As the longest day of the year approaches, the nation of Cormyr prepares itself for the upcoming Midsummer celebrations. The last year had been a tremendous drain on both the coffers and the spirits of this stalwart nation, but one could hardly tell by the numerous decorations that had been set up all throughout the capital city of Suzail. Caravans bearing fruits and spices from places as far away as Calimshan and even Chult made their ways into the city daily, bards positioned themselves at every major intersection to spread the spirit and cheer of the holiday season, and the city’s temples had turned out a significant portion of their clergy to bring the message of hope and prosperity to even the poorest of neighborhoods. Foremost among these temples was the Temple of Lathander, situated at the very center of Suzail’s temple district. The temple itself was of grand design, opulent and marvelous to all who witnessed it. Stained glass windows covered each side of the building, each one depicting a scene of Lathander’s light in a different way but each one as awe-inspiring and magnificent as the next. The roof of the temple had been covered with gilded tiles to catch the light of dawn and even possessed a pair of enormous skylights situated directly above the pulpit at the head of the main prayer hall intended to amplify the radiance of noon within the home of the Morninglord. The clergy of Lathander had been tasked with helping to prepare for the tournaments and athletic competitions that were to take place during the Midsummer celebration, but such labor was reserved only for the lowest ranking of the priesthood. Those with more investment in the church had a much more important task at hand, and one of a much darker consequence than anyone would ever want surrounding such a joyous event…
The orcs had come from the King’s Forest to the northwest. That much was known. What was not known, however, was where they had amassed their numbers and, more importantly still, where they had acquired the strange dark magics that they had used to destroy the outlying villages of Pembrook and Dalamere. Only two weeks before, the two villages had been quiet farming communities on the southern border of the King’s Forest and now they were little more than smoking ruins, picked dry by the raiding orcs and the vultures that arrived in the aftermath. It was not until the caravan that visited the villages on a weekly basis noticed the smoke on the horizon that the villages were even known to be lost. Immediately, the Purple Dragon Knights had responded by sending a pair of armed men to investigate along with one of the War Wizards’ apprentices. Their group had discovered a small band of orcs with strange markings covering their bodies and had met them in battle only a few miles south of where the villages had once stood. The small band put up extraordinary resistance, killing the knights and badly wounding the apprentice before he was able to flee.
Upon hearing the apprentice’s account of the battle, Grand Marshall Luthien Galbraith of the Purple Dragon Knights immediately made arrangements to form a group of adventurers well-suited to meet the task. First and foremost, he called to the local wizard’s guild and requested someone more capable than a simple apprentice to aid in this investigation. The guild responded by providing a young but capable illusionist by the name of Anain Cuthnor.
Next, the Grand Marshall told his scouts to venture into the King’s Forest and find someone who knew much of the trees and paths, someone capable and learned in the ways of nature. To this end, they brought forth a young woman called Aynsley Morrigan, a self-styled pathfinder who knew well the lay of the land.
A scout was not enough, however. If the true source of this evil was to be found within the woods, then the party would need someone who had battled the evils that laired there for ages. They first turned to the elven communities nearby but could find no one able-bodied enough to meet the challenge. Finally, in the depths of the woods, the Marshall’s scouts discovered a small group of drow. Initially believing that these drow may somehow be involved in the wickedness that had plagued their nation, the scouts quickly came to understand that these drow were guardians of the wood and meant them no harm. From their numbers was sent forth a young half-breed cleric of their moon goddess. Her name was Riann Kirahel.
Finally, the group assembled, Grand Marshall Galbraith turned to his own order for leadership. Any one of his knights would serve well at the head of this group, but given the nature and depth of the evil that his nation now faced, Galbraith chose one most pure in heart and soul, a young Purple Dragon Knight errant who sought to earn his station amongst the true knights. To exemplify this standard, Galbraith chose a Paladin of Lathander by the name of Thelen Mallory.
Offering the group a lifetime a gratitude and no small amount of money for their efforts as well as the glory of serving the mighty nation of Cormyr in a time of need, Galbraith brought the group of adventurers before him only a tenday before the Midsummer celebration was to begin in earnest. Our story begins in a stone room within the Purple Dragons’ keep in Suzail that Grand Marshall Galbraith calls home. The walls are adorned with the standard of Cormyr, prominently displaying the crest of the Purple Dragon on all sides. The group stands before a mighty oaken desk of exquisite craftsmanship where Galbraith sits rigidly, dressed in his officer’s uniform and bearing a look of consternation and urgence. The floor is unremarkable save for a thick purple rug which the adventurers find themselves standing upon and the room’s chairs are arranged in a circle along the walls. Windows on either side of the room admit ample light during the daylight hours, casting the shadow of the iron bars used within them across Galbraith’s features.
“You all know why I’ve brought you here,” the Grand Marshall begins as soon as the last of the group has entered. “We are faced with a dire threat, a wickedness born of orc blood and foul sorcery. The apprentice that survived the encounter with these orcs reported that they employed some sort of magic that he was unable to interfere with nor identify. The devastation present where Pembrook and Dalamere once stood attests to the strength of these orcs. However, our scouts and diviners insist that the group responsible for this destruction cannot possibly number greater than a dozen. We feel that your group should be capable of dealing with this threat before it reaches the outskirts of Suzail itself and preys upon the villages that we depend on for sustainence. If any of you have questions, now is the time to ask.”
He rests his hands on his desk, looking at each one of the adventurers before him expectantly.
The young half-drow frowns delicately, her long graceful fingers toying absently with the silver moon-and-sword pendant at her neck as she thinks. A heavy feeling of disquiet churns in her abdomen at the idea of orcs wielding dark magics. And what were these markings that supposedly marked the flesh of the raiders? She doesn’t like the sound of this at all...
She allows the symbol of the Dark Maiden it to fall back to her chest, where it brushes lightly against the delicate silver fabric of her gown before coming to rest. Her ice-blue eyes, when they meet the Grand Marshall’s, are deeply troubled. "Is it possible for you to describe these body markings to us?" she asks in unaccented Common. "In fact, perhaps an interview with this apprentice War Wizard would be helpful. I personally would like to hear the account of his experiences, and from his own lips." She glances briefly at Thelen Mallory, searching for a sign of agreement in his face, before returning her attention back to the Grand Marshall. "Has he recovered enough from his ordeal to meet with us?"
Galbraith nodded at the half-drow's question.
"Yes, Dorin is better now thanks to the Lathanderite clerics. I can arrange a meeting with him in relatively short order once we are finished here. Unfortunately, I was not present when the knights encountered this group and did not obtain any such description of the markings from Dorin when we spoke earlier. I have nothing to offer on the nature of the markings, though I presume they are likely tribal brands of some kind." Galbraith furrowed his brow a moment in thought, then shook his head slightly and looked back up at the others, seeming to expect further questioning.
Thelen stands rigidly at proper attention throughout the conversation in respect to his superior and the fact that this is a military mission. He shifts somewhat and scowls at the description of the atrocities to the northwest. He mutters something about, "Let's see how they do when there's someone who can stand up for them." and comments along a similar vein on more than one occasion.
Thelen stands firmly and confidently in the room, but when he speaks kindness and compassion fill his voice. He is a mass of splendor in shining metal. He stands 6'4" tall in stunning full plate armor with a heavy mace at one side, a repeating crossbow on the other, and a greatsword across his back.
"We must with all due haste deny these vile beasts the opportunity to visit more atrocities upon our noble people. We must go forth and stanch this blackened river of evil from the land before it gains nary a fingerhold of sway or dominion. We will indeed sir blight the darkness and send it whence it came in such a manner as no more shall follow. We shall not fail to remove from the land those who seek to besmirch it with their bloodthirsty ways."
"Sir, where do our esteemed military intelligence officers believe these rank spawn of all that is evil to be? Once we have a description of these runes, are there any local sages who might, in all due speed, provide us knowledge of their meaning and power? Is there transportation at our disposal or, due to the festivities at hand, shall me move forward on foot?"
"Shall we," he barely contains himself with disgust at the next, "take one alive?" With a much happier, more vigorous tone he continues, "Or shall we smite them until their very marrow runs in rivulets into the soil they have ruined?"
He does ask these separately, but this is the general pattern. He does take time to look around for everyone to have their input (so long as they speak up) before making further grand statements.
The Grand Marshall smirked at Thelen's exuberance and nodded along with his statements before answering the questions presented to him.
"The last known location of the orcs was about a half-day's journey south of Pembrook village. That puts them a day's walk west of Suzail. However, the last report of their location was nearly 5 days ago. They could be closer or farther than that. We do not know for certain. Surely you should be able to follow them by their wake of destruction though," Galbraith trails off slightly, obviously concerned about the fact that more people were dying as they spoke. "You will have to travel by foot. Our stables have turned out every able-bodied steed we possess to help with the festival's preparations. What few remain are needed for patrols closer to the city itself. I am sorry."
"As for identifying the marks upon the creatures' skin, that is what Anain is for." He gestured to the young mage. "The wizards' guild has assigned him to this task to provide for any arcane knowledge you may need. Failing that, perhaps Riann will know something of these markings if they are religious in nature. Her people have spent a great deal of time in the woods. Perhaps they will be something that she has seen or heard of before?" The Grand Marshall raised an eyebrow in the priestess' direction, almost seeming to shrug as he did so.
"I see no need to return with one of the foul creatures. The festival of Midsummer will be upon us soon and having one of those disgusting orcs around might diminish the glory of the holiday. Best to be done with it in the field. If you manage to take one alive, get what you can from it and then slay it before you return," Galbraith visibly resists the urge to spit on the floor as he speaks. "No sense in showing mercy to such despicable fiends."
Scowling with curious disgust at Thelen's choice of words, Aynsley sucks the last of the taste of the spiced festival fruits which she had purchased from a street vendor and eaten on the way from her teeth. She takes a moment to stare at the Grand Marshall's pensively placed hands.
The slender young thing stands favoring one leg, which juts a hip to the side. Her loosely curly hair (just the same color as rust) is pulled back from her face in an unforgivably messy French braid. Her arms are crossed in such a manner to suggest apathy and aloofness. In fact, her entire disposition, from the look in her hazel eyes to the way her eyebrows flatly betray her perpetual annoyance, seems to tell you that she feels like this shouldn't have to be her problem.
Sadly, it is the first impressions that count the most.
Aynsley purses her lips and gives the peplum of her leather jerkin a tug. "Yes, I agree with the dark one." She gestures idly with one hand towards Riann. "Bring us the caster. I refuse to make any decisions without hearing a more personal account. And besides," with a sigh, she turns her gaze to the paladin and shoots him a flashing, sarcastic grin, crinkling the freckled skin at her eyes. "I'd like to see if it's necessary for us to be this... dramatic."
The Grand Marshall nodded to Aynsley after hearing her words and smiled.
"Yes, arranging a meeting with Dorin will not be difficult. Assuming there are no further questions, we may proceed to that meeting presently," Galbraith raised a questioning eyebrow in Anain's direction as the mage was the only one who had not yet spoken.
Thelen stands quietly waiting for the others to complete their queries.
As he does he feels a tinge of sadness for the young lady who so obviously doesn't understand that the loss of life, especially that of his countrymen is dramatic. He debates for some moments delivering a persuasive lesson on the topic that might enrich the soul of this one, and possibly others in the room, but decides in the end this would be better served at another occasion. Instead he chooses to ignore the light insult as words from the unintentionally ignorant should be. He begins thinking of the moments of glorious battle that are sure to come presently and smiles a bit.
Riann’s eyes seem unusually dark as they settle upon the paladin, and her delicate white eyebrows draw together, almost into an expression of sorrow, as her clear blue eyes trace the lines of his armor and then pause searchingly on his face. Her gaze is very direct, and penetrating, yet lasts only an instant before she flicks a strand of long white hair over her shoulder almost angrily and turns away.
She sighs almost imperceptivity and then takes a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes for a heartbeat and lightly touching the fingertips of one hand to her pendant. Every muscle in her body seems to relax, and then she draws in a second deep breath and straightens to her full five and a half feet and returns her gaze once again to the assembled.
It is not to Thelen she looks, but to Aynsley, her clear, intimate gaze seeming to seek something in the woman’s expression, some small hint of attitude or intent. A small, surprisingly sweet smile ghosts across her lips, and then her eyes shift purposefully to Anain, raking piercingly over the young mage, as though trying to know his thoughts.
Finally, she nods at the Grand Marshall, and quietly asks, "this Dorin is here, then?"
Galbrith raised his eyebrows to Riann's question and shook his head slightly.
"Not here in the complex, but here in the city, yes. He has returned to his duties with the Magus Alton Demere. We can certainly find him at the guild hall and I'm certain that Magus Demere will take no issue with our request to meet with him once again."
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Anain patiently waits for the others to complete their queries and posturing. He yawns with a small amount of irritation at the paladin's lengthy and somewhat trivial interest in impressing everyone one in the room. "Sir," he says as he softly smiles at the Lord, "Can I ask you a question? I mean no disrespect towards you, your plans, ideas or this galiant and faithful organization. Am I understanding correctly that these orcs have destroyed two villages? If that is so, I am not quite sure that the four of us, however well suited (he motions approvingly to the other three chosen for this task) we might be, can face such as this with a.... positive and desirable outcome." As he finishes his comments, he thumbs at his finely groomed mustache and straightens himself calmly while waiting for a reply.
Galbraith nodded gravely at the young mage's statement before replying.
"It is true that these orcs are indeed a powerful force to be reckoned with. However, we have it on good authority that the clan numbers no greater than a dozen and that the only reason we believe the villages fell so completely was because no able-bodied men or women were there to defend it. They struck in the dead of night and used their magics to set fire to many of the homes there before the occupants were even awake. According to Dorian's report, the knights and himself were able to kill one of the ones they encountered as well. Given the experience and reputations of you folks, I trust that this should not be beyond your capabilities."
The Grand Marshall leaned back slightly in his chair before continuing.
"And, quite frankly, you're all we've got. The Purple Dragons are concerned with the immediate safety of Suzail, especially with caravans coming and going each day. Many of our forces have been dedicated to localized patrols to ensure that the orcs are not headed this way. Others are assigned to guard caravans to their destinations. Still others have been assigned to the city guard to watch for thieves and brigands. Truly this situation could not possibly come at a worse time. It is by Tymora's grace that you all were found and brought to us so quickly. Surely the task I have given you will be challenging but I believe in each of your abilities to accomplish what lie ahead," the Grand Mashall smiled warmly, a look of hope washing over his features.
"If there are no other questions, follow me to the guildhouse and we will meet with Dorian before you leave town," Galbraith waited another moment to ensure that all questions had been answered before standing.
Anain sighs under his breath, nodding in acquiescence to Galbraith.
"As you see fit." he says as he bows ever so slightly at the hip. "I suppose that is all for now. I am interested to speak with Dorin and examine the deceased orc." He casts a quick glance over at the others to see if they have anything else and nervously wrings his azure colored robe in his sweaty right hand. Without trying to cause a stir, he quickly scans the room for any intricate details, noting to himself he will likely never be in this room again.
"Feels like a suicide mission to me." he thinks quietly to himself. "And who is this lot I'm in with? I must've angered the Guild Master again, curse Tymora's miserable hide! No more than a dozen? Bah! Since when can a small group of 12 orcs devastate 2 villages so completely? I am willing to bet....." he trails off as he realizes he must have a discontented look on his face. He lets go of his robe as he feels someone might notice he is a bit nervous, then immediately takes to rubbing his hands together.
Riann interlaces her fingers and calmly rests her hands on her stomach, then nods to the Grand Marshall. “I personally have no further questions either, at least not at this time.”
Turning slightly so as to include all within his statement, but sitll managing to give preference to his superiour, Thelen says, "Indeed then, onward. The sooner we complete the interview, the sooner we can joyfully complete our noble quest."
His mother, the diplomat's, lessons learned well, he outwardly projects confidence and calm along with an appropriate reverence for those who have been lost to this menace. While these expressions are entirely sincere (since he has a hard time being anything but), Thelen is also truly excited by the opportunity to test his skills, as well as the honor of the mighty Purple Dragons in an effort to save the land from these orcs.
The Grand Marshall smiled and rose from his desk chair, stepping wide around the end of his desk, the ample fabric of his clothing offering a quiet swish as he did so. "Very well then, follow me."
Galbraith led the group out of the room he had briefed them in and into a wide and well-lit courtyard populated with all manner of fruit-bearing trees and numerous flowering plants. The courtyard smelled richly of lilacs and magnolias as they crossed the span before entering a cloister that framed the perimeter and walking out through a small corridor that emerged onto the city's streets.
Suzail was a fine and beautiful city by the standards of most men, but as the Midsummer festival approached, the city gained a life of it's own. Fruit vendors had positioned carts along major thoroughfaires, selling strange and wonderful fruits from far away places. Craftsmen of every trade hawked their wares from the intersections where the common folk often trod, selling everything from fine cloaks to halberds. Bards could be found nearly anywhere in town, singing tales of summer love and the glory of the fields or strumming merry tunes from a lute. The air of joy and expectation that permeated the noble capital of Cormyr was practically tangible and not even the dark cloud that loomed just beyond the horizon could hope to dampen the spirit of hope.
A few minutes of walking placed the group before a large cylindrical building bearing a pair of purple standards absent the crest of the Purple Dragons. This was the home of the War Wizards of Cormyr, a guild of master tacticians and military spellcasters who frequently lended their substantial talents in support of tasks other than warfare in order to better the society of Cormyr in whatever way possible. Galbraith made his presence known to the doorman upon entering who then retreated to bring forth the Magus Alton Demere and his pupil, the recently traumatized but seemingly recovered Apprentice Dorian Burke.
"Thank you for allowing us a few minutes of your apprentice's time, Magus Demere," the Grand Marshall said to the older man in the dark red robes.
"Of course, Marshall. Dorian has weathered the experience quite well and I know that his knowledge may prove of some worth to your team," the Magus gestured to the group assembled before him. "By all means."
The Magus smiled at Dorian and nodded approvingly before returning upstairs to his studies. Dorian himself remained downstairs with the group. The lowest level of the guildhouse was largely unremarkable. A few young men and women dressed in plain robes much like the deep red ones that Dorian wore studied quietly at the tables nearby, seemingly unaware or uninterested in the visitors. Their robes were all tailored in the same fashion but had been dyed in differing colors.
Dorian smiled somewhat meekly at the group and nodded to the Grand Marshall. Galbraith returned the smile and placed his hands together before speaking. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is Dorian Burke, the mage who travelled with my knights on the first investigation. You may feel free to ask whatever information of him you wish. Unfortunately, I must return to my work. You may seek me out at the complex when your business here is concluded. Dorian, I appreciate your willingness to offer assistance to our cause. You will make a fine War Wizard someday."
The Grand Marshall bowed slightly and nodded to Dorian, then to the group, and left via the door they had entered. The young mage stood before them, a boy no older than twenty, with a nervous smile on his face as he glanced from face to face. Finally, he seemed to relax a bit before speaking. "Well... what would you like to know?"
The young mage stood before them, a boy no older than twenty, with a nervous smile on his face as he glanced from face to face. Finally, he seemed to relax a bit before speaking. "Well... what would you like to know?"
Still standing as a gleaming beacon in the room, shows a somewhat softer side than the others had witnessed earler. He says in a gentle, but confident voice, "Feel at ease Dorian. Your deeds of bravery have done your countrymen proud. Perhaps we could sit off to the side at one of these tables." He indicates a table where (hopefully) we all might fit that is the farthest away from others in the room. When we are situated (at a table or not), Thelen continues, "Thank you consenting to meet with us on such short notice. Moving forward without knowledge of what you have seen and experienced, our questions are likely to seem unnecessary or out of order. It might be best if you take a moment and share your story first, though it may be difficult. Unfortunately, second hand accounts have a disturbing tendency to unintentionally leave out critical details."
He leans back a bit with a patient look on his face and waits for the young man to speak.
The boy seats himself at a nearby empty table and furrows his brow a bit in thought before responding.
"The three of us were riding out into the fields south of Pembrook village. It was dusk and we were about to finish our patrol for the night when we spotted a glow near a thicket of trees. At first we thought it was a campfire. One of the knights I was with, Devin was his name, approached on horseback while the other knight and I stayed back, readying our crossbows."
Dorin pauses, seeming to search his memory for a moment and furrows his brow again before continuing.
"Devin was struck by an arrow, I think. I couldn't really see in the dim light of the hour, but he fell backwards clutching his chest. That's when the orcs rose up from the ground and charged us. They were all much darker than normal. Maybe it was the dim lighting that made them seem darker, or perhaps my own fear, but they did indeed seem almost black. Their eyes were wild as they ran at us, hurling spears and wielding axes, and their skin bore strange markings the likes of which I had never seen before. The other knight and I took aim at the first one and fired in unison, bringing him to the ground, but there must have been another half-dozen or so," Dorian swallows, squinting his eyes as he tries to recall the event. "They speared the other knight's horse. He fell from his mount and stood to face the orcs with his sword. I paused, thinking that I would use my magics to help him but he told me to flee, to return to Suzail and tell everyone what had happened. That was when one of the orcs began casting a spell. He directed it at me just as the other orcs fell upon the second knight. It was not a spell I recognized and I have not been able to find a similar incantation in all the tomes I've searched here at the guildhouse. It was only by divine providence that I managed to survive it's effect, whatever it was. It chilled my soul as it washed over me, sickening my body and weakening my limbs. Like it was trying to smother me. Something most certainly evil. I fled at great speed immediately afterwards. I could not think of turning back to face whatever evil the orc commanded. When I reached the walls of Suzail, I nearly collapsed from the unholy fatigue I had been afflicted with."
Dorian paused again to moisten his lips before speaking. "That is all I remember of the event. It was terrible and brief. I am sorry I cannot tell you more."
Anain seats himself across from the boy and waits politely for the others to seat themselves as well. With a ever so slight sigh of relief, he adjusts himself in his chair and looks about the room. Now out from under the bright glare of the Magus and Marshall, he seems to relax considerably.
Looking at the boy, he smiles and says "I admire your courage and bravery in the eye of such retchedness. Bless Tymora for your safe return and continued service to the citizens of Suzail and dare I say, Cormyr herself." With the pleasantries out of the way, Anain gets down to the questions he really wants to ask. "Can you describe the markings on the orcs you saw again, please? Seeing the tragic and dire circumstances you were under, I understand you were only able to but glance. Really though, anything you can offer us could be of great importance."
Anain waits patiently for the mage's reply, playfully pulling at the sleeves of his blue robes.
Dorian tilts his head to one side in thought, knitting his brows together as he attempts to recall the details requested of him.
"The spellcaster had the most markings, that is certain. When he cast his spell, they seemed to glow all the way up his arms and on his hands. I recall seeing a crescent moon on their foreheads. All of them had that one. I... I can't recall anything else. I'm sorry. The lighting was just too poor for my eyes," the mage slumps a little with an apologetic look on his face.
Riann's smile is gentle as her gaze embraces the young mage. "There is no need to apologize, Dorin. You have done extremely well, especially considering the nature of the threat you faced. The foes you encountered sound as though they were fully capable of ripping you from us, just as they did your companions (may they rest in the rapture of the infinite). I thank Eilistratee for your safe return and your recovery, and pray that those who fell that day now reside safely in the arms of the gods. Without your account, we would be walking to face this threat nearly blind. And so I thank you."
Her white eyebrows draw sharply together and she bites her lip pensively. "Now, I must say, this crescent moon you mentioned disturbs me somewhat, as I am sure you can imagine." She glances down with a wry yet concerned smile at the sword-and-moon necklace resting against the silken folds of her gown. "It might be a symbol of their--well, I hesitate to say 'faith'--of their vile religion, perhaps. Or perchance a clan marking of some variety..." Immediately disregarding her own cult of Eilistraee as a possibility,
Riann thinks for a moment, twisting a strand of hair idly between two fingers, then continues. "Probably the latter. I do no pretend to be an ultimate authority on such matters, but I do not believe the marking is religious, at least not for orcs. Or if it is, I have not heard of it. Far more likely, then, it designates a clan affiliation. Although... a clan wielding such magics is... disconcerting, to say the least. Does anyone recognize the magic used on our friend here?"
She nods tersely toward Dorin, then looks at him more deeply. "You are fully recovered from the spell, correct? If so, do you know how precisely you were treated, if treatment was required at all to alleviate or remove these effects of fear and physical weakness you report having experienced? Even if we are unable to identify the spell itself, perhaps this will shed some light on the variety of magic it was that so afflicted you..."
Aynsley leans coolly against the back of a chair, listening intently to the goings-on. She scans her mind thoroughly, trying to recollect any and all information she knows about the area in question and its denizens.
"We are all in agreement that this attack was staged, correct? It isn't as though you accidentally stumbled upon someone's leisurely camp and made the wrong person mad... These Orcs were there with the intent to kill and your men just happened to get in their way. Are we of the opinion that they plan to move on the towns?"
She scans her mind thoroughly, trying to recollect any and all information she knows about the area in question and its denizens.
In response to Riann's questioning about his therapy, the young mage responded.
"I was taken by the guards to the Temple of Lathander. I managed to tell them to fetch Marshall Galbraith before I lost consciousness. I am told that he arrived to make proper arrangements for my treatment. It took a bit longer than usual to recover from such a spell, which I can only assume must've been some form of Necromancy, but I was able to fully regain my strength due to the blessings of Lathander's clergy. I was released from the temple two days ago to return to my studies here and Marshall Galbraith agreed to assume the debt I had incurred to the church. That is all I know. Unfortunately, my knowledge of priestly magics is somewhat limited. I could not begin to tell you what spells were used in my treatment, but I do know that they appear to have been effective."
Dorian smiled at that statement, looking to the paladin with a thankful nod to the symbol of Lathander that he wore.
Riann's expression brightens somewhat. "It was a priest who treated you? Perhaps then am familiar with this spell which afflicted you..."
Anain nods at the other's questions and looks again at Dorin. "If you had to guess, and I'm quite certain you do, where do you think the orcs are now? I believe Necromancy may rightly have played a part in the weakness you felt, but without actually seeing the spell being cast, I can only hazard a guess myself." he says quite distinctly.
With a look to Thelen and the half-drow, he says quitely: "I'm not sure what else we can hope to glean from poor Dorin here. Unless you have some more questions for him, I believe my inquisition (smiles) to be over." With this, he starts to stand and shake Dorin's hand.
Thelen is appreciative of the young man's assistance and also thankful to be moving to action. He speaks, "Indeed! And thank you young Dorian for your kind and timely assistance. We shall now go forth and fell the mighty evil that attempted in vain to send such a fine young man to an early grave. They will regret the day they entered our lands with murder in their hearts. But they will only regret it for a short while--as long as it takes the blood to course in freedom from their fetid flesh."
After pausing for a breath, he continues in a somewhat calmer tone to the others, "Are further preparations necessary for either of you, or shall we be off on our urgent quest?"
Still feeling underprepared, Anain looks at the paladin after he shakes Dorin's hand. "I'll need to pick up a few more rations if we're to be out in the wilds for more than two days, but other than that, I believe I am set." With a nod to the others, he motions as if ready to leave.
Dorian smiles and nods as he receives the handshake from his fellow mage. After Anain speaks, Dorian chimes in.
"It will take you nearly a full day's ride to reach the spot where we were attacked. If you plan to travel by foot, I should think it to be twice that time. There is no telling where the orcs have moved from there. They could be closer, but it seems unlikely as we would've certainly heard something from the patrols by now."
Dorian furrows his brow a bit in thought for a moment, then sighs and shrugs slightly, clearly at a loss for what else to say. He smiles again to the group.
Riann raises a slender eyebrow at Anain and comments somewhat flippantly to Aynsley, "If it is as Dorian says and our enemy lies less than a week's journey from this place, between the two of us we should have no difficulty foraging food from the bountiful generosity of the divine."
She then pauses for a moment, before laughing gently at herself and her folly. "However, we also should take care not to fall guilty of overconfidence, either, as I seem to have done." She nods briefly at Anain. "You're right, a few extra rations would be wise. We should not waste undue time foraging when we should instead be making haste to intercept our enemy. Yes, I too would like to purchase some rations for the journey."
"Agreed then!" adds Anain casually. "While I'm sure that both of you are more than capable of gathering some very tasty delicacies, I would like to investigate this matter of the orcs with some sense of urgency. I do not prefer the taste of rations much though; maybe after we've investigated this band of maruading pigmen? I would very much like that."
"Unless we're forgetting something, I would like to gather my things and prepare for travel. Shall we proceed by equestrian means or (sighs) shall we trust our own appendages to cover the distance?" Anain says as he looks at the now quiet paladin.
"As the Grand Marshall indicated every able bodied horse in the area is currently in use, we are, sadly enough, limited to our own 'appendages' as you say. Let us gather our things and be off on our noble quest."
Also, what time of day is it currently?
Riann grins at Anain. "Yes, when we have proven victorious against our foes, perhaps there will be time to enjoy the fruits of the field and wood. Although I warn you," she adds playfully, "should Aynsley and I succeed in slaughtering a hare or perhaps even hart for our hoped-for victory feast, it would be wise for another to prepare it. Compared to the charred remains of what passes for cooking in my hands, the dry tastelessness of rations may seem like a queen's feast!" She glances over her shoulder to see who is coming.
Anain snickers and cracks the long, bony fingers on both hands at once. "Well," he says as he smiles at the paladin, "one can always hope that the Grand Marshall wasn't correct, but I suppose THAT doesn't happen very often does it?" Anain follows Riann as she leaves.
Walking beside her he speaks: "What good is wild game then, if you can't cook it? Bah, I'm sure you're better than most! And besides, I'd give anything to be able to even get close to a beast of the field or forest. My experience is limited to having them run away as I get within 100 yards. Must be my striking good looks...."
Aynsley snickers to herself, but it turns smoothly into a smile for Riann. "Let's not get ahead of the game with hopes and dreams of feasting, shall we? ...And as for you, Anain..." She moves towards the door, tossing a wry look back over her shoulder. "You think too highly of yourself. Worry about your skill with steel right now, not women."
She pauses then, and turns. "It's a metaphor, you understand."
Anain gives Ansley a half smile from the corner of his mouth. "Ahh, my sarcasm is not lost on the lady, I see. Unfortuantely, I fear my skill with a blade is on par with my looks. I might be able to overcome a baboon wizard on a good day with my meager skills of the arcane, but only if Tymora smiles on me." Anain stops and gives a quick half bow to Ansley, then continues walking, happy to have new folk to converse with.
The morning passes without incident as the group readies themselves for their journey and exits the city through the western gates, heading out into the vast fields beyond. Numerous houses dot the landscape, often accompanied by great expanses of grain fields and an animal pen for retaining livestock. The summer breeze is warm and moist, carrying the scent of poppies and woodsmoke from the west.
Several hours pass by uneventfully and the day begins to draw to a close. The party notices fewer homes and fields now that civilization has been left well behind them. They tread upon a rough and overgrown path barely distinguishable from the untamed grass surrounding it, a pair of wagon furrows the only indication than any man has ever passed this way before. Eventually, that path turns north towards the place where Pembrook Village had once stood. The party continues west per Dorian's instructions and leaves the path behind them.
Another two hours pass and the land has settled into night. The travellers are weary and road-worn, having walked for nearly 12 hours with hardly a pause. Surrounded by dry grass as far as the eye can see in any direction, this seems as good a place as any to set up camp, though precautions must be taken to prevent a brushfire if a campfire is to be had. The dimness of twilight limits the vision of those not accustomed to the night. The shadows are no obstacle for young Riann, however, as her drow eyes easily acclimate to the moonlight.
Anain sits down on the long, soft grass and stretches his arms and legs with a quiet yawn. After a moment, he stands up and looks about the country side. "Is this spot okay with everyone? I'm not too sure about camping here in the open, but I'm not exactly a tenured wanderer either. What about a fire? I can't wait to dig into these rations..." he says with an obvious smattering of sarcasm. Excited to be on an adventure (of sorts) and glad to be in the company of new and differant people, Anain looks forward to some well deserved rest and conversation.
Riann surveys the area, her pale eyes penetrating the darkness. "It is a warm night. We have no need for a campfire’s warmth and we’ve no meal to cook besides. I know some of you may simply need the illumination, even with Eilistraee’s light shining down upon us, but I’m worried that a fire may draw our enemies to us if they have managed to advance this close. However, as I am not similarly hampered, I will leave the decision to those who are. For now, I suppose I will prepare a place for me to rest."
Leaving the others to discuss and work out their own campground arrangements, she sets her pack gently on the ground near the spot where Anain sits and begins to lay out her bedroll, shaking it lightly to ensure that any insects, dust, or bits of rock, leaves, and grass fall away. Then she plants her bastard sword in the dirt beside her bedroll, removes her mithril armor and drapes it over the sword’s hilt, and sets her crossbow and dagger atop her pack. Finally, she slips out of her gown, and mindful of the delicate fabric and the sharpness of her dagger and completely oblivious to any reactions such strange behavior may incite in her companions, folds it gently and lays it on top of the weapons resting on her pack.
Clothed in naught but moonlight and the silver emblem of her goddess, she glances up at the moon. "Now is the time of my goddess. It is my habit to commune with Her via the Evensong before praying for the blessing of Her magics. The Evensong is normally a private affair, but if any of you are curious, you are more than welcome to watch."
And with that, she strides off into the darkness to find a place a little away from the din of the campground to seek Eilistraee and pay Her homage.
Thelen finds himself watching with both appreciation and amazement as Riann removes. He blushes slightly as he becomes conscious again of his surroundings and tears his eyes away. He turns to grant her privacy (and is thankful for the 'privacy' his armor currently gives him :) and surveys the land around. As she says that she is going off by herself he says (while looking respectfully away), "My lady Riann, though I certainly have great respect for both your privacy and independence, it may not be safe nor wise to be going off alone under these conditions. Someone should stand watch near you to insure you are not interrupted in some heinous manner. If none other should wish the task, I will gladly consider it my appointed duty to venture forth with you. If you would, however, feel more comfortable with one of the others, I completely understand." He wants to be respectful and supportive, but feels it is a bad idea to have any of us wander off alone, regardless how good the reason may be.
Either after they return or if he is not going, Thelen decides he must, of necessity sleep unarmored, though he both regrets the idea and feels it might be a mistake. Since he can draw his sword for light if necessary and feels it would be better not to draw attention on these plains at night, he is fine without a fire. Though it has been some time since he was away from the comforts of nobility, he finds it refreshing, in a way, to be 'testing' himself once more and living as those less fortunate often had no better choice than. He looks to see if there may be a way to provide some sort of defense or alarm in the area. After 'securing' the area as best he can (and directing the others as necessary), he reqests some assistance in removing his armor. He is clearly grateful for the help and attempts to strike up a conversation with whomever obliges, preferably regarding their views of nobility, royalty, diplomacy, or healing, as appropriate.
"My lady Riann, though I certainly have great respect for both your privacy and independence, it may not be safe nor wise to be going off alone under these conditions. Someone should stand watch near you to insure you are not interrupted in some heinous manner. If none other should wish the task, I will gladly consider it my appointed duty to venture forth with you. If you would, however, feel more comfortable with one of the others, I completely understand."
Glancing over her shoulder at Thelen as she departs, Riann smiles a little. "I would certainly appreciate the extra protection you offer, as well as the company. Come then. Let us find a quiet place where we can see the moon unhindered."
She finds a place away from the noise of the camp and tilts her head up to Eilistraee's light, oblivious to any and all who may be watching her. As her eyes trace the familiar interplay of brightness and shadow on the moon’s surface, she begins to hum lowly, her voice a deep rumble in her chest. The sound is nearly inaudible at first, and more drone than song, unvarying in both pitch and volume.
But as the priestess begins to meditate upon her day, the drone begins to change. It ascends in volume, morphing into a soft, wordless chant. It’s rhythm is slow and concerned as Riann remembers traveling into Suzail to meet with the Grand Marshall. Her eyes at this point are slightly unfocused, as though she isn’t completely aware of her surroundings.
However, as she recalls learning of the orcish threat, her expression changes. The soft tranquility tenses into outrage and the chant changes as well, becoming more staccato and rising in volume as the song dances angrily between three octaves of notes.
Then, as she remembers Dorian’s account of his ordeal, the music calms to a softer, more lyrical tune, with a gentle mixture of compassion, determination and an undercurrent of righteous anger flowing through it and through the lines of her body and within her eyes.
The song gradually slows and weakens somewhat with the remembered weariness of a road-weary traveler, until it slips almost imperceptibly back into chant, then droning hum. At last, the song fades into silence and Riann is left, utterly relaxed and at peace, staring up at the moon. Her eyes are half-lidded and a small smile graces her features before she sinks gracefully to the ground, kneeling in the moonlight and beginning to silently offer praises to Eilistraee and pray for the blessings of Her magic.
After an hour or so passes, she rises slowly, brushing grass and dust off of herself and turning toward the distant camp. "I'm hungry," she comments. "Thank you for joining me, but let's get back to camp now, eat, and perhaps get to know one another a bit."
Thelen seems happy to be of assistance and follows behind to offer his protection. Once arriving at the spot of her choosing, he stands carefully chooses a spot where he will have vision of the area around, but also not be a distraction to her. He then stands alert and at the ready, hand on his sword and scanning the nearby area for danger. He allows his senses to extend to their sharpest, listening and watching intently for any hint of danger. He takes his role as protector very seriously and respects those greatly for whom he views himself as responsible. His attitude here is in sharp contrast to the 'presence' he radiated while in the city, but no less powerful in it's own way.
He finds himself moved by both the woman and the song and after Riann approaches him and they are on their way back to camp he says, "Lady Riann, that was truly one of the most moving examples of..." He seems to struggle for the word and finally settles upon something that seems far more basic than he would prefer, "...music that I have experienced. I am honored that you have allowed me to accompany you and duly apologize if I have intruded in any way by overhearing. Truly we all speak to the divine in our own way and clearly Elistrae's power works within you."
When they arrive back at camp, Thelen will work to make any minor fortifications or alarms he can, ask for help in removing armor as previously mentioned, and then offer to take whatever watch is convenient. Last watch may make the most sense so that he could stand it while armored. That and it will allow proper homage to the Morninglord.
When they arrive back at camp, Thelen will work to make any minor fortifications or alarms he can...
"Lady Riann, that was truly one of the most moving examples of..." He seems to struggle for the word and finally settles upon something that seems far more basic than he would prefer, "...music that I have experienced. I am honored that you have allowed me to accompany you and duly apologize if I have intruded in any way by overhearing. Truly we all speak to the divine in our own way and clearly Elistrae's sp?power works within you."
"To be honest," Riann replies, sitting down upon her bedroll and crossing her legs under her, "your presence did not distract me at all. You were very quiet and considerate, and I thank you for it. Those who so easily respect the followers of Eilistraee are few and far between. We have much misunderstanding yet to combat, and it is always a relief to encounter one who does not appear to be full of misperceptions and prejudices."