Siege Of Bordrin's Watch

[Jemal]

"Or the death of it." Michelle winked slyly at the halfork as she waved for Krunk to bring her usual. "So what brings you around, tall dark and gloomy? Don't recognize ya."

[Velmont]

"Nice work..." repeat Chris at the other half-ork with some disdain. "I should have just scared them. But that war put me on the edge. I know that kind of event will become too frequent to my taste. I can handle three of there kind, but I might have difficulty against a zealous professional or a paranoid crowd... I just hope I won't have a thief guild on my back over that."

Chris look at the woman who just entered. "Talking about it, it start to be crowdy in here."

[renau1g]

Originally Posted by DEFCON 1

"Mister Tregar? Mister Tregar? Are you at home? I'm here to pick up my pa's new scythe!"

Tregar was deep in meditation when a loud knocking brought him back to his senses, the dwarves first thought was "Can't they read the sign? We're closed, leave me alone". After shaking the cobwebs out, he listened closer and realized it was the voice of the Mattthews boy... what was his name again, Robal... no that wasn't it, Ribin? No that's not right either, Robin!" .

Standing up and carefully returning his box back underneath the floor, Tregar called out "Be right there, Robin, just finishing up some work" as he throws on the blacksmith apron and gloves for show and grabs some soot from the now cool furnace to rub on his face. The disguise complete, Tregar closed off the work area, lest the boy get interested, and went to his back door.

"Now what did your pa tell you 'bout knocking when someone ain't wanting to be found?" Tregar says angrily as he opens the door, his face a mask of fury, for a moment, then he drops the facade and laughs, the sound deep and comforting, as he places his hand on the boys shoulder. [color="Plum"]"Now I've been watching you since you were up to my waist, and by the way you're growing now, I'll be the one at your waist pretty soon. What's your ma feeding you out there?"/COLOR] Tregar jokes.

He was about to invite the boy in for a snack, the lad always liked the apple pies he bought from Prena the cook, but he was nervous he didn't have the time right now. The dwarf thought for a moment then said, "I've got your father's scythe ready, just need to put the finishing touches on it. C'mon in and I'll fix you something that'll put some meat on those scrawny bones" opening the door to let the boy in.

[EvolutionKB]

Wendigo lay on his stomach on the ridge overlooking the monastery. He had just returned from a pilgrimage. He had left a Drellen's Ferry what only seemed like a few days ago. His legs were long and he moved quickly. The smoke on the horizon warned him of what he might find. The carrion birds circling confirmed it. The Monastery of the Sundered Chain was attacked. The forms below were unrecognizable, but they certainly were not dwarves.

Wendigo growled under his breath. By Moradin's Beard! Those that did this would pay, but he was no fool, he needed help. Wendigo stood, and ran, long legs carrying him to Overlook.

Overlook was abuzz when he arrived. Orcs gathered, they could be the ones responsible for the deaths of his brothers. No, not brothers, he had no family. Only Moradin mattered.

The shifter was nondescipt, he could be mistaken for a rural farmer. His head was bald, shaved. His sideburns and beard was long, in reverence to Moradin. He wore simple cotton breeches and shirt. The clothes helped cover the coarse hair that covered his body as well as his muscled frame. A silver chain hung from his neck, a large symbol of Moradin inscribed on a medallion. He held a fighting staff in one hand, but he didn't need it.

Wendigo's destination was the Temple of Moradin, but the sights, sounds, and smells of the city and it's many bodies slowed his pace.

[The Digger]

“And so, Tresa. What about you? Will you join also?”

Tresa knelt before the altar and prayed for guidance. She had promised never to do another harm ever again. She had not made the oath official as had Henry, hers had been merely a promise made more to herself than to God, but...

She sighed and made herself as comfortable as possible on the stone flags. Her knees would be raw by morning but it was only by the Vigil that she would be able to make the decision.

--------------------------------------------------------

Henry walked slowly back to the abattoir. He had made his decision, and Father John had given his blessing, but it was still a momentous thing, to recant on an oath!

As he entered his quarters he took down his poleaxe and examined it closely before shaking his head. The protruding beak was grand for slaying cattle and for piercing heavy armour but the orc hordes would have no cattle, and little or no heavy armour. The small axe head was fine for animal work but he would need a larger, sharper head for the task ahead.

Tregar was the man...dwarf for this. Shouldn't take him more than an hour or so to sort this. The fighter stood and smiled. He could feel his blood warming already.

-------------------------------------------------------------

OOC

Henry was just a name. But we seem to have a mega number of clerics and few defenders so I thought I might develop him a little.

[Voda Vosa]

A dwarf with a big scar on his face, that closed his right eye forever, looks the captain Durkik Forgeheart as he passed by, shouting his message to the peoples of Overlook. Gombar of the Firebelly clan, was leaning next to the entrance of the "Salty Mug" tavern. Gombar usually came there, to visit the barman, and old "friend" of his. For Gombar, "Friends" are those whom you have exchanged a good amount of fists with, lost a few teeth fighting with, or submerged in a sea of insults with. Those were his friends. Gombar is a though guy, with a harsh personality, a dread enemy and a valuable ally, he falls into violence way to often, although well natured, at least in his mind. A punch in the nose is well natured violence in his dictionary.
He is also a quite veteran dwarf. In his early times, he fought the orcs, and barely survived. His eye was lost in that battle, and the deep hate that it spawned in his heart against orcs has never since extinguished. After that he traveled the land, looking for the glory of battle, for the wealth of the land, and for his personal vendetta against the orcs. Many did the dwarven champion slain, but none satiate his bloodlust, none gave back his eye, or the many friends he lost in that terrible night.
The gold he earned was spent in booze to try and drought the bad old memories, in company, that did not made him happy, in better weaponry to slay more and more orcs, orcs who didn't had any relation with the events that took place on the Bloodstained walls, orcs whose blood was now on Gombar's hands.
One day, the dwarf had too much. Too much battles, too much dead friends buried, too much innocents blood staining his beard, deep black, like the void.
He locked his shield on his back, and his axe on his belt, and start walking, like only dwarves can do, with heavy and continuous steps, much like an extremely stubborn rhinoceros.
With his eye fixed in the horizon, it's said that Gombar walked for three complete days, not eating, not sleeping, not resting, until the gates of Overlook where before him.
Returning home was not the only thing the dwarf did. He tried to soft en his hardened heart, to open his mind to the idea that not every orc is evil, "... but most'o 'em" the always thought in a corner of his mind.
He put his skills at good use, teaching as instructors to the new guards and recruits of the city. In that time he met Durkik.
A fine warrior he was, far more intelligent than Gombar, Durkik became Captain of the militia soon after meeting him. They always shared a mug of ale or ten mugs of ale, or as many their stomachs could withstand before going unconscious.
He also met Tregar, a great blacksmith on Gombar's opinion, the best in town, although Tregar did not share that opinion. The trustworthy dwarf gave his very soul in each creation, and that was what Gombar admired the most. The lone veteran could watch the blacksmith working for hours and hours.
Gombar became a known citizen of Overlook, most people considered him crazy, since during the day, he became much introverted and silent, not talking too much for too long, not even to his friends. At night, and with a couple of ales on, the story was quite different. Gombar talked a lot, about his travels and his battles, about everything. That was how everyone heard the story of Gombar Firebelly, a sad story, most of it, but with a quite good message. Wise parents used it to school their children "...or you'll become like ol' Gombar" And the best part of it was that they could point out the lonely dwarf, wandering through the streets with his eye, lost in his own reality. Luckly for them their kids would grow up before they got to a tavern at night, were Gombar himself could tell a different story.

But that day, the lonely dwarf, gave a few steps into the streets, watching the captain's back. "Would'ya take an ol' dwarf to the fields 'f battle once more, fer the glory 'f Moradin and fer his own personal salvation?" Gombar Firebelly asked, with a voice of thunder and determination. A voice, Gombar himself had already forgot.


OOC: Here's Gombar Firebelly introduction. If I'm touching Tregar story in a way you don't like, please renau1g, let me know. Same thing about the captain. Sorry for any spelling errors, not my native language. I'll like if you could correct them and let me know the proper use of words, it's always good to learn

[stonegod]

Dorn Thirae, known as 'The Speaker of Truths', 'Tongue of Triumph', and 'Liberator of Overlook', how do you plead?

The sun was high over High Hall. In one of the many courts, a crowd was gathered. Dwarves, dour and serious. Humans, weighing their advantage in the court case. Halflings and gnomes just curious. And women.

Lots of women.

At the front, flanked by two officers of the court, was a tall half-elf in shackles. He had a proud bearing, lean build, and swarthy skin accented by his shaved head. Even before the court, his surety of action was clear. Dorn was a man on a mission.

Not Guilty

The judge, a older dwarven matron, looked down on the half-elf over her glasses and tsked once. We have evidence of broadsheets with your nom-de-plum decrying the 'Dwarven Oppressors' and calling for 'True Representation' for 'Elsir Vale's Common Interests.' Multiple witnesses have reported your disruption of civil matters, most recently Captain Forgeheart's official recruiting rounds. Can you explain this?

Dorn smiled. A flighty slip of a girl in the back fainted.

There's nothing to explain. I did all of those things, and more, I freely admit. It is every citizens duty to resist tyranny. This latest 'conscription' against a constant made up 'threat' is nothing more than more means to keep the populace in fear, fearful to assert their basic rights for self governance. This hoax...

The murmur in the crowd, sighs, gasps, and yells drowned out Dorn's ramblings. The judge banged her gavel hard against the marble mantle.

Order! Order! Her stern gaze quieted and accosted the crowd, but Dorn only continued his self-assured smile. The judge turned her steely gaze to him. So you admit freely to all of these incidents. Very well. Take him to the hold. I will be discuss sentencing.

Dorn continued to smile, the smile of a vindicated man. That, or a martyr.

*****

In her chambers, Her Honor Borra Proudstone examine the files on Dorn. The man was more of a nuisance than anything else... but a nuisance that was drawing attention. And his words were dangerously close to those rumored by who wanted to displace the Council, though no tie to them was evident. Dorn did appear to really be a patriot, his brief stint as part of the Watch proved that. He was misguided.

She glanced out her high window, seeing the cart of Forgeheart making his rounds. If Thirae truly does want to see what is best for Overlook... The dwarf smiled. It would kill two birds with one stone: He'd either show his true colors as a son of Overlook defending it against its darkest hour... or he'd die trying.

She began the paperwork.

[Insight]

Originally Posted by Jemal

"Or the death of it." Michelle winked slyly at the halfork as she waved for Krunk to bring her usual. "So what brings you around, tall dark and gloomy? Don't recognize ya."

"Ya haven't?" Gloomblade said with a hearty laugh. "Might have sumethin ta do with me jus' gettin' here. Fresh out of Sub Saan Prison. Know the place? I don't reckon ya would."

Gloomblade took a slight draw from his whiskey. He turned around to took at the bar's newcomers. "Looks like this place is filling up," he remarked.

[Jemal]

"Aye, tis a popular place... Krunk's that is, not the prison." Michelle grinned - Of course she'd never been there, but not for lack of the guards trying.
"Though now ya've gone and got a girl curious as to what had ya in there in the first place, Nasty little hole like that.." She sets down her second cup and raises her eyebrows expectantly

[EvolutionKB]

Once Wendigo has acclimated himself to the new sights and smells of this city, he began moving once again. Raised in the monastery, the biggest place he had been was only Drellin's Ferry, and that was just recently.

The shifter's stomach growled and he was reminded it had been some time since he ate. He bought a meat pie from a street merchant. It's rich gravy and tender meat was much more than he had at the monastery.

Trying to get an idea of where he was in the city, Wendigo looked around. It was then that he saw a dwarf clad in heavy robes, hands in the folds of the garment, a grave look upon his face. "What troubles you Moradin's son?"
The dwarf looks up wrinkling his nose at the sweaty shifter. "I am no son of Moradin, once I stopped being able to provide for my family, Moradin stopped hearing my prayers." The dwarf pulled his right arm from his robes, it ended with an ugly stump at his elbow.

The shifter nods gravely. "Moradin always listens. You must look for signs, signs that show him what you must do." The shifter looks over the dwarf insightfully. Scars crisscrossed his arms, even his good one. His beard was salt and peppered and his skin was weathered. He was still strong and sturdy, with a thick trunk and broad shoulders. "You were a warrior." It was not a question.

"I was. Damn orcs hacked off my arm in their last raid. My wife stood by me, and putting food on the table was a struggle once I couldn't do my job as well." The dwarf sighs. "Now my son wants to join the militia, to push back the oncoming horde."

The shifter nods, seeing what was bothering the elder dwarf. "Your son is right to want to protect his home. As a father, you have provided for him a home he wants to save. No matter your feelings of what you have done and what have befell you, help your son. Help him prepare for what his coming. You are still a warrior, the spirit of the warrior never dies, even if the body changes. Teach him what you know so he may come back to you. That will be far more valuable than any other thing to him right now."

The dwarf nods. "Thank you priest. I've never met a shifter priest of Moradin before, but you've gotta be the best around."

"You are welcome, but I am no priest." The shifter grasps the holy symbol and bows quickly before moving away into the crowds.

[Insight]

Originally Posted by Jemal

"Aye, tis a popular place... Krunk's that is, not the prison." Michelle grinned - Of course she'd never been there, but not for lack of the guards trying.
"Though now ya've gone and got a girl curious as to what had ya in there in the first place, Nasty little hole like that.." She sets down her second cup and raises her eyebrows expectantly

Gloomblade finished his whiskey and tapped the bar counter twice, indicating to Sessie that he'd like to have another.

"Funny thing is," the Half-Orc replied. "I don't 'zactly know."

He extended a hand. "Name's Gloomblade. I know, I know. Sounds like some sorta warrior-poet who's had too much white wine and finds 'imself dancin' atop a church spire..." He paused, wondering if the metaphor would sink in.

"I woke up in Sub Saan Prison, nothin' on me but my birthday suit," he continued. "The boys, they gave me this Gloomblade name, as well as the multitude of cuts and scars yerr eyes're tracin' all over my face an' neck right about now."

[Kobold Stew]

It’s always a funny sight, when you’re in a dwarven village. I think they do it deliberately, but the surface buildings are always built so humans have to bend their neck: five-and-a-half-foot doorframes, beam construction so that there are always obstacles, stools and tables just a little too small. Underground is different of course – there they want to impress. But when it’s a surface building, it’s like some dwarf architect one night was talking to a gnome, and they engineered the biggest practical joke among the civil races.

Take this place, for instance – a human and now two half orcs are in the place, keeping a low profile by beating up… well, pretty much anybody, it seems. The human worries me. She saw me, Galatea thinks to herself. The comment about the color is well enough, but the adjective…

”Perhaps you’d all like to sit down” she says to the half orcs and the redhead. She is trying to be firm, but her voice lacks conviction. ”You’re attracting attention.”

Gala points to a couple of cut stumps that serve as extra stools, stacked against the wall. She rubs her chin, pausing to notice that her muzzle doesn’t have fur. It’s been a while since she was in this body for any real length.

The half-orcs she can make sense of. She knows that they are different from the foe this village faces – they smell different, and loath though they may be to admit it, they act civilized. And she knows that the dwarves in their hearts know it too – even if surface prejudices might show themselves differently, given the tensions in the air, on this night especially.

But the woman worries her. Michelle, she had introduced herself as. She had seen me, thinks Galatea, and she wants me to know that she’s seen me. Is it just showing off? Or just a warning, that I'd better cover my tracks more carefully. Need to get the scent of her... too many people here; not like at home.

”My name,” she says deliberately, ”is Galatea. Why don’t you tell me what those boys there on the floor wanted?”

[The Digger]

"Tregar! Tregar! Open the darned door, will ye. I can see your light, and I can hear your hammer so I know ye're in there."

Henry hammered once again on the smith's door. Now that his decision had been made he wanted to get on with it, and quickly. He wasn't 100% certain when things were going to kick off but he wanted to be ready.

"I have a little job for ye, Tregar. Shouldn't take long and ye can gat back to whatever else ye have to do."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tresa still knelt. Her bones ached and her head was spinning. In her mind's eye she could see the guards fall, battered to death by the power of her hammer. She could feel their dying breath on her face. She could feel their eyes drilling into her; "Why us?" they screamed into her very soul.

Tears poured from her eyes, her nails dug into her palms, causing blood to drip to the floor.

How could she go back to that? She was no soldier like Henry. She was a priest of Pelor. She was supposed to stop suffering when she found it - not smash skulls. She was supposed to show kindness and mercy not beat folk to death.

...

The Litany of Pelor said "Be Watchful against Evil". It did not say grind your enemies into the dust.

...Be Watchful...Be Watchful...

As these words rang in her head she was aware of a warming in her belly. A warming which grew and grew, reaching to all parts of her body.

A soft ringing came to her ears and a glow caught her attention.

Glancing over to the wall where her old warhammer hung she realised that that was the source of sound and light. As she watched, the hammer shrank, smaller and smaller, until it was no larger than her hand, and then, upon the miniature head, appeared a sun disc, symbol of her God, and she knew the answer to her prayer.

[WarlockLord]

It was yet another day when the dark elf heard the call to arms. It had only been a few days since the drow had arrived in this city, and already the death toll was at one. An unfortunate encounter with a thug in one of the many alleyways of the Blister. It is very difficult to restrain oneself when a group of thugs attacks you with the intent of killing you and taking your money. Naturally, the rogue had not, with the end result being a fat thug being disemboweled by rapier, and a flying dagger taking off the ear of a second. You see, Ralak-Nul was a wandering sellsword. Except, unlike many warriors who valued a fair fight, Ralak was a fan of stealth, trickery, and running your opponent through when his back was turned.

The next day, the drow learned the bad news. Apparently the thugs were with some local thieves guild, The Lost Ones. The fat man was the son of the boss, in fact. And so the dark elf went looking - not specifically for an escape, per se, but a tactical retreat. Then he heard the call to arms. It would be rather foolish to attack a member of the militia, and joining up seemed the safest way to survive.

And so, this day the drow was going about tryng to find where to sign up. A jackal walked by. "What the hell? A collared jackal? Who the heck keeps that for a pet?". The situation continued to get weirder, as some woman cloaked in shadow walked by. It is amazing what people will ignore focused in their own microcosms. The drow forgot about the odd duo for a few hours, until he walked by the Salty Mug and saw Shadow Chick...and an elf woman with the same collar, speaking to a pair half-orcs. The curious drow decided it was time for a drink, and entered the tavern. "Water, please," he said to the bartender, sitting at the counter and observing the strange quartet.

[stonegod]

Dorn's cell was crowded. Street ruffians, a few drunks, the normal social detritus. The half-elf moved through them with ease, a smile and look of confidence high on his face.

A trio of thugs moved to block his path. The two behind him were sewer rats. Nothing to be concerned with. But Big Jack.... Big Jack was big. A minotaur with a mean streak and a broken-off left horn. He'd lost it in a wager, it was said.

Dorn had been the caller of that wager.

The big creature snorted. Fancy seeing you here, Dorn. Too bad the guards are a bit busy. Too bad for you. Big Jack flexed his muscles. The big bovine tried a double-handed chop, which hit Dorn hard, almost reeling him.

Touching the blood on his cheek, Dorn shook his head. You don't think I have friends in here, Big Jack? Those that crave justice are never without allies. Those that know truth are always protected! With a quick gesture, a wall of thunder smashed into the three thugs around him, shoving the rats into pillars and knocking them cold while pushing Big Jack into a throng of beggars, ruffians, and others who had all known the help of the Liberator of Overlook. Big Jack's cow eyes looked frightened as the mass descended on him.

The guards were there quickly, and Big Jack mostly suffered bruises. But it was his ego that was really hurt. As for Dorn, he just sat down with a smug smile and waited his sentence.

[Velmont]

"Yeah..." replies Chris. He make a sign to Sessie to bring him another ale. He then sits down next to the elf. "You've witness what happen. I know as much I you. They came here, treating me, they look like they wanted my skin just because I look like an orc. I must tell too many of my kind decide to go into the orcish society, as it is easier to have respect. You just need to prove you are as string as them, but they are too barbarish, I prefer the cities, even if they don't welcome me.

The only thing that bother me, it is they are member of the thieves guild. So behind that, they might had another motive I am not aware." He pause a moment as Sessie put the mug of ale on the table. Chris gives a few coppers to pay and take a sip. "Damn that war make me nervous. I'm here, talking to an elf I don't even know about me." He tells to himself before turning his attention again at the elf. "No offense intended... but your kind generally show indifference to mine, and they probably think the worst of us like humans. But I'm aware an individual is not necessarily like the common of his race. And you seems more open minded... or you have interest in me."

[DEFCON 1]

"Interesting crew ya got in tonight, Krunkie."

The voice came out of nowhere, just as the hobgoblin was depositing the first unconscious form on the cobblestones of the street. Krunk immediately snaps his head up and cranes his neck around looking for the young woman... despite the fact he should have known he wouldn't. After all, he's never once seen the human female when she hasn't wanted to be seen.

"It is, what it is, 'Shell." Krunk says, right as he hears the door to the Mug closes behind him, the shadowy form having gotten past him and into the tavern without him seeing. Krunk sighs and closes his eyes tight shut, shaking his head and then turning around to reenter the building. It's going to be one of those nights...

He pushes on the door and rejoins the crowd that has overtaken the Mug. Sessie is still behind the counter pouring shots of the good whiskey, the halfork speaking with an elven woman over by one of the tables, and of course, there's Miss Darkness herself, Michelle, actually now in view and already in deep conversation with a second halfork, this one scarred to high heaven. Krunk walks back over to the bar and grabs ahold of the second dazed form and pulls the boy to his feet. "Shelly... I know you've run with the Losties... let the boys back home know that I had nothing to do with these three getting gakked, okay? Last thing I need is for your boys to get rambunctious now that all our guards will be heading into the Stonehome." He begins walking back to the front door, but turns and addresses the entire bar. "As a matter of fact, if any of you either run with the Lost Ones or having something going on against them... do me a favor and take your problems outside, okay? Two days time most of you are gonna be outta here and I don't wanna be left holding the bag cause you had difficulties with each other."

Just as he exits the door to dump the second body... in walks a drow with a sword strapped to his hip... unfortunately just three seconds too late to have heard his speech about those with Lost One difficulties. Yup, it's going to be a long night at the Mug.

[DEFCON 1]

Two hours following the arrival and departure of Robin, holding the brand new and wonderfully forged scythe in his young hands... Tregar is back at his spot on the rug in deep meditation. In less than two days, he will be joining so many others at Caer Overlook, giving of himself for the protection of all. Moradin has been watching over this city for eons, and he's owed his livelihood to the god's blessing... so it is only right that in his service he return.

It is deep into the evening's meditation that the dwarf is suddenly struck in a manner that he was not expecting. To his surprise, Tregar's vision begins swirling, even with his eyes closed, and the blacksmith cannot help but grab his head. By Moradin's hand... he screams to himself in his own mind, and suddenly the darkness of his home is replaced with another sight. A sight beyond sight. There is a building. Built into the mountainside. A monastery. One that he is familiar with, dedicated to the warriors in Moradin's name. The Monastery of the Sundered Chain.

And as his vision moves in at a high speed towards the front gates, the details come into focus. The monastery has been overrun. With orcs. And the Order has been destroyed.

With a flash, Tregar's vision snaps back into his dark room, and the invoker begins breathing hard. As one of Moradin's conduit to the living world, Tregar's been given this view of part of what they are up against. And as he stands up to shake some of the cobwebs away, a phantom voice echoes within his mind...

One of the monks is on his way here... a shifter... a member of the Sundered Chain... and a fist of Moradin...

[DEFCON 1]

Wendigo winds his way through the effluvium that is the mass of humanity within the Nine Bells. He was told upon his arrival in Overlook that the city's nine temples were found together in an area called the Divine Knot in the nine Bells district... but he had no idea of the poverty and disease with which the people here were riddled with.

The bald shifter places his hand upon the symbol around his neck as he tries in vain to find the temple dedicated to Moradin. Unbeknownst to him, this particular temple has been abandoned for several years, because those of the faith moved on to the monastery from which he had just come or worship at the Stone Anvil in the center of the city. Instead, only Bahamut, Pelor, Kord, Erathis, the Raven Queen, and, oddly, Zehir-- remain, but with small clergies and smaller congregations.

"You want some verdant leaf?" comes a voice from behind Wendigo, and as he turns, he sees a ragged halfling standing in the dark alley... his clothing in tatters, his face dirty and pocked. The squat little man shows him a cloth which holds a powerful narcotic called 'verdant leaf', and the shifter can see that the halfling is desperate to make what little money he can off of his find. However, before he can respond, another voice rings out from the steps of the building to which this alley runs next. "In Pelor's name, beggone! Do not peddle your sickening wares in the shadow of Summer's grace!" The dwarven woman motions with her warhammer at the halfling, and the cretin quickly yelps and scatters back up the alley. Wendigo notices the warhammer has a residual glow to it... as though it shines with a slight inner light. He notes this internally and sees Tresa take a few steps down to the garbage-strewn street, and address him formally. "It is a bad time for many here, good sir. A bad time for many."

[DEFCON 1]

"Dorn Thirae, please rise..."

Her Honor Borra Proudstone sits upon the high bench that looks down upon the peoples in the court. The half-elf nonchalantly climbs to his feet, the smirk on his face provoking the same rise in irritation in those who see it. It is always bothersome to see someone who is that confident and that sure of himself, because the odds of having any sort of meaningful conversation is almost negligable. However, in this case, Madam Proudstone has the floor to herself, so while a conversation with the rabble-rouser would be pointless, at least he will have to listen to what she has to say, if only for a few minutes.

"I find myself in an interesting position right now, Mister Thirae. You claim to want the best for this city... and yet decry the evidence that it is soon to be under attack. Well, under attack if the army before us can make their way through the mountains of Stonehome, that is." She stares directly at the half-elf, carefully weighing her words for as much of an impact as they could possibly have... knowing full well it probably would still be not much. "You, and your 'friends'... those that hang around outside Cadrick's Boarding House... have been shouting your agenda for years now. And though your caterwauling has gained you some notoriety... enough for you to acquire the nickname 'The Liberator of Overlook'... you unfortunately have not gained something more important. Perspective. You've spent so much time here in the city looking outwards, you've forgotten what our lands look like from beyond. Perhaps if you see what is out there waiting to bust through our walls, you might understand just a little bit more."

The judge raises her hand to quiet down the few murmurs of curious discussion, and begins her sentencing. "Therefore, I find the defendant 'Guilty', and sentence him to serve in the city's militia for the next 30 days, starting with the gathering here at High Hall tomorrow. Perhaps when you see this 'hoax' up close and personal... you'll come to realize that what we all do is for the protection of us all. Serve us well, Mister Thirsae. Your sword arm will be defending us, as well as your own self."

"Court is adjourned." *wrap*