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A week ago there was word from the mountain regions bordering Isger, a small settlement of trappers was destroyed by a force of ogres and orcs. There were many survivors who fled the massacre but all tell of horrible tales of torture and public executions that they were forced onto each other. The leaders of this force where not savages, they where humanoids in finely crafted armour, who spared the survivors at the expense of their comrades. The next town has been named Berol, and outraged the council of Andoran has tried to amass a force to fight off this menace. They have recruited all the known adventurers in the region into a mercenary force that will fight a small contingency of Andoran troops. The town inhabitants have been evacuated to the next town in the region, Riverfalls, a small elf community. The attack was said to be in 1 day.
Jonin unsheathes the sword that someone pressed into his hand. He looks up and down the sword's blade and glances at Skaw..."I told them I'm no good with one of these." The cat rolls his eyes and looks away.
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"Then what are you good at, stranger?" quips Bane, as he makes a few practice swings with his heavy mace, the plates of his armor clanking noisily.
Bane waits a few moments before continuing.
"Since we shall be fighting together, it's best we know each others' names so at least when the fighting starts I don't have to shout: 'Hey, stranger!'"
"I am Ezekiel. But for brevity's sake, call me by my family name: Bane."
"I've business elsewhere so the sooner we finish this little war the better."
Straehan looks around at the empty town of Berol. With the locals evacuated, and only a small military contingent remaining, the eerily under-populated place seems haunted. While he is inclined to introduce himself, he's had enough unpleasant run-ins with provincial militias that he finds it difficult to approach them - even when he is nominally supposed to be fighting beside them.
He notes there are a few unusual looking 'characters' in the swirl of Andoran military men. He ambles over to one, a tall (relative to Straehan) half-elf holding a sword as if it might be feather-duster. He says jokingly, "The pointy end goes in to the person you are fighting. I'm Straehan." He holds out his hand to shake as is the local custom.
Jonin looks up from his musings on the sword to see an odd sight. Standing before him is a tall and handsome gnome without the usual vivid coloring of his race. His long hair is blue-black, matching his expensive robe. His skin is light, almost pale, and his expressive mouth is framed by a blue-black goatee. His eyes glitter an unremitting black. Over one shoulder he is carrying a duel set of bandoliers bearing a half dozen daggers. The gnome raises a quizzical eyebrow at Jonin, waiting for his hand to be shook.
Bane's approach and comment evokes an amused smirk from Straehan. He offers his hand and his name, "Feel free to shout 'Hey, Straehan' in my general direction, Bane."
Straehan laughs. "One step at a time! I think the pointy-end bit might be all our new acquaintance can take for the moment."
"Then what are you good at, stranger?" quips Bane, as he makes a few practice swings with his heavy mace, the plates of his armor clanking noisily.
Bane waits a few moments before continuing.
"Since we shall be fighting together, it's best we know each others' names so at least when the fighting starts I don't have to shout: 'Hey, stranger!'"
"I am Ezekiel. But for brevity's sake, call me by my family name: Bane."
"I've business elsewhere so the sooner we finish this little war the better."
"Well, I might make our enemies as proficient with a sword as I, among other things. The name's Jonin Sheld." he says, "Well met Bane."
Straehan looks at Bane seriously, gauging how his profession may sit with his new acquaintance, "No. I'm a Sorcerer... dagger-throwing is more of a hobby."
Straehan looks around at the empty town of Berol. With the locals evacuated, and only a small military contingent remaining, the eerily under-populated place seems haunted. While he is inclined to introduce himself, he's had enough unpleasant run-ins with provincial militias that he finds it difficult to approach them - even when he is nominally supposed to be fighting beside them.
He notes there are a few unusual looking 'characters' in the swirl of Andoran military men. He ambles over to one, a tall (relative to Straehan) half-elf holding a sword as if it might be feather-duster. He says jokingly, "The pointy end goes in to the person you are fighting. I'm Straehan." He holds out his hand to shake as is the local custom.
Jonin looks up from his musings on the sword to see an odd sight. Standing before him is a tall and handsome gnome without the usual vivid coloring of his race. His long hair is blue-black, matching his expensive robe. His skin is light, almost pale, and his expressive mouth is framed by a blue-black goatee. His eyes glitter an unremitting black. Over one shoulder he is carrying a duel set of bandoliers bearing a half dozen daggers. The gnome raises a quizzical eyebrow at Jonin, waiting for his hand to be shook.
Bane's approach and comment evokes an amused smirk from Straehan. He offers his hand and his name, "Feel free to shout 'Hey, Straehan' in my general direction, Bane."
"Hello Staehan. The name's Jonin Sheld." he shakes the gnome's hand in greeting. "I suppose if you have to point out the pointy end, then I might leave the pointy things to you gentlemen." he leans the sword against a bench as he says this.
Straehan looks at Bane seriously, gauging how his profession may sit with his new acquaintance, "No. I'm a Sorcerer... dagger-throwing is more of a hobby."
1d20+8
"Very nice...I have some skill with magic myself."
Straehan smiles at Jonin, "It's always better to stick with the weapons you know. They offered me a sword as well... I left it somewhere around here."
"Alright, Jonin Sheld, I will assume that making our enemies as competent as you in swordplay is a good thing. Well met."
"I might be able to give a little good luck with your swings as well." he says with a grin as he shakes hands with Bane.
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Straehan looks at Bane seriously, gauging how his profession may sit with his new acquaintance, "No. I'm a Sorcerer... dagger-throwing is more of a hobby."
1d20+8
"We have signi... um battlemages where I come from. So what sort of battle magic can we expect from you? Can you call down fire upon our enemies?"
"We have signi... um battlemages where I come from. So what sort of battle magic can we expect from you? Can you call down fire upon our enemies?"
Straehan gives Bane a feral smile, "My magic is generally a bit aggressive, yes. Lightning, some fire, a bit of this and a bit of that."
Brother Widfen listens to his comrades talking with an absent smile on his face. At Straehan's words, he looks up and smiles. "It sounds like I'm not the only one given a sword and unsure of how to use it."
He's a rather fat halfling, in a bright breastplate. He holds a staff in one hand. A silver symbol of Shelyn lies upon his chest in plain view.
A halfling looks up. He's quite plump, and a silver symbol of Shelyn glitters on his chest. He is dressed in the garb of a monk, but armour is easy to see underneath. He leans upon a glowing staff, and smiles merrily.
"So, Ezekiel, you are uninterested in being here? I would have thought a soldier like yourself would be eager for a battle."
He pulls out a hunk of cheese and takes a bite out of it. The monk makes what has to be an exaggerated look of disgust and horror as he gulps it down. "My manners are dulled by the awful food they provide, though. My name is Widfen Tomal, but you can call me Brother Widfen."
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An elf, ill at home here wanders around absent mindedly, occasionally getting out a notebook, looking at his notes and continuing on. He wears leather armor, which is blackened and seemingly a little damaged, there is an faint burnt odor. There is no evidence that the armor has ever been used in earnest, none of the damage looks to have come from any piercing or slashing weapon.
He accidentally walks into the man, who earlier had introduced himself as Bane. "Oh, excuse me I am most terribly sorry, I was lost in these notes you see. If I could mix some ground leg bone of a gnoll, with the dried leaves of the water poppy, the waters of Lake Farain, I'm sure under the right conditions, it could prove to be a very useful potion. You do think that's possible don't you?" In answer to the puzzled look, he continues, "Oh yes, how remiss of me, let me introduce myself, Mundriel Blackfingers, alchemist, inventor and shopkeeper. One half of Blackfingers Healing Emporium, purveyors of fine potions and alternative medicinal remedies." The elf bows, expecting the those around to be duly impressed. "The Andoran Military, asked me to join this military operation, to prove the usefulness of my potions and other extraordinary inventions. I hope we can all work on this together and I can generate even more trade for my brother and I's business."
A fat man in monastic robes approaches the assembled throng walking quite slowly .
Greetings new comrades, what a blessed day we have here. I'm sure the celebratory feast will be one for the ages. I am Brother Ling, though I'm known to my friends as Brother Dumpling. An interesting play on words since I do, in fact, love dumplings. I was in the region sampling the culinary styles of Andoran chefs when this call to arms came about, how unfortunate for them.
He has a heabily loaded back pack and an empty quiver strung on his back. Currently using a quarterstaff as a walking stck.
Brother Widfen laughs. "Well met, Mundriel. I greatly admire the alchemical tradition, a true art form. I even considered pursuing it once, to help spread the Eternal Rose's influence, but it requires brains that I lack." He winks. "Brother Widfen is my name. So what would those ingredients produce?"
He turns as Brother Dumpling approaches. "Ah, a fellow man of the cloth. And a man of eating, as well. You look like one who would know of such matters, am I right in thinking that this thing is a crime against existence?" He passes Brother Dumpling a hunk of cheese. It tastes like a typical specimen.
Thank you brother. This is a travesty, though I'm not sure into pressing all into the army, but they, looking up into the sky, do things beyond the understanding of mortals
He takes a slow bite of the cheese, he pauses between bites discovering the nuances of the flavors.
"It's a crime against soldiery, that's for certain, and I'd damn well suggest you keep it away from your mouth." A mid-height barrel of a man strides into the group, a whirlwind of movement and conversation. He gestures at the sword in Jonin's hand. "If you're uncomfortable with that, lad, I'd drop it on the ground now. They're bargain swords, bad to begin with, bought by some bureaucrat who's never seen past the stack of papers on his desk. They're cheap, but I've never seen 'em in the hands of a veteran, if you know what I'm sayin'. Name's Grent, retired soldier." He gives a warm and hearty slap on Brother Wifden's back. "Ah, a man of the cloth! Great to see, give a little spiritual backbone to this militia! I was a bit of an army chaplain, self-taught, sort of made it up as I go along, but the Gods work as the Gods will, eh?" He laughs heartily at his own unfunny joke. "So it seems some of you have seen your share of combat," he says, looking over Bane as he says so, "but I bet none of you have seen an operation like this one, eh? Ragtag defense, straight outta one of your storybooks! One for the ages, I'll say!"
"It's a crime against soldiery, that's for certain, and I'd damn well suggest you keep it away from your mouth." A mid-height barrel of a man strides into the group, a whirlwind of movement and conversation. He gestures at the sword in Jonin's hand. "If you're uncomfortable with that, lad, I'd drop it on the ground now. They're bargain swords, bad to begin with, bought by some bureaucrat who's never seen past the stack of papers on his desk. They're cheap, but I've never seen 'em in the hands of a veteran, if you know what I'm sayin'. Name's Grent, retired soldier." He gives a warm and hearty slap on Brother Wifden's back. "Ah, a man of the cloth! Great to see, give a little spiritual backbone to this militia! I was a bit of an army chaplain, self-taught, sort of made it up as I go along, but the Gods work as the Gods will, eh?" He laughs heartily at his own unfunny joke. "So it seems some of you have seen your share of combat," he says, looking over Bane as he says so, "but I bet none of you have seen an operation like this one, eh? Ragtag defense, straight outta one of your storybooks! One for the ages, I'll say!"
Widfen chuckles. "I'm glad you're looking forward to it, then. Hopefully, Shelyn will smile upon our journey and we will be victorious. Maybe her smile will be so great we won't have to fight at all."
This is a travesty, though I'm not sure into pressing all into the army, but they, looking up into the sky, do things beyond the understanding of mortals
"No offense meant, Brother Dumpling, but they" says the dark hued gnome, indicating whatever particular sky-bound beings Dumpling was referring to, "seem to have very little to do with our conscription. I suspect you should look to more mortal sources." His black eyes fall on the militia men wearing the Andoran tabards.
This is a travesty, though I'm not sure into pressing all into the army, but they, looking up into the sky, do things beyond the understanding of mortals"No offense meant, Brother Dumpling, but they" says the dark hued gnome, indicating whatever particular sky-bound beings Dumpling was referring to, "seem to have very little to do with our conscription. I suspect you should look to more mortal sources." His black eyes fall on the militia men wearing the Andoran tabards.
Brother Widfen pats the gnome on the shoulder. "The gods work in mysterious ways. Don't you wonder why those mortal sources act as they do?"
Brother Widfen pats the gnome on the shoulder. "The gods work in mysterious ways. Don't you wonder why those mortal sources act as they do?""No offense meant, Brother Dumpling, but they" says the dark hued gnome, indicating whatever particular sky-bound beings Dumpling was referring to, "seem to have very little to do with our conscription. I suspect you should look to more mortal sources." His black eyes fall on the militia men wearing the Andoran tabards.
Straehan looks at Widfen in a friendly manner, "Actually, Brother, I spend more time wondering how I should react to the excesses of mortal agents - regardless of what compels them to act as they do. I certainly hope the Gods are not the authors of all of the acts I've witnessed in lands in service to nominally good deities."
Straehan looks at Widfen in a friendly manner, "Actually, Brother, I spend more time wondering how I should react to the excesses of mortal agents - regardless of what compels them to act as they do. I certainly hope the Gods are not the authors of all of the acts I've witnessed in lands in service to nominally good deities."Brother Widfen pats the gnome on the shoulder. "The gods work in mysterious ways. Don't you wonder why those mortal sources act as they do?""No offense meant, Brother Dumpling, but they" says the dark hued gnome, indicating whatever particular sky-bound beings Dumpling was referring to, "seem to have very little to do with our conscription. I suspect you should look to more mortal sources." His black eyes fall on the militia men wearing the Andoran tabards.
Brother Widfen nods. "We are our own authors. But the gods always have a hand in things. The trouble is that the wicked gods...Zon-Kuthon, Asmodeous...they always have a hand in things, too."
Brother Widfen nods. "We are our own authors. But the gods always have a hand in things. The trouble is that the wicked gods...Zon-Kuthon, Asmodeous...they always have a hand in things, too."
Straehan smiles at Widfen who notices the gnome has rather sizeable canine teeth, "Well in that case, Brother, let us hope that the benign Gods have the bigger hand in the events in which we now find ourselves enmeshed."
Grent gives Straehan a huge clap on the back as he laughs heartily. "A cynic! We'll make a real soldier outta you yet, you little scamp!" He gave a hearty wink to the other cleric. "We'll see who's still a wise-ass when the Gods come calling for him, eh?"
Grent takes a look around at the proceedings happening in the town around. His brow furrows. "Any of the lot of you get a look at what sort of defenses are being put up? I'd like to jaw a bit with whichever unlucky bastard drew the short straw to take command, see what he's thinking..."
Grent gives Straehan a huge clap on the back as he laughs heartily. "A cynic!..." He gave a hearty wink to the other cleric. "We'll see who's still a wise-ass when the Gods come calling for him, eh?"
Straehan recovers from the staggering clap on the back, "Only an inveterate optimist would call me a cynic." He says with amusement, "I consider myself a realist and always a pragmatist... If the Gods are kind enough to leave me alone, I will extend them the same courtesy." He winks.
Grent takes a look around at the proceedings happening in the town around. His brow furrows. "Any of the lot of you get a look at what sort of defenses are being put up? I'd like to jaw a bit with whichever unlucky bastard drew the short straw to take command, see what he's thinking..."
"I haven't had a chance to look around yet... but I agree we should see to the defenses and find out who is commanding here. If you'd like company, I'll tag along."
Grent gives Straehan a huge clap on the back as he laughs heartily. "A cynic! We'll make a real soldier outta you yet, you little scamp!" He gave a hearty wink to the other cleric. "We'll see who's still a wise-ass when the Gods come calling for him, eh?"
"Now, now. I'm sure that magic serves him just as well, practically, as the gods do us. But when magic fails, we'll still be here. And while the mages are tearing out their hair in frustration, we'll still be here. And when it returns, and the mages weep with joy, we'll just keep praying. As long as our faith sustains us, we need no magic."
Brother Widfen closes his eyes solemnly. Then he bursts out laughing.|
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A halfling looks up. He's quite plump, and a silver symbol of Shelyn glitters on his chest. He is dressed in the garb of a monk, but armour is easy to see underneath. He leans upon a glowing staff, and smiles merrily.
"So, Ezekiel, you are uninterested in being here? I would have thought a soldier like yourself would be eager for a battle."
He pulls out a hunk of cheese and takes a bite out of it. The monk makes what has to be an exaggerated look of disgust and horror as he gulps it down. "My manners are dulled by the awful food they provide, though. My name is Widfen Tomal, but you can call me Brother Widfen."
"I enjoy a battle as much any other bloke, but my business requires me to be elsewhere soonest."
"Now, now. I'm sure that magic serves him just as well, practically, as the gods do us..."
Brother Widfen closes his eyes solemnly. Then he bursts out laughing.
Straehan looks mock-seriously at the Widfen, "I'm no theologian but I believe it is clerics that serve deities not the other way around..." He laughs.
"Aye, you're no theologian, but your opinion's as good as ours. We give the gods our prayers, they give us their aid, and we make with it what we will in our devotion. Who's to say who's serving who?" Grent gave Straehan a conspiratorial wink and another hearty backslap.
"Now, let's go find who's in charge and see if we can't get ourselves some orders to muck up!" he roared. With purposeful strides, Grent took off to find someone that seemed to be saddled with more responsibility than any of the others.
Straehan looks mock-seriously at the Widfen, "I'm no theologian but I believe it is clerics that serve deities not the other way around..." He laughs."Now, now. I'm sure that magic serves him just as well, practically, as the gods do us..."
Brother Widfen closes his eyes solemnly. Then he bursts out laughing.
"And that, my fanged friend, is why I said 'practically'."
"And that, my fanged friend, is why I said 'practically'."
Straehan's smile abruptly fades. He looks at Widfen closely, trying to discern if Widfen has an issue with him.
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"Alright you bunch of maggots, get in line" shouts an old and scarded man at the company of soldiers not too far from where you all are. He starts an inspection of equipment. Another older man is sitting not far from the line of soldiers is laughing at the company, his chest is decorated with 6 medals, so he is probably incharge of the entire operation
Jonin opens his pack, so Skaw can jump in. He grabs the sword leaning against the bench. I don't want them to think I just threw it away..., he thinks.
He takes his place beside Bane, trying to look as soldiery as possible.
The Andoran native steps up as formation was called and Markus joined the rank and file, alongside Bane appearing as a well disciplined soldier. He carried a sword and shield across his lap with a longbow and quiver. Settled before him he leaned on a large, heavy sword. He was well armored and with his helm sitting on the hilt of the sword, the light haired weathered soldier with stormy eyes looked ahead as he awaited instruction. He had just arrived and was already falling into the harmony of a structured, organized militia he was so used to. He appeared a strong and hardy man who was quiet at the moment.
Brother Dumpling seeing Bane straighten in the ready, to Bane:I believe he was talking to the actual soldiers not us pressed men my new friend.
to Grent:I'm almost certain that is the man you were looking for gesturing to the medaled man.
He then takes the final bite of the cheese Wildfen had handed him previously.
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Brother Dumpling seeing Bane straighten in the ready, to Bane:I believe he was talking to the actual soldiers not us pressed men my new friend.
to Grent:I'm almost certain that is the man you were looking for gesturing to the medaled man.
He then takes the final bite of the cheese Wildfen had handed him previously.
"Oh, don't worry about it. Might as well know if we can form a straight line."
"Straight lines and latrines, the entry exam for any new soldier. Ain't that the truth." Seeing a new victim for his back-slapping, he gives Markus a hearty thump. "And another military man! That's just great, just great." He throws his arm around Markus in a show of camraderie. "C'mon, lad, let's go make our introductions and see about some orders, eh? Just like being back in the service all over again!" Grent keeps his arm around Markus, practically frog-marching him over to the medal-bedecked officer.
Upon reaching the commanding officer, Grent throws out his chest, gives a salute, and begins speaking in a bellow. "Honored to be working under your command, Sah! I am former Corporal and working chaplain of the Fifth Liberation Unit, specifically assigned to Riddleport, the Kodar Mountains, and other vicinities of Varisia, Sah! Requesting orders to begin the defense, Sah!"