Siege Of Bordrin's Watch

[Velmont]

"Thanks Akora." answers the young dwarf. "My name is Baldwin, and you are actually carrying Gundar, my mentor. I agree I could take some rest, but I'll get it as soon as my mentor is under good hands. His wounds are deep and I have patch it as I could. I wonder how he did survive that long, but he won't need to wait much more to receive the help he really need. Once that done, I'll start to take care of me."

As he enters the cathedral, Baldwin is amazed by the beauty of such place. He is impress by the great decoration in honor of Moradin, father of the dwarvews. For a moment, he slow down, distracted by the magnificence of the cathedral. As he feel Akora keeping the pace, he haste a bit his step just to fumble a bit. "Sorry" He returns to the pace he had, keeping his eyes toward the altar.

[Insight]

Originally Posted by Velmont

"Stealing, for survival, it's fair enough. Destroying a whole village, killing men, women and kids just to have some loots is far behind the line I won't cross. The life is hard, people are not always generous and gentle. Sometimes, the stronger will impose his rule, but that's the way it is." replies Chris to Gloomblade.

"Citizen? Ah! Nice one. I've been here for a month, I am far from gaining my citizenship... but if you want a tour, Michelle seems more the person you want."

Gloomblade flashes a toothy grin to Michelle. "How 'bout it?" he asks plainly. "I s'pose I could wander the streets by meself, but who knows what sorta trouble a feller could get inna."

[EvolutionKB]

Wendigo nods, thanking the priestess for her directions. After she quietly excused herself, the shifter stood once again. He had ran all the way here. He could walk a little now.

It wasn't long before he could see the cathedral. It was huge, dwarfing the structure's around it. It was different than his monastery. While The Monastery of the Sundered Chain was plain and simple, this place was extravagant. Leaded windows shaped like hammers adorned the highest reaches of the place, sparkling like stars. The doors were huge and the blocks of the wall were as big as many houses he passed on the way here.

The shifter walks inside, and sees many eyes glare at him from pews. Unperturbed, Wendigo approaches the altar, and kneels in prayer. He thanks the mighty Moradin for letting him reach his destination in safety and with such endurance. His prayers complete, he looks around for someone of authority.

[Kobold Stew]

"A friend in arms is a useful thing indeed, Ralak Nul. One never knows where a fight will lead, or what the night may bring. That, indeed, was a sentiment I picked up not so long ago from someone who had been very close to me, before the Orcs came. And I don't mean our good companions here... I mean, as we hear from their speech, both its topic and its tenor, it is clear that they are nothing to do with the approaching horde. To think differently would be a claim of ignorance, or willfulness. But the horde is a concern, and it is one we must answer. I have lost...

There is a pause in her speech, as she lifts her chin up, pointing it to the reach, opening her throat as if to sing, or perhaps to howl, though no sound emerges.

"I have lost more than I care to admit. But the land has lost more. The land is being violated... though usurped might be a better metaphor. One senses the urgency of the threat, and the fact that the danger will be met here. Not in this place particularly, but at this point in time. In the course of the events of our lives, of which you and I are perhaps more aware than our companions, Ralak Nul -- in the course of these events, we can see how much has focussed on these days, conspired to bring so many warriors to this remote dwarven outpost at precisely this time.

It is no accident. The land needs defending, and she has summoned her defenders. The orcs, and their goblinoid host can threaten the world, but the land will defend herself. And she will use us as her agents. But enough of that, now. I am pleased to have met all three of you, and I hope that our paths will cross again, and soon. One never knows where a fight will lead, or what the night may bring."

Gala has finished with her drink, even though a third of it remains. She has pushed it away, and is now on the edge of the cut stump that serves as a seat in this place. Her words are for the table: drow, halforc, halforc--the three she has found herself sitting among through the evening. And Michelle, whose presence had so filled the tavern that Gala struggled to tell which table she was at.

Gala didn't have that sort of personality, she knew. But now she was going for some air, and perhaps find a place for the evening. She stood, and made a hand gesture that she had hoped would provide a flourish to her monologue, a completing gesture that would leave a sure, confident impression on her companions. Unfortunately, outside of Gala's imagination, it looked like a small awkward wave from her elbow.

She exhaled and smiled and departed for the outdoors. As she emerged into the fresh evening air, she breathed in deeply, her arms reaching up to the sky, as if to increase her lung capacity. As she does so, she realizes how satisfied she is to be here, now.

She takes a few steps to the side of the building, and leaps into the air. when she comes down, her forepaws land first, and she continues to trot lightly along the street. She can hear more now, and she swishes her tail satisfied that her evening has been well spent.

She turns around to see if anyone is following her, but sees only the regular crowd of the city. The forest isn't far, and in a few minutes, she can feel the long grass beneath her belly, as she makes her way to a spot a few hundred yards into the woods. These had been her woods, once upon a time, but now they were no longer. She recognized them, and felt comfortable, but it wasn't home. The stump of an old tree provided all the shelter she would need tonight, and as she found it, she curled up against it, warming the ground beneath her, as she went to sleep.

[WarlockLord]

[sblock=OOC]
Frankly, I wasn't sure if Gloomblade, Chris, and Michelle were still at the table, so, if I'm intruding and reacting to something RN hasn't heard, put it in an sblock and I'll retcon this.[/color]

Ralak-Nul, having heard all of Gala's speech, gives her his own little wave as the elf walks out the door. "Well, I'd try to follow up on that, but I really am not good at the whole 'inspirational speech' thing. By the way, are you guys still headed out on the tour of the city? I'd like to come along, if I may, as I do not particularily know my way around." It would certainly help to keep an eye on Michelle, too. She seemed somewhat...ominous. Arcanist? Perhaps. But he knew how to deal with arcanists. "Besides, there's safety in numbers," says the drow, while thinking the exact opposite.

[Jemal]

Michelle grins at the two half-orcs but then glances out the door and frowns for just a moment, before her smile returns and she looks back at them "I'm afraid I'll have to pass for now, big guys.. I have some business that I've really been putting off too long. I'll keep an eye out for ya though." She winks and gives them each a peck on the cheek before whisking herself out the door into the evening shadows, with one last scowl at the drow.

[The Digger]

"Ow! Watch where you're going you..." Tresa spun round to see who it was had bumped into her as she approached the door of the Salty Mug. She hadn't noticed anyone coming out, being slightly distracted by the sight of a jackal wandering down an alleyway. It was certainly not usual to see one of them in town.

But even now she could only make out a shadowy figure moving quickly away after their encounter. "I suppose that's only to be expected down here. It's not exactly a place for maiden aunts and their entourages." she mused - and then giggled in a most unclerical fashion. After all she was a typical maiden aunt and she was here!

Still smiling, she stepped in without further ado and came to an abrupt halt, her hand dropping to the warhammer at her belt.

One. No, two orcs and a drow, and an air with still some tension in it. She glanced quickly at Krurik and started to relax when she saw him standing, idly cleaning a tankard by spitting into it and rubbing it with a sleeve. So, nothing out of the orduinary there then.

"Evening Krurik, how are things? It's been a long time, far too long."

Now that she had a few seconds to consider the situation she could see that the two big men were halfbreeds, not at all unusual. Certainly not in an inn run by a hobgoblin!

==================================================

Henry walked alongside Tregar in silence, automatically adjusting his stride to the shorter stride of the dwarf. He held the halberd in front of him, marvelling at the craftsmanship that went into it. He went to speak but emotion clogged his throat and he coughed instead.

Grateful now for the silence, he continued onward in that companionable way that usually only long acquaintance could produce. His eyes stared forward, watching the route they were taking but his mind flew off into a kind of reverie as he contemplated the battles and dire struggles that were soon to come.

[Keia]

Warrick Steel

Warrick simply nodded at the comment of dwarf called Gombar, and followed the pair into the cathedral. Though he was aware of his surroundings, the elf's mind drifted back to the last time he was here.

The day was brighter, or maybe it was the company he was keeping at the time. Aleyssia was with him, laughing and full of life, her hair dancing in the light of the noonday sun. She had her arm wrapped around his and they entered the church unphased by the majesty. The pair had discussed at length their thoughts of the cathedral . . . and of Overlook as well. The fires in the cathedral sparkled in her eyes, highlighting the deep blue within. Warrick could have been anywhere with her and he would have been equally happy . . .

The smile drifted from his face, unaccustomed to being there. Instead, Warrick resumed the grim visage he had been carrying, the burden of the memory made life heavier ion his mind. He blinked a few times, getting used to the dryness in the air, and kept his eyes on the two dwarves.

[RavenBlackthorne]

“There is no need to apologise, Baldwin. You are stout of heart as well as of body.”
Gently laying the elder dwarf on the steps of the altar, Althea looks around, her eyes taking in the full majesty of her surroundings. The tall, austere pillars reflecting the inner strength of the dwarf she just helped.
Along with all of their race
she remembered. The detailed gilt work in the ceiling reflected the intricacies and nuances of their personalities. The solid, equal, patterned stone work of the floor reminding her of the firm foundations on which their culture was built.
Why do I remember so much of their past and none of mine? Be patient…
Looking up from the tessellated flag stones, she spots an elf, standing darkly by the entrance. His past shadows stream out of him, invisible to all but him and her. Her eyes begin to fill with sadness for the stranger and so she changes her focus. Drifting closer, her gaze falls upon a resolute figure rising from the altar steps. His bestial nature is so full of power and focus that she reels slightly, in awe. Her full lips pull into a smile and she turns back to the dwarves,
“Can I help at all, Baldwin? Do you need me to fetch help?”
As she speaks, her ice blue eyes scan the cathedral for someone of importance.

[Insight]

"Huh, well, I guess I'm off on me own recognesance..." Gloomblade says, giving Michelle a wink and a nod before setting two gold coins on the counter and heading out the tavern door.

Outside the Salty Mug, Gloomblade took in the sights of his new digs. It was a frontier town, no doubt, and probably not somewhere a Half-Orc ex-con ought to stay for long. Gloomblade had no friends here and likely, some enemies, certainly not right now, but people who'd rather the half-breed were gone.

Gloomblade's thoughts drifted to faith, a newfound notion he'd picked up while incarcerated. Perhaps he should find his way to a church, temple, or shrine, if he could find something compatible here.

The Half-Orc approached the closest guard. "Lissen, bub," he said. "Any chance ye could direct me to the shrine or somesuch?"

[DEFCON 1]

Krunk, the hobgoblin tavern owner, watches with half an eye as the human shadow Michelle, the collared elven female Gala, and finally the tattooed and scarred halfork Gloomblade, each make their goodbyes. Shortly after, the dwarf woman named Sister Tresa walks in... and Krunk is very surprised. He hasn't seen her in this part of the city in quite a long time. "Evenin' sister. Odd night to see you about. And odder still the place where I see you." He motions for Sessie to get the priestess whatever drink she requires.

**********

Gloomblade stands by the city guardsman he spoke to, listening to the directions on how to get to Stone Anvil... and takes little notice of the small band of young men emerging from the darkness of the city street. "That him?" one says to the others, to which another replies "Yeah... halfork. He's the one who rolled us." "Then it's time to roll 'em back." Unfortunately for Gloomblade, the phrase 'they all look alike' is turning into a really big problem.

**********

The actual halfork of mention, Chris, still remains within the Salty Mug. He downs another ale and he and Ralak-Nul speak to each other about their journeys and the problems that their respective races cause them. In the occasional city dominated by dwarf or human... a halfork and a drow are not usually embraced without question. It takes a while.

As the two converse, and are overheard by Tresa... the sounds of shouting are heard outside. The clang of metal on metal soon is joined, as well as the piercing whistle of a guardsman's alarm. Chris, Ralak-Nul, Tresa, and Krunk all catch each other's eyes. Something's going on out there... and Krunk winces at the thought of it. I guess Michelle didn't get a chance to talk to her boys...

**********

Dorn Thirae steps down from his box in the holding cells, right after his speech. Once again, his silver tongue has strengthened the support of many of the hoodlums and vagabonds incarcerated in here with him. As many of them come up one by one to shake his hand and pledge their support in anything further he might do... the half-elf thinks back to a similar situation six long months ago in the city of Brindol on the far side of the Elsir Vale...

**********

Six months ago...

"What should we do with 'im?" asks a dirty, greasy, wild-eyed halfling. "Messed with Speaker's business this guy did. Can't do that." "No, he damn well can't." says a dour dwarf standing next to the halfling. Both men stand over a prone form lying in an alley. A halfork wanderer, who unfortunately made the wrong statement to the wrong individual while the man was delivering a speech. And when the man's followers took umbrage to the wanderer's decry... all hell broke loose. "You don't interrupt The Speaker and expect to get away with it... not unless you're a moron."

As they stand over the unconscious halfork, the halfling gets an idea. "Let's mark 'im! Mark 'im with the symbol o' the bastard Lost Ones... then drop him off at the Sarge. Sarge'll send him to Sub Saan if we tell 'im The Speaker said to. Heh heh... man, I'd love to see this guy's face when he wakes up in a cell and find 'imself marked... then he runs inta one of the real Losties who thinks he's trying to pass himself off as one of 'im. Heh heh... that'd do it." The dwarf nods and his grin grows wide. "Great idea! Yeah! Let's do that! Damn... wait'll the Speaker hears what we done for him. You don't interrupt the Speaker, man... that's just not done."

[Velmont]

As he heard the noise, Chris looks outside. It takes him only a second to evaluate the situation. "Hotheaded... will they wait to be killed before they understand..." Chris looks around and decide to grab a candlestick that is lit on a table. He extinguish the candle and throw it away, keeping only the iron rod that he can use as a club. He then throw a few coins at Krunk. "I buy you the candlestick." He then tells the the drow "If you want to do a good deed, there is an halfork who will getting beat for what I have done. Those hot headed cannot even distinguish an halfork from another. Anyway, those guys doesn't care anyway, they just want to skin an halfork today." ON that, Chris exit the main door.

As he come near the group of Lost Ones, Chris shouts. "You are even more cowards than I thought. You need to get reinforcement to get only one man. What kind of thugs are you. Girls? If one of you is a man, come to see me and don't get on the first halfork you meet just to pretend you are courageous."

[The Digger]

If you want to do a good deed, there is an halfork who will getting beat for what I have done.

Impressed by the words of the half orc, and even more by the honour inherent in them, Tresa heads out to see what she can do to help. As yet she does not take hold of her hammer, hoping to end the fight without bloodshed. Or at least with as little blood shed as possible.

As she moves she stares briefly, and curiously, at the drow; she had never seen one in 'peaceful circumstances before; "Well! Are you coming to help your friend, or not?"

Without waiting for a reply she burst out of the door and straight into the middle of the melee.

[Insight]

Originally Posted by DEFCON 1

Gloomblade stands by the city guardsman he spoke to, listening to the directions on how to get to Stone Anvil... and takes little notice of the small band of young men emerging from the darkness of the city street. "That him?" one says to the others, to which another replies "Yeah... halfork. He's the one who rolled us." "Then it's time to roll 'em back." Unfortunately for Gloomblade, the phrase 'they all look alike' is turning into a really big problem.

Gloomblade, seeing the ruffians approach, halts his gait and turns towards the rush of misplaced violent intent.

"Evenin', gents," he says with a smirk. "Don't hear no music, but I'll dance with ya if that's yer poison."

He deftly draws a pair of daggers from secreted scabbards wedged under the backplate of his black leather armor.

"You sure now?"

**********

Six months ago...

"What should we do with 'im?" asks a dirty, greasy, wild-eyed halfling. "Messed with Speaker's business this guy did. Can't do that." "No, he damn well can't." says a dour dwarf standing next to the halfling. Both men stand over a prone form lying in an alley. A halfork wanderer, who unfortunately made the wrong statement to the wrong individual while the man was delivering a speech. And when the man's followers took umbrage to the wanderer's decry... all hell broke loose. "You don't interrupt The Speaker and expect to get away with it... not unless you're a moron."

As they stand over the unconscious halfork, the halfling gets an idea. "Let's mark 'im! Mark 'im with the symbol o' the bastard Lost Ones... then drop him off at the Sarge. Sarge'll send him to Sub Saan if we tell 'im The Speaker said to. Heh heh... man, I'd love to see this guy's face when he wakes up in a cell and find 'imself marked... then he runs inta one of the real Losties who thinks he's trying to pass himself off as one of 'im. Heh heh... that'd do it." The dwarf nods and his grin grows wide. "Great idea! Yeah! Let's do that! Damn... wait'll the Speaker hears what we done for him. You don't interrupt the Speaker, man... that's just not done."

OOC: Cool!

[The Digger]

The door of the inn burst open and Tresa stalked out, her eyes blazing. She instantly took in the scene before her and shouted at the top of her voice - and the voice of a sermonising preacher had a very loud top!

"Cowards! That is what you are. Vile cowards! You gather like a pack of jackals, your tongues licking in anticipation of easy blood, many against one. Ye deserve nothing less than a good thrashing."

She turned to Gloomblade and spoke, winking so only he could see. "You have drawn weapons. If you intend to fight these jackals then, if I may, pray allow me to assist you with the righteousness of Pelor."

Her voice rose again in a paean of praise to her Lord and she was gifted with his divine aid. The breath of Pelor wafted over the rubbish-strewn alleyway, over Gloomblade and over the assembled Lost Ones.

There was an obvious wilting amongst the Lost Ones, some even dropping their weapons due to the unexpected weakness that crept over them.

[Voda Vosa]

ooc: I'm back.

The dwarf enters the temple and bows before the religious symbols of Moradin. He looks puzzled at the elf, as he seems to be lost in his thoughts, He seems happy, he thought, before the smile banished from his face. Gombar shrewd and walk to the altar.

[Kobold Stew]

When Gala awoke, it was still before dawn, but the scent of the morning had descended on the forest. She raised her muzzle from the fold of her forepaws, and stood in a single motion, her tail shaking off the remainder of the previous night's sleep, and smoke, and drink.

Her morning ritual would prepare her for the day, and it was not long before she was padding along beside a small creek on her morning hunt. The water was too shallow for salmon, of course, but everything comes for a drink in the morning... like that hare. Gala quickened her pace -- at a run she was very fast, and she knew it. At speed, she no longer appeared to be a jackal; she was tapping into something larger, a pure force of nature, of implacable destruction.

There were other tells as well, markers that would convince anyone who knew the land that she was more than she appeared. Her taste for fresh meat, for instance. She could digest carrion, of course, but she was a predator. She wanted blood. The hare was tasty, and would fill her for the day if need be. She had walked upstream, and was now far from the paths normally travelled by the villagers.

Gala smelled the corpse before it came into view. As she scrambled over a boulder, around which the creek had worked itself as it also dropped a foot or so as it made its way to the sea, she saw the legs first. She approached, cautious, hearing nothing but the babbling water and two crows plucking and the body's intestines.

It had been human, and the hole in its abdomen was deep, a sword wound that had opened it up. Gala nosed up next to the body, as the crows jumped a few feet away, enjoying their prize and keeping a wary eye on her. The head was missing, and as Gala's muzzle nosed in, she was surprised that the crows had not pecked their way in this wound as well.

"Magic," she told herself, grimly determined. But how did the body get here? Who had it been, and why was he killed? Gala pressed her muzzle into the abdominal wound, and guessed that decomposition had begun two or three days before. But this wound had been made after it had died, after the decapitation. Curious.

Gala left the body to the corvids, and looked around for a point of entry. Nothing. Again, curious.

Gala spun in a circle, washed her paws and muzzle, and trotted back into town. At the edge of the woods, she shifted upright. In a few seconds, without breaking stride, she walked on two feet and was scratching the back of her head with her lengthening fingers, teasing at an itch. Someone will know who this human was, and someone will have killed him.

As she stepped into the early morning streets, the first merchants opening their stalls to begin their day, Gala was looking with a purpose. Someone would have noticed, and someone would want to know. As she strode through town, a thought crept upon her. She remembered something else -- something she should have noticed at the time.

The body was wearing no boots.

[Insight]

Originally Posted by The Digger

The door of the inn burst open and Tresa stalked out, her eyes blazing. She instantly took in the scene before her and shouted at the top of her voice - and the voice of a sermonising preacher had a very loud top!

"Cowards! That is what you are. Vile cowards! You gather like a pack of jackals, your tongues licking in anticipation of easy blood, many against one. Ye deserve nothing less than a good thrashing."

She turned to Gloomblade and spoke, winking so only he could see. "You have drawn weapons. If you intend to fight these jackals then, if I may, pray allow me to assist you with the righteousness of Pelor."

Her voice rose again in a paean of praise to her Lord and she was gifted with his divine aid. The breath of Pelor wafted over the rubbish-strewn alleyway, over Gloomblade and over the assembled Lost Ones.

There was an obvious wilting amongst the Lost Ones, some even dropping their weapons due to the unexpected weakness that crept over them.

Gloomblade watched Tresa work her magic and stood slack-jawed as the power of Pelor was made evident. At no point, however, did Gloomblade drop his daggers or even let his arms go slack. Just in case this didn't work. After all, Gloomblade had seen his share of tongue-speakers and false prophets whose words were no better than their deeds. Better to be safe than sorry.

Still, it was nice to know he had friends he didn't even know about.

[EvolutionKB]

Wendigo stood from the altar, looking for a sign of leadership in the church. An elf stood by the doorway, almost invisible in the shadows. Not who he was looking for. A dwarf, more a warrior than a priest approached him. "Hello brother, I am Wendigo," the shifter says, a grave look upon his face. That is all the shifter says for the moment, he wants to see what the dwarf's reaction is.

[Voda Vosa]

"Well... just when Ah' thought an elf in Moradin's cathedral was a wierd thin' ta see" the old dwarf says, raising a dense eyebrow. "Name's Gombar, of tha Firebelly clan. What's a shifter doin' here ah? Not the most common of thin's." Gombar offers evaluating Wendigo with his deep red eyes.