Warden's in Wonderland (Inactive)

Game Master Kazmanaught

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It's always slightly jarring to hear Director Ratcliff speak. He had done his best to adopt an English accent, but no matter how much he tried, he could never quite shake the slight twang to his voice that betrayed that he used to be a Yankee. Exactly how he managed to get this position as Director of the Wardens of the Wyrd is not known. What is known is that he is a highly effective bureaucrat, and has kept the agency wound tighter than a watch spring for the past 8 years. It was under his leadership that the plot of the False Church was discovered. It was his trust in his agents that led to the recovery of the secrets to adamantine and mithril. Those of you who have been part of the Wardens for a very long time might remember that Ratcliff used to do all of the briefings before sending a team out on a mission. Not so anymore, the Wardens have flourished, and Ratcliff is far too busy to work directly with any particular teams.

Which is why it is such a large deal that the Director has personally arrived to complete your briefing on this assignment. He is a tall man, and shows evidence that at one point he might not have been underweight. Dark bags feature prominently under his eyes, and his spectacles are smudged. In the past year or so, his hair seems to have turned almost entirely grey, and has started to thin. But his grip is still strong as he shakes each and every one of your hands as you enter the room.

You are in the Warden's main London branch, the central hub for all Warden business. Some of you only had to come downstairs to reach it, whereas others had to travel from a different continent.

Ratcliff has files spread out all over his desk. Some even have your names on them.
"Thank you all for coming." Director Ratcliff says. He points to each of your in turn.
"Cassius Haigh, Naturalized American entrepreneur. Of particular interest to the Wardens due to his unique prosthesis, and the nature of how he came about it.

Margaret Elizabeth Sophia Victoria Hanover Erskine. Minor nobility. Caster of some accomplishment. Inventor. Tinkerer. A problem placed on my plate."

He looks up from his dossiers mildly. "Have I made any mistakes?"

After you respond, introduce yourself, crack jokes, or do other things that feel right
"It will all be made clear shortly why I have selected you for this mission. If I may have your permission to speak candidly?"

His fine suit had been specially tailored to expose his left arm, hemmed above the elbow. Its thick bands of muscle, transparent and artificial, yet alive, hide delicate machinery that wound over constructed bone. The thing was a marvel of engineering, ingenuity and technical know-how.

In its fist, he grips an unlit cigar, tight and impatient, occasionally bringing the stogy to his lips to gnaw and chew at the tobacco leaf. This was his chance, at last.

He'd paid a lot of money to be here, in this room, and soon it would all be worth it.

"Call me Cash," he says with a smile and nod, his Georgia accent spilling out. "Dollar Sign, if'n yer writing it. But I don't mind hearing it spoke, neither. 'S long as it's money." His grin grows, shifting the leather eyepatch he wears, a movement he quickly catches, reaching up to fix with his free hand, real and politely gloved.

His hand stays on his face as he crosses his prosthetic arm over his real one, idly tugging at a thick white moustache and short beard while the others are introduced.

Quite correct says Median, making a note to go look up the papers she wrote and read them.

I can't speak for everyone of course, but please do speak candidly. Is there a problem?

"I do so enjoy being called a problem at first meeting. It's refreshingly honest. Few men are willing to speak so frankly. Thank you, sir, for your exquisite compliment. You may call me 'that troublesome child' as you like in private, should I vex you. I'm quite used to it from the elderly and I shall endeavor to ignore any private colloquialisms that may inspire your continued good health." Magarett's smile positively glitters, her speech practiced and bubbly.

"We shall, of course, behave decorously in public, I trust? In turn I suppose I will strive to be vexing only to those who antagonize me, or as directed. I understand some of your responsibilities, and I certainly understand the unique challenges presented by my family. No matter what missives to the contrary you have received, I rarely start trouble, Director." she pauses a moment, finger against her lip as her face cools from the ingenue into something much sharper, and continues in a voice as cold as the winter alps. "I merely find, once trouble has found me, that I am obliged to finish it. I trust we shall have no difficulties we cannot set aside for Queen and Empire?" She smiles, once again the very picture of an idle noblewoman, but her eyes remain fixed on the Director.

After a moment, Margarett glances around the room. Recognizing Angus she tilts her head, the first honest confusion of the morning, then moves on. As her eyes pass across Ranveer she offers a slow and genuinely respectful nod to the Sikh.

"I do not know you sir, but I know others of your people, and I have found them wise, and kind. Truth, is eternal."

Having taken the train from Edinburgh to London the day before, Angus had stayed at a small inn near the Wardens London branch, so he would be refreshed from the long trip. Walking to the branch about a half hour before the meeting, Angus was pleased to see Ranveer Singh was one of the people waiting in the foyer. Walking up to his old friend he extended his hand. Seeing the bars on his uniform, he raised an eyebrow, " Havildar?" He smiled an easy smile. "guid for ye. I'm glad tae see they took mah recommendation"

A little later
As the door opened Angus stepped back and gestured towards it, inviting his Sikh comrade to enter before him. He had learned that his father and older brother were wrong. The 'Men of the British Empire' were not superior to their 'aboriginal wards'. From Angus' experience the Ghurka and Sikh soldiers he had served with were as competent, if not more-so as the Anglo's he had served with. Speaking softly as the Sergeant made eye contact with him, "ਅਸੀਂ ਇੱਥੇ ਸਾਰੇ ਬਰਾਬਰ ਹਾਂ."

Making sure he was the last one to enter the room, Angus sat down in the last over-stuffed high-backed leather seat facing the right corner of Ratcliffs mahogany desk. Nodding as the director introduced him, he waited as a few of the others spoke.

Looking at the American, Angus paused, wondering was he a confederate instead. The accent sounded southern, as the capitalist spoke, Angus wondered where the southerners loyalties truly lay.

Quickly looking towards the young woman named Median,he noted she was taking notes. Smiling slightly, he realized that he probably should have brought pen and paper as well. 'That's a good question.' Looking back towards the director as she asked if 'there was a problem.'

Before his mind could wander off to what that problem might be, the Viscountess spoke up. Raising an eyebrow as Margarett described herself as a 'problem.' The Director could have said many of the same things about him, but was she a problem? No, she was gifted. Turning towards the red-haired woman ? he chuckled at her response. As vibrant as ever, 'For Queen and Empire?' Cocking his head, Angus was pretty sure that she had a different view of 'Queen and Empire' than most. But after his experience in India, so did he.

Making eye contact with the noble lady, Angus realized he should probably say something. He smiled and gestured towards the well furnished office. "It's yer office director Ratcliff ye may speak however ye like." He unconsciously crosses his legs and tucked his kilt down. "I'm Angus Elphinestone, I'd hae described ma self as a passable shot an' competent duelist, but who's payin' attention, reit?"

He nods to Margarett and Ranveer, "It's good tae see a couple familiar faces." He looks across the room at the others. "I look forward tae getting tae know tha rest of ya."

Lionel had come in from his hunting lodge to London the evening before, taking one last admiring glance at the mounted heads on his sitting room's wall, the many-fanged maw of a death worm and the reptilian head of the mokele-mbembe in their places of honor filling him with pride. He gave his taxidermied chupacabra a rub on the snout for good luck as he walked out the door to meet the car he'd hired to take him into London.

He makes sure to extinguish his cigarette before walking into the office. He'd taken up the habit riding alongside a posse of cowboys he'd hired to help him track a cactus cat in the deserts of New Mexico and never stopped. He places it into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes off his hat as he takes a seat besides Cassius, his right foot on the opposite knee. As his trousers shift slightly the bottom of an empty thigh holster for a very large knife is briefly visible, the worn leather showing that it's clearly seen it's fair share of work.

When Margarett speaks Lionel smiles slightly. She could handle herself, that was for certain.

Lionel nods to Angus after he speaks, "Likewise. Now, I cannot say for certain if my reputation has reached the broader public, though I always hope it might've. I am Lionel Ravenstone, pleased to meet you all. It might seem odd to have found a calling as particular as mine, but my life's goal is finding the greatest beasts of creation, even some that seem to defy creation itself, and killing them in spectacular fashion. I am a hunter and a tracker before all things, and it is for those skills that I am here."

He gives a smile to Median, "I've read some of your work. Fascinating stuff. I've seen many of the properties of magic-infused creatures you write about firsthand while on the hunt"

Posting now, Ranveer, please feel free to respond to the earlier stuff as well.

"Lady Erskine, if I was not used to turning problems into assets, I would have long quit this job. I merely meant to say that you were intended to be a pawn by others to slow me down, as will soon be apparent. If I didn't believe in your abilities, you wouldn't be in this room."

Ratcliff stands, and closes the door to his office. He locks it, and then locks it again with a hidden knob disguised as a knot of wood. When he finishes, he sags for a second, before straightening, and returning to his desk.

"The Wardens," he begins, "Were not supposed to be a military organization. We were to deal with domestic affairs." He sighs. "We've gained too much influence too fast. The minister of defense would like to put us in our place."

"Your mission will be to provide reconnaissance and intelligence back from the unexplored areas of the fey wild. That information will be shared with the army, and they will proceed from there." He rubs his face with his hands.

"If only it was that simple. The minister of defense wants us to fail. I did not get to pick every member of this team to my liking. I was forced to bring in outsiders, mercenaries, and soldiers. Now. To say that I didn't pick the outsiders, mercenaries, and soldiers that I believed were most in line with our values would be in error. But I resent having our internal affairs muddled with, and I resent having to throw good agents after bad in a military endeavor that is at best, loosely related to the raison d'etre of the Wardens in the first place! Which is of course, to protect the good people of England from threats that are beyond natural."

"I have been instructed to tell you that you are authorized to make negotiations with any native fey you encounter. Off the record, that instruction did not come from Victoria herself, and as such, said negotiations can be ignored at the leisure of England." Ratcliff's eyes burn with an uncharacteristic disgust at the situation.

"This is politics, plain and simple. Keep the information I've shared with you under wraps. As far as anyone else is concerned, this is a standard mission. Don't let it worry you too much, the fey I'm sure will provide enough problems to keep you occupied."

"Any other questions before I send you off?"

Ninja'd (just) by our illustrious GM :)

At Angus' warm voice Ranveer straightens and salutes his superior officer with a proud smile;

"Indeed Sahib, your words carry the weight of the buffalo. I have endeavoured to justify those stripes over the last campaign old friend."

When the tall Scotsman bids him enter, the stockier Sikh nods with gratitude and steps into the room.

Standing easy he takes in a quick appraisal of the others assembled in the room.

Quite the motley assembly.

When introduced, he straightens once again, nodding his turbaned head in acknowledgment whilst replying in his heavily accented Queen's English;

"Foreigner? Forgive me Doctor, but I am a Sikh citizen of the British Empire! Unlike yourself old chap... if your accent is any indication."

At Angus' muttered Punjabi, he nods and smiles wryly before continuing;

"As a...wise... man once said; we are all equals here. You have described my talents, but failed to mention the proud courage that burns within. That, I believe is my greatest attribute."

He returns Margarett's bow, with his own reverent salutation;

"My Lady. Thank you for your honoured words. Truth, is indeed eternal, and please know I will endeavour to be as steadfast as my people's repute, for you and for our company."

Timed out of previous post... grrr. Continued:

Ranveer returns his gaze to the Director, his upturned moustache twitching as he mulls his words;

"Good Doctor, I have a question if you would be so humble to accommodate. The fey that we will encounter. Do you have any indications on their capabilities and numbers? Ever the soldier Sahib, I would know my enemy, as much as my allies."

"A fair point Mr. Singh. You are no more a foreigner than Mr. Elphinstone here, and quite a bit less than our previously American compatriot." Conspicuously, he doesn't mention himself, or his citizenship.

"My information is incomplete. I have been told that both time and space can stretch like toffee while in the feylands, and the situation could have changed in the time that we talked." The Director's tone makes it clear how bad an idea he thinks this whole thing is. "When you report to Fort Woodburn, you will get the most up to date data we have from the commanding officer there."

Margarett mulls the situation and then speaks quietly but assuredly.
diplomacy if needed: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

"We will do our best to return, alive, in this same number, and in good condition Director. I would request, for my companions sake at least, a writ to that effect, if you please. If we are to swim in the ocean beyond the Empire, best to have clear instruction to return and report to you to help smooth any undue appearance of immodest profit or traitorous ventures?" She smiles tightly, her eyes glittering, then continues.

"If the games you allude to are afoot, then having written instruction to return is almost certainly more important than written instruction to go. I suspect, if as you say we are meant to fail, that at least some of our interactions with the army may be misunderstood and the simplest remedy to such territorial disputes is the age old mantra of every loyal vassal since the dawn of Empire."

Her voice becomes clipped, clinical, and dreadfully bored. It drips with polite deference. "I'm sorry sir, but I must do my duty as I have been commanded, and my commands include orders to return and report to Director Ratcliff. I'm sorry I cannot answer questions, please direct your inquiries to Her Majesty's Wardens of the Wyld." She nods brightly, and shines the genuine appearance of being nothing more than a fresh and dutiful child, a head full of empty thoughts. After a moment, she adds in a gentler voice.

"Distasteful as I might find playing the part of the witless but obedient servant, it still sounds so much better than the alternatives. Accusations and confusion and general brouhaha that one might imagine could occur should some colonel somewhere decide his jurisdictional pride demanded concessions from you, or to" she gasps "interfere with our duly ordered duties sounds precisely like the sort of avoidable trouble you'd prefer we decline to engage in. Don't you think?"

"Admittedly, if you prefer we take the fun way...there are always more colonels seeking commission, are there not?" she teases.

Lionel scowls at the mention of politics. God, did he hate politicking.

Hearing the Director’s explanation of the situation at the fort lifts his spirits. ”So, you’re telling me that we are being thrown blind into another realm entirely, one crawling with unknown potential foes that we likewise know nothing about, all while the powers that be of the Empire intend for us to fail?”

He grins, ”I like those odds.”

"Thank you, Lionel" says Median. "I would love to hear some of your insights when you have time."

______

After Ratcliff briefs them on the situation, Median isn't sure of the protocol for when they will be leaving, so she says

"I must retrieve some things from home before we set out. Where shall I meet you?"

She guessed that one of the large stacks of paper in the office was articles that she had written. She planned to find whatever she could that addressed the feywild and read or bring it ... hiding was one thing, but endangering others was another. She needed to get up to speed for this mission and be as competent as possible.

Once again everyone feel free to retro-fill, I just like keeping things moving at a brisk pace in the beginning. If this is too much, lemme know, and I'll try and curb my enthusiasm!

"Well you see-" Ratcliff begins, before a loud knock on his door cuts him off. He grimaces, speaking low, and quickly, as the knocking continues. "We're out of time. There are other members of your group that I would rather did not return from the fey. Spies if you are feeling charitable, saboteurs if you are not. I told them we were meeting later, but..."

He goes to unlock the door.
"Ah, Brigadier Samwell, Lieutenant Colonel Fitzgerald, and The Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman Chantal Dupoint, what a delight to see you."

Revealed in the doorway is a fat man who looks like he's never seen a day of combat in his life, despite his shiny boots, and immaculate uniform, a flinty eyed man on his left with a grim expression, and a slightly less clean uniform, and an exceedingly attractive lady who you could just barely define as middle aged, wearing civilian clothing.

Feel free to make knowledge local or nobility checks

The fat brigadier speaks then. His voice is jovial, but it sounds like a velvet glove over an iron fist. "What's all this then Ratcliff? You've invited some of the team early, but not us? What are you planning you rapscallion?" he says, wagging a finger at him in a playful manner, but the undertone is clear.

"Many of these fine agents have traveled a long way to get here." Ratcliff responds. "When they arrived, I decided to show them some hospitality, and invite them for a cup of tea." Perfectly on cue, Ratcliff's assistant walks into view with a pot of tea, and several cups. "Not only that my good fellow, but as it turns out, some of them are friends from long past. It's good to put your feet up a little, and chat with friends before jumping into the wild blue yonder, no?" Ratcliff gestures at the LTC Fitzgerald and The Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman Chantal Dupoint will be joining you on your expedition."[/b] Ratcliff grins humorlessly.

The LTC nods his head respectfully, and the lady curtsy's slightly. Neither say a word, their eyes scanning the room, boring into anyone who makes eye contact with them.

ninja'd by GM Kaz, will edit
Nodding politely to the famous hunter, Angus was pleased to see that they had a first class woodsman. He raised an eyebrow as the hunter spoke about reading some of Median's work. Chuckling as his friend corrected the director about his citizenship. As the director compared Ranveer to himself and the expatriate American, Angus remembered that not that many generations ago none of his family wanted to belong to the 'British Empire.'

Not surprised that the director tried to sooth things over with Lady Erskine, Angus did appreciate his directness. Though he flinched a little when 'soldiers' were put in the same company as 'outsiders and mercenaries.' But his concern came with comments like 'would like to put us in our place' 'the army will proceed from their' and said negotiations can be ignored at the leasure of England.' More familiar with 'politics, plain and simple' than he'd like Angus watched the room for peoples reactions.

'I'm glad they sent for Ranveer.' Nodding as his friend asks a militarily astute question, Angus Turns and listens to Margarett maneuver her way through the shark infested waters. She was right, very clear orders to present would help keep the bureaucracy interference held to a minimum. Or at least as much as such a thing were possible. If our experience in India had been any occasion.' He smiled at Lionel's comment of 'unknown potential foes,' chuckling at the hunters conclusion. He looked to the Director when Median asked where they should meet, then interjected. "If we want a clue as tae what beasties we may find, just look tae our fairy tales." Thinking about the stories told about their own 'Elf in stone,' he added, "Not th' nice ones from th' Grimm brothers, but th' other ones from before."

Turning towards, Median, "I also have a chest tae fetch, mostly things I'll leave at th' base camp." Turning back to the director, "What are our means of transportation tae th' open fey doorway. An' what means of transportation should we expect in th' fey wild? Will we be afoot or on horseback? Remembering something else, Angus smiles, "Oy, an' could you add tae your letter of introduction, tha' any supplies we requisition tae be delivered posthaste?"

edit

Raising an eyebrow at the admission of 'spies', Angus watches as Ratcliff moves to open the door. Seeing the Brigaier and Lieutenant at the door, Angus jumps to salute waiting until one of them gives a somewhat casual salute in return. As the brigadier speaks, Angus realizes that it's Fitzgeraald and Dupoint that Ratcliff had been speaking of.

knowledge: local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

Cassius places his unlit cigar firmly in his mouth, idly chewing and gnawing at it as his new comrades chatter and make inquiries. Listening's one of the quickest way to get to know folks, he reckoned. Flipping open a notebook he fills in observations, his first impressions.

Ravenstone wants to be known and remembered. Could respond well to flattery.

The Director is frenetic. Hard to read, but busy and to the point both.

At a low point, Cash snaps his book shut and pulls the cigar back out of his mouth. "Are we expected to rough it or will accommodations be provided? A man of my refined taste is used to certain," his tongue lightly brushes his top lip as he draws out a pause, "comforts, when available. I like good food, good wine and good company, and I prefer to travel with my staff. Will they be permitted into the Fort with us?"

He claps Lionel on the shoulder with typically American over-familiarity. "But regardless of the state of our lodgings, I'm sure our master trapper here," another thump on the hunter's back, "will see we're well taken care of."

---

The American stands when the newcomers enter, offering a hand and a shoulder grasp to the men and a polite nod to the woman.

"Cassius P. Haigh," he smiles, eager to get to know the people he had just been asked to perhaps kill or maroon abroad.

K.Nobility: Thin Man, Fat Man, Attractive Woman: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 111d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 251d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Lionel shoots a glance at Cash. He was quite familiar with the American geniality, but this felt like a bit more than that, like a tool used by a man who never let an advantage pass him by. ”Though I’m sure that in Earth’s wilderness I might be able to compensate for however hopelessly might be able to get along in the wilds, the Feyrealm will hold dangers beyond imagining. All of us will need to pick up the slack, I’m certain of it.”

When the newcomers enter, Lionel narrows his eyes. This was assassination, pure and simple. The machinations of the sedentary nobility truly had no bounds. Even in another world entirely, there are those who seek to use it to advance their power.

Median had no idea who these newcomers were, but she could read a room. These must be the "spies" that Ratcliff had mentioned. "Did not return from the fey" was pretty clear. She just wondered whether she was supposed to be on Ratcliff's side, or who they were spying for. What motive was there for wishing death upon rivals?

She glanced at Margarett to get an idea about whether she was supposed to know these people or not, or whether she should directly interfere, but she didn't look too worried, so Median relaxed. No need for magic now, although it flowed within her and there was always that temptation to let it out.

Attempting to break the standoff, she said

"I'm so glad you all were able to make it. I have wanted a chance to pick this woman's brain for quite a while!"

Median, despite her ultra fashionable outfit that looked a lot more constricting, moved briskly and easily, grabbing an extra teacup and urging the female newcomer forward.

"Sit over here with me and tell me everything" she said, her earrings swaying as she guided the woman to a seat. "How have you accomplished so much in so little time?" Some vague flattery and a chance to play to the ego usually would get people talking. She hoped it would this time. She was interested to know what she was up against, and honestly still not entirely sure which side was right, although she guessed that Margarett would not lead her astray. That one was straight as an arrow.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23

As the officers enter Ranveer once again snaps to attention, and provides the obligatory salute.

"Sahs! Ranveer Singh. Havildar, 1st Sikh Infantry of the Punjab Irregular Force, sahs!"

He then offers a nod and prayer handed greeting to their companion;

"ਸਿਤ ਸ਼੝ਰੀ ਅਕਾਲ (Sat Shri Akaal) Most Honoured Gentleman."

The Sikh soldier then returns to stance in attention.

As the three newcomers enter the office, Angus recognized the woman, Chantal Dupoint, the only woman to become a member of the 'Order' and a former member of the 'wardens.' Since he had been seated beside Median, Angus turns to Dupoint, extending a hand he offers her his chair. "Ma'am." Stepping back near Ranveer, he smiles at his friend, wanting to tell him to be at ease, but he knew the soldier would just roll his eyes at him.

Raising an eyebrow as Median quickly broke the ice with some vague flattery, Angus smiled, 'Oh, she's good.' Looking at the group who had been in the room, he wondered what the 'Capitalist' considered 'roughing' it and what the 'hunter' considered 'picking up te slack.' But even more, he wondered why the Director did not want Dupoint or Fitzgerald to return from the fey wild. Accepting the saucer and teacup, he held it still as the assistant poured the tea. Smiling when offered sugar and cream, he asks winking, "do ye have a wee drop of scotch."

As everyone began to settle in, the fact that a Lieutenant Colonel had joined their ranks had not gone unnoticed by Angus. As he sipped his tea, he asked. "So let me make sure I understand th' particulars." He gestured towards the original group, "We six members of th' Wardens, will be working wi' two Leason, one from th' military and one from 'th' Order;' using th' 'fortified safe zone' already established as a base camp." He sipped the tea again. "Sae who's in charge?" He gestured towards the Lieutenant Colonel. "It's not a military objective, not technically speaking." He gestured toward Dupoint, before taking another sip of the tea. "Nor was this put under th' purview of 'Th' Order.'" He sets the saucer and empty teacup down on the matching mahogany lampstand. "So when th' shite hits th' fan." He pauses, giving his old friend a weak smile. "and you know th' shite will hit th' fan." He looks back at the director, making eye contact. Continuing, "who makes th' call?"

Edit: almost forgot
knowledge: local Brigadier Samwell: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
knowledge: local LTC Fitzgerald : 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8
Almost no point at all, unless you want to count the earlier roll to cover all three

Cassius stares at Angus with his one eye, body tense. If he understood the man correctly- and he wasn't sure he had -he had had the nerve to ask the question everyone was wondering, but bluntly and to the point. More than that, he had immediately created an us and a them for the newcomers to feel and be aware of, no attempt to ingratiate them into a sense of security or belonging. Interesting. He opens his book and writes

No fear of social repercussions.

Any luck on my Nobility roll of 25 on Bragadier Samwell?

Margarett’s lips thin at the admission that the director would prefer their companions be abandoned, and her tone is perhaps a bit sharp as she reiterates. ”I will see us all return, Director, and with that admission of dislike I really must insist on a writ to that effect.”. As the man moves to the door she stands and walks to the nearby desk and begins drafting a letter. When the soldiers enter the room she dismisses the general but gives the same respectful nod to the LTC she offered Ranveer. The last entrant holds her attention a moment longer, and she adds a few extra lines to her letter.

Folding the paper and putting it away, she joins the women at the couch, collecting a cup on the way by. ”Chantal, I thought you swore you’d never come back in the building! It is so wonderful to see you again. Now tell me, have you heard from Alice? Did you and she forgive Charles his atrocious behavior? Oh and I should sing your praises to Median, your work on stabilizing the dimensional door into a usable effect instead of a random twist of world lines was particularly brilliant. No matter the bungle Charles made of it. It really is too bad about the experiment. Why the order insisted on that numbskull supervising your work is beyond reason. Where is Charles, anyways? Oh horror, is he alone in your lab? Introduce your companion, oh. I would need to let you speak.”. She stops, to do so, just as Angus begins.

As Angus’s question drops into the sudden silence, she grimaces a moment, sets her tea aside, then composes herself and speaks quietly. ”Me, Angus. It’s why the director invited me, no doubt.” she tips her head, and smiles with genuine humor in Ratcliff’s direction before continuing. ”Mar still swears the old oaths, you know. Even if my father hates that I wasn’t born a son, he would never insult that bond, and none would doubt it. ‘For Queen and Empire, Truth Eternal and Glorious, Loyalty without measure, I Stand a blade and ward against the darkness, a Light to guide all Home, Last from the field in Victory or Death.’”. She shrugs, the words utterly sincere and spoken so easily she must have said them ten thousand times.

”A little melodramatic, I’ll grant, but you get the point, I’m sure. Now then, I’ll admit it would be helpful to be able to mend wounds at a touch, but as I am lacking in such miraculous powers as my ancestors, I trust we shall make do with weapons they could not dream of, ambition they would never dare, and the sort of steadfast stubbornness that hasn’t been seen in this world since Rome floundered. Oh, and exothermic reactions, of course.”. She waves her hand gently over her tea, bringing it back to warm, then sips it calmly before continuing.

”If the ‘excrement’, as you so delicately put it hits the faun, then we simply remove the faun, and return home. Whereupon we shall, no doubt, once more descend into the interminable discussions of who, and what, and how, the prizes of our many ventures shall be, accounted. Personally, I suspect we shall be told to keep our mouths shut, by which it will be understood that we may run our mouths as we like along established scripts that will be provided, or else become some other agent’s assignment. Of course, we may always stay silent and enjoy a cozy retirement.”. She sets the cup down and looks pointedly at the sealed briefing and the two older men.

”How did I do? I don’t want to chance a guess as to why we’re here before you have a chance to brief us, of course. This is just, how did you put it director? Idle speculation between friends, over a cup of tea. Ah, and mine is dry. Perhaps you might continue, while I refresh everyone’s cup?” She leans down to refill the tea, offering a cup to each of her companions including the two new members.

Ranveer accepts his cup with deference;

"Alas not a cup of Chai Masala... but still..."

He takes a sip, before nodding approvingly;

"Darjeeling if I am not mistaken. Good-good. Back to the matter at hand, rest assured I will adhere to Lady Erskine's most stirring oath on our mission."

The Brigadier leaves Ranveer standing at attention for perhaps two seconds too long. "At ease soldier."

Ratcliff seems to ignore Cash's question for the moment, having more pressing matters to keep his attention.

The Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman looks icily at Median. "We've met. I suppose you could have forgotten Ms. Zeroux. Although, I certainly have had the... experience burned into my mind." Her expression inscrutable, "Everything? What exactly would you like to know?" She sinks into the chair that Angus provided, without even a glance his way.

Fitzgerald speaks up, as Margarett finishes her soliloquy. "This is a group venture. The Wardens will have a leader, and so will the army. In important issues, the two leaders must come to a consensus. I have been chosen as the military officer for this operation." Glaring at the Viscountess, "If we are ordered to be silent, then we will follow our orders. To the letter."

Ratcliff butts back in, feeling a little bit unimportant in his own office. "In fact, I was going to wait until we were all here before I announced it, but Ms. Zeroux has been with the Wardens for the longest, as well as being here for purely research and expertise based reasons. Although," he says glancing at Median, "I would not be surprised if she had a few tricks up her sleeve, Lieutenant Colonel.

As such, her expertise and seniority makes her an excellent candidate for a leadership role in this important and sensitive mission. I'm sure the LTC will be invaluable in providing military insight if you require assistance for these things." As he mentions military insight, he looks directly at Angus and Ranveer, before turning to Fitzgerald.

"I'm afraid Lady Erskine, you were selected for this mission purely on your own merits, and has nothing to do with your father. By your speech just now, I am now quite confident that it was in fact, a correct decision on my part."

The Brigadier claps his hands together. "A woman as a executive? Of non-noble birth? Mr. Ratcliff, you certainly are an interesting character." He ignores the glare of The Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman Chantal Dupoint. "Shall we meet back at the train station in two hours? I shall be seeing you off.

Lionel takes a long sip of his cup of tea. Not bad, though coffee was his preference when possible.

He sits back, letting those with ambitions of state spar in their intricate way. Leaning over to Angus he says quietly with a slight smile, "Well said. I don't know about you, but I'd much prefer being mired in the forests of the Feyrealm to being stuck among the machinations of the factions of the Empire."

Not having a memory makes everything more fun. :)

At Chantal's comment, Median sighs.

"Of course not. In fact, perhaps we should talk about that later, privately. For now, I was just hoping that we could begin working together with a clean slate, if possible. I feel that you are making strides for womankind with your high standing, and I just wanted to take notes. More women with such prestigious titles is a move in the right direction."

_____

When Ratcliff announces her leadership position, Median puts a quelling hand on Margarett's arm, then stands and bows.

"While I was not expecting this, I accept, and thank you for the honor. There are of course many here with high titles and great importance to the realm, but perhaps I will be able to act as a neutral party, keeping our mission as the top priority while balancing other concerns."

She bows, and as the Brigadier tries to undermine her, she says

"Excellent idea, thank you, Brigadier. I'm sure some of us need to pack and retrieve things, or catch up. Two hours then."

She turns to the other women

If either of you need a place to wait, I invite you to my home, which is quite close. I need to retrieve a few things, and then we can take a carriage to the station together?

I sure hope Chantal isn't a vampire, since I just invited her over.

The level of prescience in this thread is sometimes frightening. Dupoint is no vamp, but has had close relations with the Van Helsing family...

Gonna give the others until afternoon tomorrow to respond, otherwise I'll keep the thread moving forward. Something that I'm interested in trying is using the discussion thread for less immediately relevant conversations, like the train ride to your location, there would be plenty of time to chat, build character interactions, or otherwise RP in ways that don't progress the story or current scene forward. As such, use the spoiler tag in discussion, and just @ the person you're trying to speak with. If it doesn't work, or clutters up the discussion thread too much, I'll figure out something else, but I like the idea of it, and will keep trying until I get something that works properly.

Raising an eyebrow as Margarett, interjects her opinion. He smiled, 'She's always been confident, and oddly enough usually right, I wouldn't be surprised if she is put in charge of the group.' He looks towards the LTC, 'Better her than him.' As she offers more tea, he shakes his head, it really was better if there was a little scotch in it. Smilng as Ranveer comments about it not being the tea from his homeland. Angus had enjoyed the Chai Masala tea, interestingly it also was better with a little scotch, especially after the battle in the desert.

Realizing he hadn't been focusing on what either Mararett or anyone else had been saying. He put his mind on the hear and now. Catching Fitzgerald saying something about Wardens having a leader and the army having it's own leader. Shaking his head, 'That means we do all the scouting and they come in behind us and do whatever they want.' Looking up at he director, Humans or not, Angus wasn't sure he was willing to watch Fitzgerald do the same thing in the fey lands that the east india company did there.

As Angus looked at Ratcliff the director interjected himself back into the conversation, explaining that Median would lead the group. Raising an eyebrow Angus looked towards the young woman. His smile widened as he saw Dupoints glare. but he couldn't tell what the Brigadier actually thought of the idea. Probably that it would just mean them failing even quicker. Wasn't that what he ultimately wanted, the Warders were taking glory from him, so he needed them to be brought down a peg or two?

Watching as Median stood and bowed and graciously spoke to the director and the Brigadier, Angus nodded, 'She certainly handled that well.' Deciding that someone else could 'play nice' he stepped forwards towards Median, extending a hand. "Congratulations Ms Zeroux." He furrows his brow, "Or is it 'Commander' or 'Sir' or some other title." He smiles, "I'm really guid at making them up, How's about 'High lord muckety muck?" He winks at the young lady, hoping she doesn't think the barbs are aimed at her,

Once the conversation is over, Angus turns to Ranveer, "I need tae fetch mah gear from th' hotel, I'll see ye a th' train station."

For a moment she is utterly disarmed. ”Ah, thank you director, Truly. ”. She nods, then is saved by the least likely, before the moment can become awkward. As Median offers respite she nods agreeably, relieved, then rushes to accept.

”Of course Median. I would love to see your home again before we leave, especially if you still have that painting of the cosmos, I know you left a good deal of your family’s things in trust, but even with the grounds closed you must still have the painting. That reminds me, perhaps we should check your bequest to the warden’s library? Or did you keep the merlinjournels? I know you were conflicted. Truthfully I think you have a point that we should not rely upon them, but even you must admit they are firsthand if colorful accounts of someplace that sounds quite like the fey. We can read aloud while you pack, it will be like old school times.”

She grins at Chantal winsomely. ”Come along and try to forget that Charles is alone in your laboratory. What’s the second worst he could do? Lose himself in the great beyond?”. Her tone is teasing, but not mean.

Ranveer too gives his congratulations to Median, albeit slightly tempered;

"You spoke well Lady Zeroux. I have faith you will show the same composure in the heat of battle."

At Angus' plan the doughty Sikh nods in agreement;

"Indeed Sahib. My own kit bag, weaponry and effects have been stored at Wellington Barracks where I billeted. I will retrieve them double-time and see you at the station."

The Sikh soldier turns to everyone and bows his head graciously in turn;

"Alvidā one and all until we embark upon this grand adventure."

Lionel stands and nods, "I shall retrive my bag and rifle and then meet you all at the station."

He can't help but smile as he leaves. The realm of the fey, a place of wonders and horrors beyond any imagining lay but hours away from him. Soon, he would test his mettle against beings unlike any he had seen before, and if Creation was willing, prevail.

Upon hearing Median chosen as the leader of their group, Cash winces, but claps twice for the girl.

It should have been him. All that money he'd paid.

But no matter. He writes a bit more in his notebook as the meeting concludes, plans to connect with the Brigadier, to tread lightly around Her Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman, and a scrawling aside to himself asking if he should try pronouncing lieutenant with the F like they did here or just stick to calling him LTC.

As the others filter out, Cassius lingers, pulling out a box of matches. "Now that the ladies are gone," he speaks to the Director and Brigadier, "do y'all mind if I smoke this? I've plenty to share if'n y'all are interested. With two hours yet before our train, I think it might behoove us to learn each other a bit better. Otherwise, Director, if you'd prefer I take this elsewhere, Brigadier Samwell, may I interest you in a quick visit to my estate or a smoking room? You seem the typa fellow a man needs to get to know, esspecially a man of our shared ambishin!"

He fishes out two other cigars, warmly spiced and tightly wrapped, and proffers them. Catching the Director's eye he smiles and asks, "And what's the verdict on my staff? Could I at least bring a valet?" He pushes a cigar into Ratcliff's hand regardless of invitation to smoke and talk.

Median listened to Margarett closely as she hinted, then responded by saying

"Ah yes, you are correct. Excellent idea. We'll pick up those journals from the library on the way out. We can't rely on them, but still, good information to keep in mind in case some of it is based in truth. And it will make for an entertaining trip, if nothing else."

On the way out of course several people wanted to make an impression on the new leader, so she made an effort to be gracious.

Median shook Angus' hand, tempted to choose "High Lord Muckety Muck," for the humor value, but knowing that she was likely to be undermined at every turn, she decided she should hold the line.

Smiling she said

"Thank you. Technically, I believe that either 'Mission Leader' or 'Senior Warden' would be correct with regard to titles, and "Lady Zeroux" is correct if you would like to use my last name in a formal setting. ... And I am always happy to be referred to by my first name when we're in a less formal setting. I am grateful to have you on the team."

Turning then to the next person waiting to catch her eye, she listened politely to Ranveer and responded

"Ah yes. I, of course, would prefer to avoid battle, but you are quite right to expect it. I will endeavor to be prepared and as composed as possible."

As soon as they were free of the crowd, Median allowed Margarett to lead the way to the library, and she found, luckily, that one of the keys on her office key ring served to open the locked case that contained several journals by someone named Merlin. Wrapping them carefully and placing them in her bag along with several published papers which had her own name on them which she found in the same area, she then led the group (if Chantal chose to accompany us) to her home, which was less than a block from the grounds.

Gathering up a few additional things that her former self had authored before her descent into evil, she found an old trunk in the closet in which she deposited everything. Moving it to the front hall, she then went upstairs to pack her clothing and other essentials for the trip.

DM, is it okay to have that stuff as just storyline stuff, or do you want me to add it to my equipment and pay for it? I'm cool with it either way... just wasn't sure which you preferred.

Leaving it open for more story stuff at my house, but also totally cool with me if we move on to the train.

Yes Median, go ahead and grab that stuff as story related instead of paying for them.

The Most Honorable and Distinguished Gentleman Chantal Dupoint looks at Median askance. "Thank you for your offer Median, but I have things to gather myself. Pray tell, do you remember when we got tea at The Leaky Pot? Do try and bring the object that I gave you then, it may prove useful for this expedition. Au revoir mon amies." And with a swirl of a flowery perfume, she bustles out of the room

As Cash is the only one who remains in the room with the Brigadier and Ratcliff, he is the only one who sees the Brigadier's grim little smile. "But of course Mr. Haigh. It would be rather boorish of us to deprive you of your usual accommodations while you are doing this valuable mission for Her Majesty, wouldn't it? Bring as much staff as you'd like." He takes a cigar.
For the sake of moving on, any further discussion between Cash, the Brigadier, and Ratcliff can be in the discussion page with spoiler tags. I'd love to see how this goes!

A few hours later...
A busy railway station. Yet very few people get on the train going straight to a small town in the middle of Northumberland, the small town of Woodburn. People meet up, get on the train, and settle in however they can for the around 6 hour ride. Notably, the Brigadier does not arrive, but Fitzgerald and Dupoint do.

Feel free to do some train RP in discussion as well

Woodburn is a small town, so it's strange that there is a train line that runs directly to it. This line, known as the Woodburn Run, is not open to the public, and is reserved for her Majesty's Wardens, to expedite materials being sent to or from London. Speed is of the utmost importance when dealing with eldritch materials.

After a short walk through the woods, a small brick shed stands. Opening it will show that the shed has been reinforced with a concrete interior. Standing in the center of the shed, is a gnarled arc of wood, seemingly woven together out of branches. If you walk behind it, and pass through, you will still find yourself in the shed. But if you walk through from the front you find yourself somewhere else.

The experience is disorienting, nausea inducing, but when you finally finish walking through the short distance of a single step across the threshold, you find yourself stepping from a similar wooden arch built into the side of a wall. The air is strange here, and the sky seems to be overly saturated with a shade of blue. People bustle around busily, but stop to salute you. A few dozen buildings seem to be erected. In the distance, a sharpened log wall can be seem.

A rather disheveled looking man appears to have been waiting for you. His facial hair is patchy, his clothes raggedy, and he seems to smell slightly of... smoke? It's hard to tell. He smiles gratefully when he sees you.

"Welcome to Fort Woodburn. The names Alexander. I'm supposed to show you around, although it looks like we might need to do another recalibration of the clocks. Any of you got a pocket watch?"

'Mission Leader, Senior Warden, Lady Zeroux or by her first name, a least we have options. Nodding politely, "Well Lady Zeroux, I was gettin' tired o drinkin' and gamblin so I'm pleased tae be aboard. We shall meet ye at th' train." turning towards the door as Ranveer spoke to Median about his confidence in her ability, Angus smiled to himself. 'A little white lie. I may run out of money, but I'll never get tired of drinking or gambling. But I am excited to see the fey wild and learn about some of my heritage.' He looked back at the Cassius, the Director and the Brigadier. 'Maybe help keep the fey lands from becoming the mess India did.'

Realizing Ranveer was moving his way, he turned to his comrade in arms. 'At the Wellington Barracks, that makes sense I guess, I'm not sure any of the Inns, or at least reputable inns, would have given him a room.' Nodding to Ranveer, "I'll see ye at th' train." Giving one last look at the three gentlemen still standing in he room, watching Mr. Haigh pass out cigars. 'Now what's he up to?'

Leaving the hotel with a porter who has his 'luggage' stacked on a dolly in tow, Angus made his way to the train station. Leaving his Chest on the Walk to be loaded in with the cargo, he shouldered his rucksack and headed to the passenger car.

As they unload in the town of Woodburn, Angus heads to the freight car he unloads his chest and 'requisitions' one of the two dollies on the car. Asking the ladies. "Do any of ye ladies want tae place your luggage on th' cart?"

As they move through town, the dolly handles the brick streets just fine. But as they hit the small trail through the woods, Angus frowns, fighting the occasional bump. "After buildin' a railroad tae this wee town, I'd have thought they would have paved this path by now."

Finally getting the dolly to the small brick shed, he followed the others through the gnarled arc of wood. Holding down the lunch he had eaten on the train. Looking up at the sky, he almost failed to return the salute. Noticing the buildings, he made a mental note to ask if they would need to set up their own tents or if quarters would be supplied. Seeing the raggedy looking man approach, Angus reminds himself to focus. Hearing the mans introduction, Angus parks the luggage ladened dolly, Pulling his pocket watch from his jacket with his left hand. "I've a watch, sir." extending his right hand to Alexander. "Angus Elphinstone, Mr ? Alexander." Raising his eyebrows in question, wondering if 'Mr' was the right term or if there was some other title expected.

Angus has a watch, what time is it? How is Alexander dressed? If he's in uniform, what would his rank be?

Margarett breathes deeply of the fresh air and seems almost energized by the change in space. ”Ah, what a lovely smell the unknown has. Full of freedom and ambition and.”. She stops as she takes it all in, then finishes in a slightly wry tone. ”bureaucracy.”

As the salutes and rubbernecking grows, she speaks in a firm carrying voice. ”Carry on, the empire abides and you’ll hear from your officers in good time.”, then turns her attention to the new arrival as Angus greets the man. ”A tour sounds lovely, but perhaps without the baggage?”

Lionel arrives at the train platform with surprisingly little, just a well-made leather pack on his back and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He wears khaki trousers and a deep green twill jacket, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth.

To anyone with a sense for magic, the bag is enchanted, and along the train ride Lionel produces a truly baffling amount of survival equipment, checking each piece of it to make sure it’s in good condition.

Once they reach the portal he grins widely and mutters, ”And so begins the hunt to end all that came before it.” He checks his bag and rifle one last time and steps through the arch.

Like Margarett he takes a deep breath of the air of the Feyrealm though his take is markedly different. ”Freedom? Certainly. But bureaucracy? No, this place looks like an attempt to impose our order in a land that stands as it’s antithesis. I simply cannot wait to see what lies outside of those walls.”

Unlike Lionel, Ranveer's framed pack has not enhanced qualities, it functionality and well broken in straps speak of campaigns upon the back of the doughty Sikh. He too is dressed in khaki uniform with regimental brass buttons gleaming in contrast to the dull iron breastplate he wears o'er the top.

At his hip lies an ornate silvered blade; the Kirpan a traditional Sikh curved dagger alongside a standard bayonet. Slung over his shoulder the British Indian Army issue Snider Enfield rifle. A small bucker and punching dagger sit strapped to the laden pack.

When they arrive at the destination, Ranveer readies himself and his gear before following in the wake of the less encumbered trailblazers amongst the company.

As he takes a breath of their new realm and its hued sky, the Sikh nods and smiles at Angus;

"Blue is the colour of warriors Sahib... A good omen. We belong here."

When the group are hailed, he hangs back, letting others better suited to conversation take the lead.

Median loads her trunk and a couple of suitcases onto the dolly.

"Thank you, Angus. That is very thoughtful."

After going through the arch and arriving at their interesting destination:

At Margarett and Lionel's observations, Median observes

"Best to be cautious though. No one should go wandering outside the walls alone. I agree that it is an interesting prospect, but let's remember that the wilds are dangerous, untamed by bureaucracy as they are."

Directing her attention to the disheveled man she says

"Where shall we put our belongings?"

Lionel laughs and says to Median, ”Finding a land untamed by bureaucracy was one of the great draws of this mission.”

Cassius boards the train with a mere three servants, a valet, footman and maid. Everything he needs has been packed for weeks, ready to grab and go at the drop of a hat. And that's just what they do, carrying his luggage, stowing it, and politely sitting down out of earshot but still within raised voice distance.

Upon entry to the Feywild, he is all smiles. "I could bottle that sky and sell it," he says with no small degree of sentimentality.

Cash offers the month, date, year and day of the week to Mr. Alexander also, "just in case things are farther off than you were expecting."

He itches his neck with his cold glass arm, unable to take his eyes away from the sky, its iridescence, the clouds in the shape of a school of fish. "Look, there's a child with a rod and reel, casting a hook into the water, and and, the fish even got gills!" he points out to his staff, giddy as a schoolboy.

Originally in this post, Cash compared the clouds to tinned sardines, but apparently, the timeline on pull tabs is significantly more recent than I imagined.

Historical games are fun because I also end up looking at articles like the history of the can or the origins of denim.

Alexander is in rather comfortable looking practical plain clothes. He did not give you a last name.

"Just Alexander," he says absentmindedly as he takes Angus's pocetwatch. "Hmmm. Time dilatation of approximately 73 minutes. Interesting, that's a pretty large jump. Perhaps the magical fields of any magic items you brought with you could have impacted it." He refocuses on the matter at hand. "Yes, welcome to the fey wild! I know the first trip over can be quite disorienting. We've got a barrack all set up for you, and a separate room for the ladies. I'll send someone over for you all in a few hours, once you've settled in to brief you on the situation if that's quite all right with you, sirs and madams?"

Alexander, would it be possible to have the briefing now, or at least a general overview, so that we can think about approaches to the problem while we're getting settled in? Getting all the information that you have up front will help us make better overall decisions.

"Yes indeed operative Zeroux." The man's face turns grim. "This land is beautiful, but don't let the superficiality of it deceive you. It can turn on you in a heartbeat." He points to a man running by with an axe. "This area used to be forested. We clear cut it, then we scorched the earth, but the damn trees keep growing in here anyway. And it's not just a matter of keeping the area clear. Trees that grow back in here are nasty. They move when you aren't looking at 'em. A bunch of birches killed one of my best mates while he was sleeping by knocking down the barracks. So now if any tree's seen inside the perimeter, we dispose of it ASAP." He continues. "We've had very little contact from the locals, and that bothers me more than you can imagine. A curious elf or two used to stop in, and see what all the fuss was, but they've stopped recently. Days and nights ain't the same here as they are other places. They seem to happen a bit randomly, and all at once. Ifin it's night, it goes to noon in about 2 minutes, and if it's noon, it goes to around Midnight, best we can guess. And during the nights, in the distance you can hear flutes. We sent a man to check it, and he didn't come back. So we sent 3, and none of them came back either. And so that was about the end of scouting for a while, until you lot were scheduled to show up." He takes a deep sigh. "Our best scout went a bit mad. He was gone for as best we can reckon about 3 of our days. Said he saw a great river, and across it was a completely different land. Said he met the Lilly Queen, and her rival, the King of Clover. Said we were just at the edge, and we shouldn't try going further in. Wrote down a bunch of strange notes in a journal he brought back with him. Wouldn't let anyone else read it, said it wasn't ready yet. Then one night, he vanished. Right outta the camp. Hard to say what happened to him really, could've been anything. I like to think that maybe it was something nice." He shrugs. "But I doubt it. Anything nice here is probably more trouble than it's worth. Like a wild rosebush. Pretty, but not all that nice to touch."

An impossible, mishandled, political quagmire is what this is, Median thought. But what she said was

"Thank you. No one is to go beyond the walls alone. Settle in, meet back here in three hours. Alexander, I assume that you can provide maps of what has and hasn't been explored, to the best of your knowledge? I'd also like a specific map of where the tree attacks have been if possible, and if there is a record of what that scout said... exact quotations or writings. I want everything, rumor, half-truths, guesses... everything. You have anyone raving about seeing things that aren't there, get him to that meeting so we can all hear it. At the meeting we will discuss and plan our first incursion.

Ranveer eyes the perimeter as he listens to Alexander's exposition.

"I take it this scout took his most coveted writings with him into the night Sahib?"

The Sikh mulls his next words, turning to the others;

"Of the missing soul, if stolen, it was an act of war by those who took him. If he left of his own free will, then he is a deserter. Regardless it should be dealt with accordingly should the opportunity present itself."

In my mind, this would have happened before we spoke with Alexander
Turning to Raneer, as the others shared bits of wisdom or knowledge or past experiences with each other, his old friend pointing out what he perceives as a good omen. Blue is the color of warriors?' Angus looks from his warrior companion to the LTC standing in his British red coat. He blinks several times, reaching to his face he rubs his nose with the back of his hand to cover a sly smile. Doing his best to keep himself at just a smirk. He leans into his friend nodding his head towards the LTC. "I Believe ya are correct; Jus' don't tell th' Lieutenant Colonel "

With Alexander
'Probably one of those scientific types.' Nodding politely as the apparent civilian returns his watch. "Just Alexander it is then." Smiling at the man. "Helper and Defender of mankind, I guess if your not goin' tae use a title, 'at would be th' name to have." Turning towards the barracks that the man indicated, Angus considered whether he wanted to billet with the others or set up his own officers tent.

As Median insists that the civilian fill them in on details immediately Angus listens carefully, Raising an eyebrow at the idea of killer trees. That would probably make sleeping in his tent a little more dangerous than he'd like. As Alexander continued with his description, several of the ideas fit the stories he had heard from many of the servants growing up. Nodding in agreement as Median and Ranveer asked for material that will prove helpful, Angus paused thinking about he men themselves and what may have happened to them. Turning as Ranveer spoke about the reasons the man may have left the Scotsman considered many of the stories he heard.

Turning to Ranveer, "Sargeant it may not be as simple as 'at. If th' man was approached by a nymph or a dryad he may not have been able tae resist. 'at wouldn't reflect th' desires of th' actual leaders of th' fey. so I donae think it would be an intentional act of war." He gestures the general direction of the wall. "I think if they wanted ta make war on us they would send more than trees an' boggeymen in th' night."

He turned back to Alexander. "Might we have a full description of th' men who disappeared? An' maybe some personal information from one of their friends, so we willnae be fooled by any fey mimicin' 'em." Looking toward the hunter, he add "An' can Mr Ravenstone an' meself search th' quarters of yer missin' scout?"