud of the fact.
The cleric stares at Mac, at a loss for how to respond to that. "Uh. Yes. Magic." He turns to look at his companions.
The Mayor speaks up before it gets even more awkward. "Wonderful! Mac, welcome to Longshadow. I am Mayor Crawbert, and these are my advisors, Garret Graygallow, Seneka Volstadt, and Solomon Zane. According to this letter -- written by your magical friend -- you have reason to believe that Longshadow is in danger of invasion?"
Mac shrugs and nods. "Grevayne explains in the letter, yes? I am not good at uh..." He struggles to find the word. "... tactics! That's the word. Not good at that. I fight by charging in as a wolf and killing enemies. Grevayne is smart though. He said the hobgoblins have tactics. I don't know what they are. Maybe he put them in the letter?" Mac adds helpfully. He's not sure why they aren't more concerned about the content of Grevayne's letter. Maybe Grevayne didn't make it clear how immediate the danger is? "I think Grevayne said they will attack in twelve days, but that was two days ago now. Your walls are very bad. You might want to fix those, if you can." If his words were offensive to those gathered, he clearly doesn't realize it. He simply gazes mildly at them, waiting for them to respond to the letter explicitly stating an army is about to attack.
To the mayor's credit, he listens intently to Mac, but when Mac mentions the state of the walls, he stands from his relaxed position on the edge of his desk. "Sir! You are a welcome guest in my city, but I won't have you insulting her. She has stood against invasions for decades. The Molthunis don't even try to take her anymore!" He looks like he is about to continue ranting, but Garret Graygallow interrupts.
"Thom! I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. Besides, you're both right; the walls have seen better days, but Longshadow hasn't been successfully invaded in over thirty years." He holds his hand out. "Mayor, let me see the letter."
Crawbert hands it over, and Garret begins reading. The other two advisers lean in so they can see as well. Once done, Garret looks up at the Mayor, looks to Mac, then back at the Mayor. He sighs. "I don't know, Thom. Even if what this letter says is true, those mining settlements are tiny and defenseless. It's actually a surprise they haven't been taken before now, sitting where they do in the Hollow Hills. But the brutish savages will find taking a proper city like Longshadow to be a more daunting task."
Seneka nods. "If we do anything that looks like we are preparing for an invasion that may never come, fear will spread through the town. Those that don't leave will hunker down. The economy will be destroyed in days." At the economy comment, Zane nods emphatically.
Thom holds his hand up. "Okay, okay, your objections are noted. Let me think a minute." He takes the letter back and reads it again, then again, then looks at Mac, then back to his advisers. "I agree that we can't lock down and fortify without more evidence. I am sorry, Mac, but we live a bit on the razor's edge as it is." His advisers begin speaking up, but Thom stops them. "I am not finished! I swear, lately you three have been a thorn in my side." He shakes his head. "As I was saying, we are not going into full fortification mode. However, we can spare two or three guards and a few horses to go out and meet these people. At the very least, we owe it to the refugees from those towns whose goods we trade for."
The advisers stand, trying to protest. The mayor stands again in response, and is a good half a head taller than any of them. "SIT. I have made my ruling." He turns back to the guard, Elise. "Please take Mac here and put him up in The Canary. Tell Gestelle that his room and board is on me for the next four days." The guard nods, steps through the doorway, and waits in the hall. "Mac, I do appreciate you coming all this way. I want you to know that I take your warning seriously, but as Mayor of four thousand souls, I have to weigh all factors in my decision making. I hope you will accept our hospitality until your companions arrive."
Mac looks absolutely flabbergasted. They're not doing... anything?
"I think maybe you're using the wrong word. In my language, 'seriously' means... well... 'seriously.' The Ironfang en't just a bunch of hob mercenaries. They're organized. They got crazy magic. They made a big tower appear in Phaendar overnight! Hobs poured out of it and killed or enslaved the town within hours. I was there. They took Trevalay, and two other Chernesardo forts. My friends took those back, at least. We can do that for you too! But not if you don't take this danger seriously, for real serious, not just talking serious. My friends are really good at this stuff, but it's still only four of us." He pauses, then corrects, "Five. Aubrin's with us, I forgot. But that's still just five." He chews his lip, trying to think of what else to say. He's just not that good at this, dammit. If only Grevayne could become a falcon, that would be better. He's smart, at least. "I don't like cities. The big walls and the lots of people. It makes me uncomfortable. But that doesn't mean I want to see people hurt. Lots of them will, when the hobs attack. You have scouts, yeah? Send scouts! Let them see. It's worse than you're imagining, I promise you."
Again, the advisers, almost as a unit, begin to protest. And again, a raised hand from Crawbert stops them. He walks around his desk, sits in the chair, and folds his hands in front of him, a thoughtful look on his face. He reads the letter one more time, then looks at Mac for what feels like a very long time. Finally he shakes his head. "I am sorry, Mac. I have agreed to send a few guards to meet your friends. You are welcome to accompany them if you prefer, but I also invite you to stay here. That is my final ruling."
Mac scowls. City people are absolute idiots, he has decided.
"I will go. I don't like cities." He strides out of the room and waits outside to be directed to the people heading for his friends.
Crawbert nods solemnly, as if he had wanted Mac to stay but is not at all surprised that he is going. He calls to Elise in the hallway and revises her orders: instead of putting Mac up in the inn, she should instead provide Mac her three best riders and enough horses to get the entire party back to Longshadow as quickly as possible. The guards will stay with the refugees and accompany them at their slower pace.
The mayor then thanks Mac for his understanding and wishes him well. The advisers barely look at Mac as he leaves. Elise leads Mac to a barracks, apprises three guards of the situation (including the fact that Mac won't understand them by this time tomorrow, so they should settle on their plan before the spell wears off), and instructs them to prepare to leave immediately. She sends another guard to fetch horses. In all, it only takes about an hour for everything to be ready; it is now mid-afternoon, but the guards are willing to leave today if that is what Mac would prefer.
Gerard, the highest ranking of the three, greets Mac and asks him where the party is coming from and what route they are taking to Longshadow. In short, how are they going to ensure that the rescue party doesn't miss Grevayne and Co.?
Mac snorts. "I will not be riding. Horses are for my friends. I fly. Follow me."
He leaps into the air, his body cracking and melting as it morphs into a falcon, and takes to the wing, heading in the direction from whence he came. He keeps his eyes at once on the horizon to gauge his direction, and on the ground to keep an eye out for his allies.
Mac and the Longshadow guards begin making their way north, with Mac remembering with precise clarity the route that he took to get here. You are able to travel for about four hours before sundown, making excellent time. Depending on how quickly Grevayne and the others are moving, it is possible you'll reunite sometime tomorrow.
---
Grevyane, Freyja, Trjega, Aubrin, Nibbitz, the five remaining Radya's Hollow refugees, and the captive Marhzan watch Mac take off and head south. Freyja offers to take the lead since she has the most experience in ranging through the wilderness.
Grevayne lets Freyja take the lead, and keeps his eye on Marzhan as they travel. He charges Aubrin with taking care of the refugees, making sure they have enough food and water.
Grevayne lets everyone move at an easy pace, with as many breaks as is needed. He has no interest in killing one of the people they went through so much trouble to save because they couldn't handle the rigors of a forced march.
At lunchtime, he partakes in a small meal of whatever Aubrin was able to find, but isn't terribly hungry. He squints at the painfully bright sky through the treetops, looking for a falcon to come swooping down and tell them the cavalry is on its way. The city is still a few days off and he grows more nervous by the day.
To make matters worse, his hand still hasn't uncurled from its hideous claw-like shape, though he thinks maybe he can see a little movement in the thumb if he tries hard enough. It's not much of an encouragement. What is it going to take to heal this? Will it ever heal? How is he going to function in combat with only one useful hand? His whole fighting style is predicated on using both hands. He stares at the sky a little longer before sighing despondently. He hands off his remaining lunch to anyone who wants it and takes a slow lap around their makeshift lunch camp. He tells himself it's to check the perimeter, but really he just wants to be away from people for a moment, in the shade of the trees where the light doesn't stab at his eyes so much.
Eventually he returns to his guard duty and gets the group ready for travel again, trying hard not to let his melancholy thoughts distract him from any potential treachery from Marzhan.
The day passes slowly, but uneventfully. The refugees are clearly struggling, but they do not complain; after their treatment at the hands of the hobgoblins, . Still, the pace is slow, and the party can feel the hours ticking away until the planned invasion. Has Mac arrived in Longshadow yet? Surely not on the first day. How much longer will it take? Will he have any success convincing the town of the coming danger?
It's never spoken aloud, but glances between the party members confirm that everyone is thinking the same thing: this pace is too slow and Longshadow is going to fall and is there any possible way we can leave the refugees and get there faster? You all know that the answer is no, but the 'needs of the many' adage certainly passes unbidden through your minds.
Grevayne can tell that Mahrzan has been struggling against his bonds, but he has no hope of loosening them.
By sundown you've traveled maybe half as far as you would have at a normal pace. It seems that Aubrin's initial estimate was correct: four days of travel with the refugees, leaving only eight days until Kuthona 2, the day of the invasion.
---
Mac eats a solitary breakfast, keeping slightly apart from the guards. Real or imagined, he always gets self-conscious around strangers, believing every glance his way to be one of fear or disgust at his powers. They surely aren't what one would consider "civilized." Mac spent decades--maybe centuries, he's not sure--as a wolf. Even after weeks back in his human form, the scent of raw, bloody meat makes his mouth water and the actions of humans (and humanoids in general) often confuse or irritate him.
He pulls a skewer with a whole cony off the spit, with meat that looks rare at best. He bites into it and nearly spits it out, the sheer bloodiness almost making him gag. He remembers for the fiftieth time that humans aren't supposed to eat raw meat, and drops the skewer back onto the spit to continue roasting, grumbling to himself under his breath.
Eventually the meat is cooked a little more thoroughly and he tears unenthusiastically into a haunch. It tastes like grease and little else. As handy as it has been being able to transform into a falcon, and as much as he's enjoyed riding the currents in the sky, he really misses being a wolf all the time. Life was simpler then. Eat what Oona gave him, or hunt for it. Feel the rush of kill-or-be-killed in the throes of the hunt or the battle, side by side with his best friend. He likes Freyja, and he has grown to like Grevayne, but they are not Oona.
He misses Oona.
After his miserable breakfast, Mac says to one of the guards, "We should be close. We made good time. Keep following me. I will stay on the wing and look out for my friends. If you hear me call, you will know I found either them or danger. Either way, the sound will mean something." He then steps away without waiting for an answer and Wild Shapes into a falcon, perching on a nearby stone and waiting for the guards to finish their breakfasts and be ready to continue.
That morning, Grevayne takes Freyja aside during breakfast to speak with her quietly.
"You probably noticed we are in something of a sticky wicket. We need to keep these people safe, but we are still days out from Longshadow at this pace. If we do not arrive soon, we will have no time to strike at the various forces arraying against the city. We need to move faster, but..." He sighs and throws up his hands in exasperation. "We cannot force these people into a march, they cannot take it. Any ideas?"
Freyja looks at the refugees for a long time after Grevayne's question. Truth be told, she had been having the same thoughts, but had also come to the same unfortunate conclusion. "No. I think we have already implemented our best idea. We have to trust in Mac and just move as quickly as we possibly can without killing these poor people. There are nasty things in these hills; if we leave them, we will be leaving them to their deaths." She shakes her head in frustration, then looks to the sky, hoping against hope to see the falcon returning with good news.
Of course he is not there. Even if he'd flown directly to Longshadow and turned around without going in, he wouldn't be back yet. She sighs and helps strike the camp, then leads the party southwestward.
Not much has gone well for Mac the past day or so, but at least his sense of direction is spot on. He has supreme confidence that he is heading directly for his friends -- assuming, that is, that Freyja and Aubrin are having similar success leading them toward Longshadow. Still, even if they are off, his visibility from the sky is several miles in each direction.
The morning hours pass as he flies northeast in desperation.
---
Aubrin and Grevayne marvel at Freyja's skill in leading everyone toward Longshadow. She almost preternaturally chooses a path that is rapid, but easy enough for the refugees to travel with minimal rest. They still are only moving less than half as quickly as they would normally be able to, but it's hard to imagine them finding any extra time while the refugees are in tow.
Morning passes, then lunch, then the first few afternoon hours. There is a slight nip in the air, but it is unseasonably warm and there is not a cloud in the sky. The party can't help but scan the sky ahead of them constantly.
It is mid-afternoon when, miraculously, a tiny dot appears just over the horizon. Over the next half hour, the dot rapidly approaches until it resolves into the shape you all have been praying to see: a falcon. Not long after, three men and several horses crest a hill in the distance. After another twenty minutes or so, the parties come together.
Mac gives a screech to the guards below, then circles them excitedly, before flying off to reach his friends first. He lands in front of Grevayne, shifting back into human form as he does, and grips his friend in a hug. Even having left his side for only two days, he is relieved to see the dhampir once more.
[color=brown]"City people are idiots,"[/color] he says into his friend's shoulder. He pulls away and begins telling Grevayne about the conversation with the mayor.
Grevayne freezes when the enormous Kellid hugs him, then listens with growing displeasure at his recounting. Finally he scowls and says, [color=brown]"Fools! Bloody damned fools."[/color] He growls and shakes his head. [color=brown]"Let us tell the others."[/color]
Grevayne gathers Aubrin and Freyja to relate what Mac told him. "Damned idiots do not wish to see the danger right on their doorstep. Whether through arrogance or pure stupidity, we are on our own. I guess we are just going to have to save this city ourselves." He sighs in frustration. "Which of the locations do you think we should hit first?"
He starts walking again as they talk, in order to reach the guards sooner and hand off the refugees so the party can move toward their first goal, whichever that may be.
Aubrin frowns and thinks for a few moments. "Something isn't right. Crawbert used to be an adventurer; it's unlike him to not take a threat seriously." She looks over their motley crew. "Perhaps seeing the evidence with his own eyes will help convince him. We can't get the refugees there quickly, but I think we should at least take Nibbitz and our prisoner and go to Longshadow first. We need the support of the city to mount a proper defense."
Grevayne nods. "I was not aware he was an adventurer. Now I feel as if there is more going on here, as well. And I fear it will be nothing good. Let us speak with Crawbert and see if we cannot suss out what is really happening."
He approaches Nibbitz. "I hate to ask more of you when you have been through so much, but I was hoping you would join us in a swifter journey to try and talk sense into the Longshadow mayor. He is refusing to take the threat of the Legion seriously, and I think you can help us convince him."
The guards speak with Grevayne, Aubrin, and Freyja, and take the refugees under their care. They will lag a few days behind the rest of the party, but the people will be safe.
The rest of you (including Nebbitz and Mahrzan, who seems resigned to his fate at this point and isn't bothering to fight you) mount the horses and head off at a much faster clip toward Longshadow, following Mac-the-falcon's lead. You can't travel as quickly as Mac was able to on his own, but you still make good time, arriving not long after sundown on the following day.
Nine days until the invasion
The mayor has already gone home for the night, but Elise the guard captain knows that she would want her to fetch him for this, so you all wait at the town hall while she does so. Roughly half an hour later, you see Mayor Crawbert and Elise approaching, followed by his three advisors.
Introductions are made, and Crawbert greets Aubrin warmly; they don't know each other very well personally, but they have mutual friends in the Rangers. After a few minutes of small talk, Crawbert cuts to the chase: "Your friend Mac seems quite convinced that we should be preparing ourselves for the invasion to end all invasions. I do not want to seem as if I am not taking your claims seriously, but I also have a town to run and I can't put the people into a panic without overwhelming evidence. I would not be a very good mayor if I didn't at least listen, however, so please..." He spreads his hands in an invitation to speak.
Grevayne, not one for flowery speeches, simply hands Dargg's journal to Crawbert. "From one of the... actually, I do not know his rank. A leader of some sort. Captain, perhaps? Nibbitz was his prisoner, made to scribe his communiques to the other sections of the Ironfang Legion in the area. It is not overstating it to say that dismissing this threat will lead to the destruction of your city."
Grevayne is fairly certain he's going to get blown off just like Mac. He's already running through ideas in his head. Probably the siege engines should be their first stop; a proper siege engine battalion would laugh at even the sturdiest walls. Then the mine, maybe? Those flying patrols are a serious issue, but something about the mine is making his hackles rise. Then maybe...
Crawbert takes the journal from Grevayne and skims it, spending a bit more time on the more recent entries. Nibbitz also hands him the missives that had come in from other camps in the area. Several long minutes of desperate silence pass as he reads, then passes the various materials to his advisors to inspect. Once he has gone over everything once, he looks at Nibbitz. "You were the scribe for this Dargg?"
Nibbitz looks very small compared to everyone else in the room, but she stands proudly at her full height. "Yes, sir."
"So you have first hand experience with the so-called Ironfang Legion. Do you believe that they pose a threat to a fortified city such as Longshadow?"
Nibbitz looks at Grevayne and the others. "I don't know, sir. They are well organized and Kosseruk seems smart, but I don't know much about war."
Crawbert nods, then turns to Mahrzan. "And you. Will you freely tell us what we are facing?"
Mahrzan shrugs. "What is going to happen to me?"
At this, Seneka jumps to her feet. "You are lucky we don't string you up right now!"
Crawbert holds up a hand. "Not now, Seneka. Sit, please." She does so, and Crawbert looks back to the hobgoblin. "Well, that depends entirely on your cooperation, I suppose. I will not sanction torture, if that is what you mean. But if your life has value to you, it is negotiable."
Mahrzan studies the large man, looking for signs of subterfuge. He seems to conclude that the mayor is true to his word, because he shrugs again. "I am willing to deal."
Crawbert nods, then begins skimming the papers again, deep in thought. After a long minute passes, Solomon Zane speaks up. "Thom, you can't actually be considering this." The other two advisors nod emphatically and speak their agreement.
Crawbert sighs and looks up. "I understand that you have objections." He looks at Grevayne and the others. "And I understand that you think this is a matter of urgent importance. So we will waste no time. Each of you will present your cases. We will have discourse -- civil discourse" -- he looks pointedly at his advisors as he says this -- "-- and then I will decide." He looks at the party. "You have traveled far. Take twenty minutes to clean yourselves up and get something to eat, then we will begin." He nods to Elise, who shows the party to some washrooms and sends a guard to fetch some refreshments.
Twenty minutes later, you are led to another room that is essentially set up like a courtroom. Crawbert sits in the judge's position, looks over the gathered people to ensure that everyone is present, and nods. "Let us begin."
Mayor Crawbert is not fond of mockery; any check against him that employs the mockery tactic takes a –2 penalty. The mayor is, however, very fond of wit, and any check against him that employs the wit tactic gains a +2 bonus.
Mac leans in to Grevayne and Freyja and mutters, "Don't mock them. He seems like the kind not to take kindly to meanness. Be funny. Everybody likes funny."
Grevayne clasps his hands behind his back. "Are you much familiar with the legends of my homeland, Xa Hoi?" He doesn't wait for a response, knowing they likely aren't. "The Emperor and Empress of Heaven are Tsukiyo and Shizuru, respectively. Tsukiyo loved His brother Fumeiyoshi, but Fumeiyoshi was forever jealous of His brother's relationship with Shizuru. His brother never saw the attack coming; Tsukiyo was a god, and mighty, and besides, no danger could ever come from His beloved brother."
Grevayne settles a stern look on the advisors. "Fumeiyoshi slew Him with ease."
He turns back to Crawbert. "Just because a source of danger has never been able to penetrate your defenses before, do not assume it cannot do so."
2 edges remaining
8 determination remaining
Zane stands in response to Grevayne. He paces the room as he speaks, hands clasped behind his back. "That is a nice story, but he himself admits that it is only a legend. Here in Nirmathas we also have legends. One well-known story speaks of a man who impregnated a cloud against the cloud's will. Sometimes a story is just a story, Thom."
Thom gives Zane an admonishing look and shakes his head. "You'll have to do better than that. Grevayne's story has actual applicability in real life. Yours just makes teenage boys giggle. Try again."
Seneka Volstadt stands and walks forward. "Sit down, Solomon. You are right, Thom, that my colleague's argument was exceedingly stupid. We concede that. However, it would also be stupid to disrupt Longshadow's entire economy to prepare for a threat as weak as hobgoblins. This town has withstood invasions from entire Molthuni armies for decades. If you show fear to Longshadow's people now, half of them will evacuate and the other half will hunker down in their homes. Shipping will halt entirely. We will be bankrupt in days, Thom, you know this."
Grevayne raises an eyebrow. "And what are dead men going to trade? Bones? Maybe recipes for arthritis medicine? You are wildly underestimating one of the most dire threats to Nirmathas in recent history. Comparing the Legion to a normal band of hobs is like comparing a lizard to a dragon--an amusing image, but will ultimately end in you being eaten."
2 edges remaining
8 determination remaining
Seneka scoffs. "Look, Thom, they keep talking about how dangerous this 'army'" -- she makes air quotes -- "is, but where is the evidence? A couple of unfortified mining towns were sacked? My grandmother and her knitting friends could sack Radya's Hollow. We should send aid to these towns and help them rebuild, but Longshadow just isn't in any danger."
2 edges remaining
8 determination remaining
Aubrin shoots up from her chair. "You want to send aid? Send aid where? Radya's Hollow doesn't exist anymore! The only people in this room that have seen the army and see what it leaves in its wake are sitting right here. We have only barely escaped death several times and it is only because they haven't adjusted to taking us seriously yet. That won't last. The four of us can't do it on our own, Mayor. Dammit, Thom, you know me! I am a former Chernesardo Ranger! The same Rangers that the Legion has all but wiped out! Would I come to you with this if it wasn't a true threat? You ignore us at your -- and Longshadow's -- peril."
1 edge remaining
6 determination remaining
Garret Graygallow stands. "Thom, what are we accomplishing here? We are simply going back and forth, spouting the same arguments in different ways. I don't doubt that this Legion is well-organized, but so are you. Under your watch, Longshadow has withstood everything thrown at its walls. This time will be no different."
The mayor slams his fist into the table. "You are right, Garret. You keep saying the same things. Do better."
Grevayne ponders how best to approach this. They do seem to be going in circles, but how to break it? He's not great at debate, so he decides to double down on trying to make the mayor see reason.
"Mayor, as eyewitness testimonies have stated, the Ironfang Legion is far larger than some simple hobgoblin bandit horde, and by the letters from one of their officers--as well as firsthand accounts from good Nibbitz--you can see for yourself they are far better organized as well. The mere fact that they have magic capable of summoning a tower instantly is proof enough of this. As a lifelong practitioner, I can assure you such sorcery is immensely difficult and potent. This alone would be enough to make one pause, but their taming of magical flying beasts and siege engines of unknown strength make it even more dire. This is not a threat to be taken lightly, nor to let pride endanger your people as these men would have you do. Far too much is at stake."
Solomon Zane begins to respond, but Crawbert cuts him off. "I have heard enough. The threat may not be as dire as you say or as dismissible as my loyal advisors would suggest. My guess is that it is somewhere in the middle. However, you have shown me enough to convince me to act."
The advisors, to their credit, seem to know better than to argue any further once the mayor has made up his mind. They quietly take their seats and listen to the mayor's instructions.
Crawbert continues, "You lot clearly have significant experience fighting the Ironfang Legion. Longshadow would be in your debt if you would remain here and aid us in the defense. Any resources the town can afford are yours. I will provide a stipend of twenty thousand gold; use it to purchase whatever you need to bolster the defenses. Finally, you will each be given a retainer of five hundred gold; when this is over, greater rewards will be yours."
He stands and steps down, then shakes each of your hands. "Thank you for your cooperation. I have made a career out of not acting hastily. If you have any questions for me, I am happy to answer them. Otherwise, it is late; we should all get some rest and begin preparations at first light tomorrow."
Grevayne tries very hard not to sigh audibly in relief. From Mac's initial report, he wasn't certain the mayor would be amenable to reason. He takes Crawbert's hand firmly. "Of course, mayor. We are here to help as we can."
He tries not to think about the insane chunk of cash that just landed in their laps, not to mention the hoard of various trinkets and magic they'd accumulated over the past weeks. Maybe they'll actually get to sell some of it finally. He supposes he'll have to see to that himself, unless Freyja is willing. Mac still has some language barrier issues.
Mac, having spent basically the entire exchange with his finger digging at a particularly large, sharp booger, finally wrests free his prize and, after admiring its profile on the tip of his finger, wipes it absently on his pant leg before following the others.