Morgan sat in the dark cell, eyes closed. His darkvision let him penetrate the stygian darkness but to what end? There was nothing to see but four bare walls of mildewed stone, a soggy pile of hay to serve as a bed, and a grated hole in the floor for waste. This had been his world for two days, when they had led all the captives down into the dungeon of the small castle. Most had to share cells but Morgan had apparently rated a private room, due to his supposed rank. So it was just him and the endless dripping of water.
Hours ago he had heard the sounds of battle and violence above, dim but distinct. The teifling had wondered what was going on, finding it surprising in this sleepy section of the front. Were the Androans fighting amongst themselves? Some local bandits? Surely the Chelish hadn’t chased them down…had they? Surely the minor Chelish captain didn’t intend to siege a Andoran castle for a few escaped slaves? Granted, Morgan and his crew were valuable soldiers and engineers, far more useful then run of the mill slaves but still…..To start a possible war over?
In any case, those sounds had been hours ago, replaced with silence. Silence and dripping water. It was enough to drive someone mad. What was going on out there? Morgan had almost decided to shout or rattle the bars of his cell when he heard footsteps in the dark corridor. Then he saw the sickly glow of a tallow lamp, making shadows dance on the uneven walls.
Eventually three humans materialized out of the gloom, standing just in front of the cell door. One, the man holding the lamp looked familiar; he had been one of the patrol guards to ‘capture’ Morgan’s crew. The others two were heavy-set middle-aged men, armed with swords at their waists.
”That him?” One of them said, pointing at the still sitting Morgan.
The young man with the lamp nodded, ”Aye. Bring him.” The two men hesitated a long moment until one said, ”Are you sure?”
The patrol man stifled a sigh and said, voice louder, ”You heard me, get him out! The others want to see him. Hurry up.”
The cell door opens with a creak and two set of rough hands heave Morgan to his feet. No one speaks directly to the tielfing, instead frog-marching him out of the cell, holding onto his arms tightly. The man with the lamp leads the way, buttery light playing off damp stone. Together the quartet leave the dungeon and began climbing a winding set of stairs.
Even with darkvision, being aggressively manhandled through a strange castle in the dark would be confusing. But Morgan was an engineer, and had a clear sense of direction. The paladin didn’t know the exact layout of the castle but one thing was very clear. They were going up, probably into one of the towers judging by the winding path. Morgan’s conjecture is rewarded when his two guards, both breathing much more heavily then himself, pause at a small landing. At the far end of the room, a slit window lets in a small shaft of pink dawn light. Craning his head Morgan can just make out a few tufts of green, the tops of trees. One of the towers for sure.
Soon the strange walk is over when the cavalcade stops at a heavy wooden door, placed at the top of the stairs. The man with the lamp, still in front, turns toward Morgan. He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, opens again then finally shrugs and says, ”You’ll see soon enough.”
He opens the door and the dazzling light blinds Morgan for a moment. His eyes barely have time to adjust as he is basically hauled up the last few stairs and dumped through the door. Clambering to his feet, Morgan can taste fresh air for the first time in days and savors it. A morning breeze tousles his black hair, bringing with it the wholesome scents of dew, trees and distant mountains. After blinking a few times, Morgan looks around him then his eyes widen at the breath-taking view of the world at dawn.
He is standing atop the northern wall of the castle, facing out over the crenellated parapet. This the direction his guards took him, when he crossed the border. A land of rolling foothills, green for the most part, dotted with small groves of trees. The valleys were deceptively steep, which is sore feet knew quite well. To the east the hills proceed onwards, slowly becoming smaller and shallower, with less trees. Here and there Morgan can make out the small clearing of a homestead farmstead, or a winding stone fence. Through the hills a road winds, a brown streak of dirt against the green grass. To the south, the hills are fully wooded, with few breaks in the overgrown canopy. The tangled forest runs to the horizon, out of sight.
The view is best to the west, back toward Cheliax. Here the rugged Aspodell mountains rear up, morning light turning the gray cliffs gold. Rank upon rank the peaks grow until, in the far distance, Morgan can see the snow-capped summits of the highest mountains. Between these mighty shoulders, the teifling can see a narrow pass crawling through the mountains, the continuation of the road he saw to the east. It wouldn’t be easy, but you could take a wagon over it, if you were made of stern stuff.
But Morgan is far more concerned with what he sees closer at hand. Coming down that pass is a small force of men. They are still distant, minute figures moving slowly down the stony slope but the banners and wagons leave Morgan no doubt. That is a group of Chelish soldiers, in full battle array including a detachment of cavalry, marching toward them. How many? A few hundred? No army, but still enough to give the local garrison trouble, surely.
Morgan’s thoughts are broken by a cough, and he turns realizing he is not alone atop the wall. Standing with him, watching the army are three figures. One is the same patrol man whof etched him from his cell, the lamp now cold and forgotten at his feet. Next to him is a short, stumpy man with arms like oak roots, barely tall enough to see over the parapet. He is wearing an old Andoran uniform, much frayed and patched but clean. A mace hangs at his belt, looking like it hasn’t been drawn in a generartion.
The third man looks he is taken out of Andoran propaganda. A tall man with square chin and broad shoulders, he is wearing a militaristic blue and white uniform with golden epaulets at the shoulders. Eagle Knight, Morgan’s brain finally tells him after far too long of a delay. The most elite force in Andoran, highly trained and outfitted. The best the young nation had to offer and a reputation to match.
The man turns to face Morgan, green eyes unreadable. Face a blank mask, he waves toward the Chelish forces and says to Morgan, ”Well, what do you make of it?”
Morgan blinks, savoring the sensation of daylight on his hellishly red skin. Shaking his head slightly he favours the man with a sad smile, "Trouble and no mistake. Best start heating the oil and sighting in the heavy weapons, the Chelish regulars wouldn't be this side of the mountains unless they meant business. By the inheritor I do hope the garrison here is at full strength because you're soon going to need every man..."
Morgan broke contact with the eagle knight's piercing green eyes as he gave the terrain and the castle a professional once over.
Returning to face the knight he asked, "I assume you know that of course which leads to the question why am I here and not in chains? Mind you as interesting as that is, the one thing I really want to know is what happened to the others who surrendered with me? I trust they have been treated well?"
From his vantage Morgan can see most of the small castle and, at first glance, doesn't like much of what he sees.
First the good. The small fortification is well-sited, on a small rise away from rival heights. Around the base of the small slope, a local stream runs close by, part of it diverted to create a moat. He cannot see the gate from this vantage, but can see branch of the pass road leading toward it, winding slightly in tired zig-zags. The fort itself had five exterior towers, connected by a continuous curtain wall. Inside it had the usual inner keep, stables, storehouses and living quarters along with a open-air yard.
So much for the good.
Morgan's first main concern is the fact the area just around the castle has not been cut clean in what looks like a decade. High brush and young trees run nearly right up to the moat providing far too much cover for any enemy force. The teifling had seen such foolishness dozens of times. A news castle is built, at great expense in a perfect location but no one pays the maintenance and some siege team simply climbs a tall oak to jump onto the walls. It wasn't that bad here, but bad enough. There were other signs of poor maintenance.
The moat look shallow and silted, full of reeds and water plants. The tower facing east looked like it was leaning slightly and some of the stonework crumbling. The yard below looked overgrown, edged with wild brambles poking through the stone and the wells uncovered.
It didn't fill Morgan with much confidence but at least the wall didn't seem ready to fall down. A more through investigation would be needed to truly take stock of such things as foundations, stores, and equipment.
The dark-skinned Eagle Knight (Morgan wonders if he has Garund ancestry) smirks, "They mean business." he mockingly repeats waving his hand toward the other two men. "Well, Salvor, you were right. Clearly these are the insights we so desperately need in this grave hour. Good thing we hauled him up here. The Chelish mean business!"
Snorting he turns away from Morgan, facing the incoming Chelish again, hands rest on the parapet.
Salvor, clearly the man with the lamp, rolls his eyes but says in even tones, "Captain Hendrik, I understand your....hesitation but the man is a siege engineer. I've heard them talk about it! You think fate handed us a Chelish engineer in this hour and not intent us to use it?"
Captain Hendrik, still facing away says nothing so Salvor goes on, the patrolman looking a bit nervous, " What other choice do you prefer? I have no experience commanding a siege or such a large group of men. I'm just a patrolman from the northern passes. Weslen here," he points his chin to the still silent man with the mace, "refuses to do it and you yourself is forbidden by law! We need an experienced commander!"
Hendrik whirls, "And you'd give the command of a frontier post to a Chelish renegade, a deserter at best and at worst a spy!" He faces Weslen, eyes narrowing. "I can't believe an officer in The People's Army would refuse such a commission or go along with this mad plan."
Weslen, so short he peers up at the imposing Eagle Knight like a child might at a parent, seems uncowed by the harsh words. "My commander is dead, Captain. I will defend this fort, to the death may be, but I will not command men to their deaths. I will follow orders but not give them."
The Eagle Knights lets out an annoyed sigh and turns to Morgan again, green eyes flashing, "You, what even is your name? What do you think of this mad plan? Would you defend a castle against your former allies? Your friends, perhaps?"
Morgan remains a stoic silence during this exchange, with a feeling of dread creeping up on him. Clearly the castle has been long neglected leading to the current parlous state with the fate of all hung on a knife-edge.
Morgan regards the Eagle Knight with a poker facer as he replied, "They call me Mister Morgan and it's true I know many of the Chelish and on an individual level like and respect some of them. They however are not my allies, the only reason I'm still breathing is they never bothered to look beyond my skin to see what lies beneath. You see my engineers are my family and I have sworn an oath to Iomadae the Inheritor to protect them and others unable protect themselves."
He glances round the group before adding, "No offence but that seems to include all of you. Loosing a commander is bad enough but this fort has been seriously neglected: trees have been allowed to grow in what should be the killing ground; the moat hasn't been dredged in years; the yard is a fire hazard choked with weeds; that tower to the east is subsiding and may collapse under fire; the wells are uncovered - the gods only know what's fallen in, and that's before the Chelish start flinging corpses and worse at us. I could go on... To answer your question, would I defend this castle? It will not be easy, my appearance and circumstances do not inspire confidence and even if I was the best commander in the world there will be casualties. Still to fight in defence of your homes and your freedom is the very essence of makes you Andorann is it not?"
Morgan pauses trying to look each man in the eye as he let this sink on. before adding, "Will I fight for you? Yes with every last breath in my body. Will I lead you? I wouldn't wish to presume, but if there truly is no other then I will do what must be done."
'Not my best speech.' thought Morgan, 'But perhaps it's good enough.'
Morgan glanced at the assembled company wondering what they where thinking, especially the one who didn't want to lead.
Morgan examines each man in turn, trying to get a sense. The Eagle Knight of course is both annoyed and disdainful, against this entire idea. Salvor is hopeful, with a hint of naivete that Morgan has a feeling won't last long. The last man, Weslen is the hardest to read but there is a hint of depression behind his dark eyes but tinged with wisdom.
The Eagle Knights looks surprised when Morgan mentions his goddess, clearly having missed his reference a moment ago. "You were in the Chelish army and worshiped Iomadae ? The Infernals really are slipping then."
Salvor breaks in, "Also, about your friends. Most are below, in the other cells." The man holds up a hand, "Not mistreated, but we couldn't let a band of Chelish agents roam about at large. At least, under normal circumstances..."
The patrolman turns back to Hendrik, "As for trusting, I know Eagle Knights have ways of verifying the truth. Cannot we not simply have him make an oath and have you judge it? Obviously it is not foolproof, but it would would show the way forward. We need this man's knowledge, not his morals."
"Just hire him as an advisor then." The Knight snaps back, "Clearly he has lots of advice to offer."
"Won't work." The stumpy man they called Weslen says. Both men turn to him and Morgan watches him with narrowed eyes. "You either put him in charge or you don't and lock him up. No one will take 'advice' from a Chelish teifling. You know that as well as I Hendrik. Don't let your bias cloud your judgement. Either we do this or we don't. We have little time for bickering."
The Eagle Knight grinds his teeth but turns to Morgan, "You would swear an oath, to Iomadae if asked, to this effect? To guard this castle against any foes, to be steadfast and true to us, and to risk even your life is needed?"
Below, just over the man's shoulder, Morgan could see the Chelish vanguard clambering down the pass road.
"You were in the Chelish army and worshiped Iomadae ? The Infernals really are slipping then."
Morgan shrugged, "For all their power, the Chelish commandeers lack imagination. Of course I was tested when I was a child, the internals presence made my skin crawl and I still have nightmares about it. They saw what they wanted to in me and never thought that things might change."
"Also, about your friends. Most are below, in the other cells." The man holds up a hand, "Not mistreated, but we couldn't let a band of Chelish agents roam about at large. At least, under normal circumstances..."
Mogran nodded, he could have hoped for little more in truth.
"You would swear an oath, to Iomadae if asked, to this effect? To guard this castle against any foes, to be steadfast and true to us, and to risk even your life is needed?"
There were times for flowery speeches and there were times for the simple unvarnished truth and this was defiantly the time for the latter. Wondering if they truly knew what they where asking of him, Morgan sank to one knee. Voice thick with suppressed emotion he replied simply, [b]"Yes, in Iomadae's name I do so swear."['/b]
A moment of silence greets Morgan's words, which are swept off the wall top with the morning breeze. Al three men stare at the kneeling tieifling for so long, Morgan's knee starts to ache. Kneeling on stone is a grand gesture, but not very comfortable.
Finally Hendrik says, voice almost pleading, "You are serious?"
The other two men nod, Weslen adding a very expressive shrug.
Then the Eagle Knight laughs, a booming sound that rings in Morgan's ears. "Very well then. If we are to do this insanity, let us do it right." There is a faint ring of steel as the Knight unsheathes his sword, the steel gleaming in the pink dawnlight. The man looks down at the still kneeling siege engineer, all mirth gone and replaced with sober seriousness.
"That is a good oath Mister Morgan. Let us hope you hold to it." The razor tip of the blade touches Morgan's shoulder, cold as ice through his thin clothes. "Then I name you a Defender of the Republic, deputized in by the Eagle Knights by the power invested in me by both my rank and my nation. May you uphold your oaths, in both the name of your goddess and in the Supreme Elect of Andoran, Codwin I. Rise, Morgan, and lead us."
The big man sheathes the sword, lets out a final sigh and says, "You are in command then. May the gods watch over us."
Weslen shrugs again and says, "At least he seems to know his business."
Salvor grins, "I have the highest of hopes!" Turning to Morgan he offers a hand to pull the engineer to his feet, speaking as he does so, "We have a little over a hundred men. Sixty from the garrison, a dozen Eagle Knights who happened to be passing through, and twenty from my patrol, plus a few local woodsman who are came when the call went out."
Morgan glances at the Chelish eyeing them. He'd be outnumbered around four to one, at best. And that was assuming everyone of 'his' troops were ready and willing to fight. Not the best odds.
After he had been deputised Morgan suddenly felt dizzy, he was was now responsible for the lives of over one hundred men against what knew full well to be appalling odds. He took a moment to compose himself which he covered by observing at the approaching army. Turning to face the men he said, "Right now only you and my engineers know me, I aim to address the company before the Chelish arrive but we have several tasks that simply can not wait and I'll need each of you to lead groups for me."
Turning to Salvor Morgan said "I'd like you to fetch Croaker and Fred if they survived, and send a detail to escort the rest of the engineers to me. Then I'm going to need you to take a dozen of the strongest men and those woodsman and go out there and cut down the trees there and there." Morgan pointed to the trees that where too close to the walls, "Croaker and Fred have done this before many times, tell them I need those trees down, they'll know what to do. Take axes, ropes and saws if you have them. I want it done in half an hour."
Morgan considered for a moment and addressed the Eagle Knight, "I'd like you to take fifty men with picks and spades and dig five parallel trenches at lest a foot deep and two yards apart starting about ten yards in front of the gate. At some point tomorrow they're going to try and bring a ram up, we need to delay them."
Focusing on the group rather than Salvor in particular Morgan said, "Next if we have any, we need ballistas, scorpions and so on set up. Assuming we do, my engineers can deal with that task but I'd like to make their day. Do we have the supplies to melt lead and boil oil? Or more to the point do we have alchemist fire or black powder?"
His eyes flick among the group as he asks, "I want a volunteer to take half a dozen men and get those wells covered, use the proper lids if we have them. If not use anything to hand, planks and a tarp, whatever. But if you have to improvise let me know."
Morgan considers the coming fight and tells them, "I don't know how your commander would have done it, but for the defence we need to divide our forces. Every archer on the walls. A group of ten of the most seasoned foot to defend the gate. The remaining foot evenly divided into two teams: One to counter ladders; one in reserve ready for breaches or emergencies. My engineers, assuming they're in a fit state will man any siege weapons."
Gathering every eye, Morgan tells them, "Do what I ask and I promise you we will survive the initial engagement and bloody their noses. Assaulting a properly defended castle will give them a 10:1 attrition ratio. While you are busy I'm going to take a look at that subsiding tower and the main gate and figure out what if anything needs to be done and then help out with the digging. Any questions? But make it quick - time is of the essence."
For a moment Morgan simply stands there, the growing light gleaming off his red skin like a ruby. The only sound that greets the rattle of orders is the sighing of the wind and distant bird-song. The stone wall felt solid and cool under Morgan's hand, and gave him a modicum of hope.
Hendrik smiles vaguely when Morgan mentioned addressing the men and said, voice hard to read, "I admire your spirit but do not overdo it. Both your nation and, sadly, your race will count against you with many of the men. Old habits die hard."
Then the men begin reacting to Morgan's orders, some speaking, others turning to go, then turning back with questions. The babble gets out of a control for a moment before all three men suddenly realize it and grow quiet. A few chuckles and then they start speaking in turn, in a more orderly fashion befitting men of their stations.
Salvor says, "Do you want us to use fire? We might be able to burn some of the brush and trees. Might be some old alchemists fire in one of the storage lockers."
The Eagle Knight answers to the trenches and says, in obvious surprise, "You want to try and hold the ground beyond the wall? You can't be serious, we have nowhere near the men required. What good will the trenches do?"
Weslen rubs his chin, a far away look in his eyes when Morgan mentions siege weapons, "There is a large storage vault in the basement. We haven't done a full inventory but I think there might have been some items down there...I'll take some lads and take a peek." He pauses and says, "You expect we will need them? I had hoped a quick show of defiance might convince them to leave us alone. Will a force of four hundred really invest the fort?"
Salvor shrugs, "Best to be ready for anything. I'll look into lead and oil. There is an old blacksmithy against the western wall, I'll start there."
All of the men nod at the last words and a brief look of hope crosses their faces. Clearly they hadn't expect a promise of any kind, and the teifling's words put steel in their spines. If this Chelish captive says they can hold out, then they damn well could.
Morgan nodded at Hendrik's words, well he knew how others judged him but he was heartened by Iomadae's support. She taught that is was what was in a man's or a woman's heart that really mattered.
"Do you want us to use fire? We might be able to burn some of the brush and trees. Might be some old alchemists fire in one of the storage lockers."
Morgan blinked, "Yes let's get that brush cleared, but I don't want a forest fire! As for alchemist's fire, see if we keep that in reserve. Make sure that the clearing party is back within these walls in an hour and a half."
That reminded him of a horrible possibility, "I'll need somebody reliable with a pair of runners to keep watch on the Cheliax forces from our best vantage point. I want updates on their progress and our men inside the walls well before they arrive."
"You want to try and hold the ground beyond the wall? You can't be serious, we have nowhere near the men required. What good will the trenches do?"
Morgan sighed, "I have no intention of holding the ground outside today, although I wouldn't mind leaving them a nasty surprise depending on what the inventory of the stores finds." Answering both Weslen's question and the Eagle Knights he explained, "If by some miracle they don't invest us, I'll be the first to cheer but my duty as a commander is to prepare for the worst. I fully expect they'll invest us and bring siege engines to bear on our weak points, most likely the door but possibly the walls and towers. If they can get a ram up close no door will last an hour. If they can't due to the moat and drawbridge there are specialised catapults and ballista they can try. By the way a moat is no sure defence, it can be filled in, or bridged with a special sort of pontoon."
Morgan studied the knight before adding "At best the ditches will irritate the enemy's engineers, delaying them for an hour or two. The real reason I gave that order is because it gave the men something constructive to do other than dwell upon the approaching battle. There's nothing worse for morale that boredom."
Salvor looks around and says, "Let's get to it. Like.....Mister Morgan said, time is wasting."
And yet there is a moment of awkward pause as all three men stand, looking at the teifling. Morgan is confused for a moment before Salvor raises and a hand and gives a hasty salute. "Aye, sir." Then other two follow suit them, just as hasty as if unsure about the procedure. Hendrik and Weslen hurry off but Salvor remains a moment.
"Not sure....well, if you..." he coughs, stands up and gestures to the door leading down into the tower. "In case you need a runner or anything, sir. I offer my son, Patro. He is a likely lad."
Even as he speaks a young teenager crosses the threshold, blinking in the strong morning light. Clean shaven, with a face that betrays his relation to the patrol man.
"he knows his letters, sir." Salvor says proudly, "And a little of the blade. Use him as you like, sir. I'll be off to get your men and get the woodsman working."
He leaves Morgan alone with his son, atop the wall.
His son? Did the Andoran army really allow fathers to officer their sons and daughters? The Chelish army was a toxic cesspool of nepotism and favoritism but even they drew the line at familial units. What sort of army was Morgan dealing with here? It felt like a tribal levy....
Morgan heads back down the tower, moving quickly. Speed was of the essence and inspecting a gate and tower, even briefly, took time. As they passed through, the tiefling could hear and see the fort coming to life. Men and women hurried this way and that, carrying gear or issuing orders. Weapons clanged, horses whinneyed in the courtyard and the sounds of hammers (a sweet sound to an engineer) rang in the air.
In moment they have reached the front gates. Morgan appraises it carefully, ignoring the work around him, Patro at his side.
The gate is in good order, at least. The moat is deepest here, and some effort has been made recently to dredge it. Morgan guesses the water would be over his head. Unfortunately there is no drawbridge, just a sturdy wooden bridge sunk into the mud. The gate itself has two small round pillars of stone on each side, complete with murder holes and arrow slits looking down into the threshold. The strong oak doors, bounded with iron, stand open of course. Morgan peers closer and finds, to his disgust, the hinges are solid rust and ancient grease. These doors had not been closed in a decade.
The same story ran to the portcullis. The iron gate was in excellent shape, solid iron but the mechanism to raise and lower it were grimed and fouled with age. Everything was functional....if given the time to strip it down and clean it. At least the stone work looked good, and there was no sign of subsiding here.
Morgan is about to move to the tower, when Salvor emerges from a doorway, followed by two others. One was a young halfling woman with fire-red hair and a thin, lithe frame, well-suited to tiny spaces. The other was a fair skinned man with blonde hair, who looked quite at ease with the situation.
Clara and Zeb, what a combination.
Salvor spoke first, "Sir, brought you two of your engineers. The other two....Fred and Cloaker? Croaker? Are organizing the woodsmen. I'll leave these two with you, the locals aren't keen on listening to Chelishs laves." Salvor hurried off, with only a bare nod to his son.
Zeb looks around, whislting, 'Sir'?" he says, grinning, "Well, that didn't take long. I have to admit, when I said the Androans would take us in, I didn't think they'd give us command of a castle on our first day. Not bad, Morgan, not bad at all."
Clara rolls her eyes and says to Morgan, "What in the name of the dark pit is going on? No one told us anything, locked up deep and and now we find you parading around like lord of the manor!"
"In case you need a runner or anything, sir. I offer my son, Patro. He is a likely lad."
Humbled and suddenly feeling the weight of trust placed in him, it was all Morgan could do to nod. He had mostly managed to compose himself by the time he'd turned to the lad. Putting on his friendliest smile he told the lad, "Nice to meet you Patro, you can call me Morgan. My job is to keep your Dad and everyone else safe and I promise I'm going to try my hardest to do that."
Smiling one more he added, "So you know your letters do you? Very good! I'm going to need people like you to send messages for me, it might sound dull but it could make the difference between life and death. Besides I think you'll find it more interesting than it sounds, many of the officers here probably stated off this way. Anyway come with me, lets take look at this gate..."
Later at the gate Morgan was both pleased and annoyed by what he saw, at least it wasn't all rusted but the lack of maintenance spoke ill of the previous commandeer. The lack of a drawbridge was equally troubling, it was as well he'd ordered the men to dig trenches. If this became a drawn out campaign the lack of a drawbridge would become a liability so he wondered what it would take to improvise something.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Salvor and two of his engineers. A wide grin crept across his features as he looked the pair up and down, "You two look well! You must tell me of the others, were there casualties? As for the situation here I can barely believe it, it must have been fate, my head has scarcely stopped spinning."
His tone darkening he admitted, "I fear we've exchanged one set of troubles for another. It turns out the previous commandeer got himself killed, I still don't know the circumstances of that, perhaps Salvor here can fill us in... Anyway it seems our Chelish have designs on this castle and nobody else was willing to step up to the plate so err I swore an oath in Iomadae's name to protect them all."
He coughed slightly, aware of how crazy that sounded before carrying on smoothly, "No I don't think they're here for us per se, although your skin and mine would make a nice table covering for the Asemodeans. Anyway as far as I'm concerned you and the others are free to leave now if you don't want any part of this with no ill feelings, but being honest it's not exactly safe out there and your help is desperately needed! I mean look at the state of that moat and the grease on this drawbridge, its probably older than your grandparents! If you're up for a challenge, I need that sorted and then perhaps we can see if they have any interesting toys in storage... This place may have been neglected of late but a ton of coin was spent building it and I'm sure they didn't skimp on siege equipment."
The last was said mostly to Clara, who had a thing for making things go boom!
Patro nods, and says, "Thank you." A pause and then his face goes white, "Thank you, sir!" he adds quickly, "It won't happen again, sir."
He relaxes a bit when Morgan chats with him as they head down dusty stairs and out into the bright daylight of the courtyard. At Morgan's words the young lad goes on, "Life or death? I wouldn't worry so much, sir. Andorans are free men, we can outfight any number of Chelish. They are just decadent slave drivers, whipping their soldiers to fight. A few arrows and I'm sure we'll send them running back up the pass." A pause, "Sir." Patro seems very confident. How many others in the fort held his point of view?
Morgan examines the bridge and wonders if a drawbridge could be made. The moat is not overly wide and the bridge itself, if dissembled properly would provide most of the supplies needed. Granted that would take time, but it certainly seemed possible, and the tiefling's spirits rose at the idea. A movable bridge would improve their odds greatly.
Zeb answered Morgan's concerns about the former slaves saying, "No causalities, thank the gods. My countrymen treat us better as prisoners then the Chelish ever did as soldiers. Alison and Haelvor are doing poorly however, they caught something in the cold and dark. We are doing our best to warm them up, but it might take a few days."
Clara looked up at the gate, her face thoughtful, "Defending against the Chelish? Can't say I wouldn't might giving them a few knocks about the head. Want me to work on the bridge? Or should I get Rozial? He's the best with locks and gears we have, and I doubt there is anything worth stealing up here."
Zeb cuts in, "Morgan, I would focus on the men before the fortress, despite your inclination to trust stone over flesh. What did I tell you about my countrymen?" The blond man continues without giving Morgan a chance to answer the rhetorical question (one of Zeb's more annoying habits).
"They govern by consensus, not merely law and order. Sure, the commanders might have picked you, but the men haven't even seen you yet. Can you really expect them to follow orders? You are going to have to convince them before they are fully onboard and I'd rather hash that out now, and not when we are busy fighting for our lives." He drops his voice so only the engineer can hear, "Also, if they refuse, that gives us some time to run."
Morgan was troubled by Patro's dismissal of the Chellish, as he knew all too well they did employ slaves, but the regulars where battle hardend killers who relished in what they did. It would take far more than a few arrows to see them packing.
Later when Zeb told him about Alison and Haelvor he nodded grimly and said "I'll try and see them later on, but if they've caught something they should be kept away from everyone else for the time being. Disease goes hand in hand with a siege."
Morgan nodded to Clara, "Rozial... Ok then, a days honest work won't hurt him! That frees you up to take charge of any siege weapons we have in storage. I've got a detail looking for oil, lead and so on but there's no guarantee they'll know what to do if they find any siege weapons. I think you'd better go supervise! Assuming you find anything useful we need something set up to deter any advance upon the gates. I'm hoping we can avoid destroying the bridge, I'm hoping to convert it into a proper drawbridge later on."
Zeb's words made Morgan's heart sink, "I see I'm going to have to be, what the word for it? A politician... Well perhaps I need to show I'm not going to ask them to do anything I won't myself. Let's go help dig a ditch and meet some of the rank and file. Before the battle we'll need an assembly where I guess I'm going to have to convince them of how serious this is and that it's in everyone's interest to pull together."
Clara nods and, after impatiently waving toward an Andoran solider, is lead off back into the castle. Morgan watches the redheaded halfling cut a swath through the bustling courtyard and hopes she doesn't do anything to reckless.
"My people love politicians." Zeb says before raising his hand, as if t correct himself, "No, not love exactly. Andorans, I think, realize politicians are the least worst option, let me put it that way."
He grunts at the ditches, "Not a bad idea, getting a bit of dirt on your hands. Just don't overdo it or they will think you are a common laborer, being used as a figure-head." Morgan isn't overly concerned by this rather gloomy prediction. Zeb had a tendency to find the cloud behind any silver lining, more of habit then anything else.
In short order Morgan is outside the fortress, helping supervise the digging of parrell trenches and ditches. The ground is soft, of course, being so near the wet moat and the first spadefuls move easily. After that though, the ditches fill with mucky water and the entire affair turns into a muddy slog, with workers up to their knees in rich, soupy muck. Morgan consoles himself that if it is this hard to simply walk, it will be even more treacherous for any foe.
Morgan is just about to head out to inspect the tree cutting (which he has watched from a distance) when he hears a shout from the wall above. Shading his eyes against the bright morning sun he sees a Andoran solider waving and shouting something.
"Flag of truce!" Morgan can finally hear, "The Chelish are asking for parley!"
"Ah", remarked Morgan softly, "I wondered if they'd do that." It was almost certainly a trap and part of Morgan felt like rushing into the tower, but for him that wasn't an option. He needed to know who the Chelish had brought with them, that would speak volumes about their intentions.
Turning to the soldiers he'd been labouring alongside he said, "Right lads! Spread the word we've done enough here, time to pack up and head inside the fort."
To any officers he can see he adds, "I'd like five volunteers to come with me, ideally the toughest foot soldiers we have, one of them needs to carry a parlay flag on a polearm with me. I want the woodsmen if possible to shadow us, they're not to engage unless the enemy attack first or the parlay flag is lowered.".
To Patro he says, "Make sure the people inside the fort know they need to prepare for a possible immediate assault, starting with Rozial. If we have to race back inside I want that gate down the moment we're inside. If she found one I'd like Clara to set up an engine pointing in the direction of the Chelish parlay flag. She knows the score about not firing unless the parlay flag is lowered but remind her just in case..." He gives the lad a friendly clap on the back and a grin.
Then with a heavy heart Morgan got ready to head towards the parlay flag. This was going to be a remarkably dangerous moment, for he would literally be putting his head in the lion's mouth. It was possible the Chelish would do something to dishonour the tradition of Parlay, but for him not to go would be just as bad... So it was time to answer that old question: Do you feel lucky?
Salvor grunts at Moragn's orders, 'Too much cover, that's the problem. You can't undone two decades of growth in a few hours. Gods only knows what the Chelish might have in the trees." The man waves toward the rutted path leading out of the gate, "The Chelish envoy seems to be waiting along the road, a mile or so off. The main body has stopped moving."
The man frowns, "You don't think they actually intend to negotiate, do you?"
He turns and barks a few orders, relaying Morgan's commands. Even as men jump to the orders the Eagle Knight, Hendrik appears. His armor glitters as he emerges from the dark gate into the morning sun around the moat. His sword is sheathed on his back, but he carries a heavy infantry man's shield. An odd choice, but good proof against hidden archers waiting in ambush.
"I request to come along." he says, then a beat too late, "Sir."
Morgan felt like he ought to be annoyed but in truth he was glad of the Eagle Knight's presence. "It's hard to say what they intend, without knowing whose leading this little adventure of theirs. But one thing's for sure I don't like meeting them on ground of their choosing."
Giving the Eagle Knight a sidelong glance he nodded his ascent before asking, "Do any of you know the land around here well? Are there any likely ambush spots along the way? Also is there a place we can place our flag where they can see it? I'd to force them to come to us."
As an afterthought he added, "Can anyone fill me in about what happened to your previous commander?"
A ruddy faced Androan comes out of the gate, dressed not as a soldier but in a civilian leather jerkin. "I know the land." he says gruffly, pauses and adds (sullenly), "Sir."
He goes on, "Are you really looking to fight the Chelish? Like, really fight them?" Doubt hovers in his brown eyes as he surveys Morgan's red skin and small horns. "This is my land, I was born and raised a stone's throw from this very spot. I don't aim to let the devil-worshipers have an inch of it."
When Morgan asks about the previous commander, everyone goes silent. The only sound is that of morning insects hovering above the pond-like moat, and the distant sound of woodsman knocking down trees. Finally Salvor says, "Yesterday, a scout brought back news of footprints and forces out in the hills. He wasn't sure what, but someone was out there. Our Captain, taking a small force on horse, went out to investigate."
"They never came back." The patrolman pauses, "So I went out, alone, to scout. I am the best in a wood among the troops. I found them, sir. A bloody pile of bodies, horses and men alike. Brutal, it was. Slashed head to tail, men disemboweled. And not a single foe, just our own men. I fled, and hurried back. On my way I spotted a Chelish scout. He fled at the sight of me, but it proves their guilt."
"Are you really looking to fight the Chelish? Like, really fight them?"
Morgan turns to face the man and with a sad smile he told him simply, "Yes I intend to fight and I intend to win. I've seen what the Chelish scum get up to when they sack a town or a fort and I'd sooner die than let that happen here."
"This is my land, I was born and raised a stone's throw from this very spot. I don't aim to let the devil-worshipers have an inch of it."
"Good!" replied Morgan, "Iomadae would approve. I know I look like something dragged out of the lowest hell but She is my Patron and I have sworn an oath to defend the land and it's people against the Chelish invaders. We mustn't underestimate the Chelaxian army, they enjoy war and have considerable experience. Still they don't have patriots like yourself, and that's what will count in the end. I want their officer to come to us so we can take their measure, will you help us select the ground? We shouldn't stray too far from the keep."
Morgan listened to Salvor's tale in silence before nodding at the end. It was entirely possible the Chelaxians had brought some horror from the lower planes with them, but that was far from the only possibility. So for now he kept his own council and stated, "We must learn from his mistake and use scouts to prevent an ambush and never let our guard down. If we do encounter something, have no fear, Iomadae will lend your blades her righteous fury."
The civilian's hard look softens a bit, but only a bit. Clearly, while he certainly agrees with Morgan's word, it'll take more then a pretty speech to convince him, especially when it comes from a tielfing. The mention of Iomadae does seem to throw him (and everyone else who can hear) off balance.
The man nods finally and says, "There is a meadow less then halfway down where we can safely stop. Soil is damp there, not trees for a furlough or so around the road. Safe from archers....sir."
Soon Morgan and Hendrik (along with four heavily armed infantrymen) are moving into the woods, with a ghostly shell of woodsman ahead and behind. They are lead into thin goat tracks between the massive trees, and Morgan would have quickly gotten lost if not for the occasional signing of the guides ahead.
'Do you plane to concede anything?" The Eagle Knight at his elbow says suddenly, voice loud in the quiet wood. His armor clanks softly in the gloom. "Gods only knows what the Chelish may ask for, but do you have anything in mind to offer/"
Offer yourself. The thought seems to hang in the air between them.
Morgan nodded, "Sounds like just the place, you have my thanks. That's where we'll meet their deputation." 'And possibly our deaths, but I don't suppose it would be good for morale to admit that.'
"Do you plane to concede anything?"
Doubts flashed through Morgan's, 'That I'm more scared that I dare admit even to myself. That I'm out of my depth? That anything else I might offer is naught but thin air... That I'd trade my life for them to leave never to return?'
Morgan held the man's gaze as he replied softly, "I plan to offer them safe passage to the Chelaxian boarder if they withdraw promptly..." They both knew what that meant. And other than his body, Morgan had little else to offer in truth. This wasn't his land, he was merely today's custodian.
Speaking up Morgan addressed the small force that was with him, "Right let's do this. Each and every one of you has my thanks for undertaking this task. We must guard ourselves against treachery and hold anything they might say or promise with suspicion. It's possible they may offer free passage for any that leave, this is almost certainly a lie. I've seen them extend this offer before and it almost always ended badly..."
The small group has left the shabby brushy woods near the fort and entered into true forest. The woodsmen lead them through stands of ancient oaks that centuries older then the border and seemingly far more steady then the fortress Morgan is tasked to defend. A thick carpet of leaves crackle underfoot, interwoven with fallen branches and rotting acorns fallen during autumns before Morgan had been born. It is dark and gloomy under the thick growth, the air heavy with the scents of wood and rotting leaves.
The Eagle Knight nodded when Morgan basically suggested he had little to offer.
The others gather slightly to hear Morgan's words, nodding. Clearly no Andoran solider needs to be told to expect treachery from the Chelish. The lead woodsman, who said his name was Gabe says, "We are near the spot. Do you want me to take you ahead to get a look at them? They are waiting a few bends up the road. Can't take everyone, but you and me should be able to sneak close."
Morgan nodded but demurred saying, "I want to see them but I fear my Armour is not designed for stealth, I'd probably give the game away crashing thorough the undergrowth. No for now I'll rely on your and your woodsmen's eyes. I need an idea of how many are ahead, around and behind, can you do that?"