Against the Giants: Steading of the Hill Giant Chief

Lavishly housed in a private room within the keep, you look again at the missive that has brought you to this place. Scribed in clean, flowing lines beneath a glimmering seal of authenticity, it reads:

Heroes Wanted!

Seeking elite and experienced warriors, mercenaries, mages, and adventurers to aid the Kingdom. A band of Giants, emboldened and strengthened by their recent pillaging of our neighbors in fair Sevaria, is preying upon the trade routes and villages of the Barony of Callir's Point. These hostilities cannot be tolerated. You are asked to report to Lord Martaen, Baron of Callir's Point. Should he find your credentials worthy, he will provide further details, as well as resources to aid your task: stop these assaults upon our beleaguered populace! Success will be handsomely rewarded.

By the word of his grace, the Duke Carstairs of Galvidan, this 16th day of Goldmoon, the Year of the Fallen Stag

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The missive was given directly to you by one of the Redarrows, official messengers of the royal house, on the 18th of Goldmoon. Such speedy delivery indicates significant effort on the part of the Kingdom. Three days later, you have arrived at the Baron's keep. After showing the missive to the guards on watch, you were cordially welcomed, shown to your room—conveniently located near a bathing facility that was pointedly brought to your attention as you passed—and left with a request that you ready yourself for a dinner audience with the Baron. You also noted a modest commons area near the center of this wing of the keep.

[sblock=Wik]You are very familiar with the area around the Hill Giant Steading. In particular, you are aware of a hidden cave complex near the Steading that would serve well as a base of operations; you have used it for this purpose in the past, and so far as you know, it remains undiscovered by the giants and their allies.[/sblock]

[sblock=Gwenn]Baron Martaen serves Margrave Jorhallan, Lord of March Callir. Your father was the Margrave of Crystalmir March, which bordered March Callir to the north. Both marches fall within the duchy of Duke Carstairs. You do not know whether Duke Carstairs had any responsibility for deposing your father, but you do know that Margrave Thoram took control of Crystalmir March under Carstairs' authority.

As the Duke of the royal city, Carstairs is the second most powerful lord in the Kingdom, largely serving as chief executive for his majesty the King. His name and magical seal on the missive is a clear statement of the importance placed on this endeavor.

You should decide whether you are here under an assumed name, or if you are simply being yourself.[/sblock]

[sblock=Lucan]The messenger who delivered the missive to you seemed uncertain, as if he didn't trust the advice that had lead him to you. Nevertheless, here you are!

You also recognize the name Carstairs. As the Duke of the royal city, Carstairs is the second most powerful lord in the Kingdom, largely serving as chief executive for his majesty the King. His name and magical seal on the missive is a clear statement of the importance placed on this endeavor.[/sblock]

[sblock=Deacon and Brook]Judging by the behavior of the servants, you have been given an unusually warm welcome here. They go about their tasks with a slight air of bewilderment, clearly following orders to treat you like nobility.[/sblock]

[sblock=Aelar]In addition to any concern you might have for the welfare of the Kingdom, you know that the giants are damaging the local ecosystem. Their pillaging of the forests for firewood and game is less public than their attacks on merchants and villages, but likely more offensive in your eyes.

Also, judging by the behavior of the servants, you have been given an unusually warm welcome here. They go about their tasks with a slight air of bewilderment, clearly following orders to treat you like nobility.[/sblock]

[sblock=Miranda]You have a couple of choices on starting backstory. If you initially offered assistance to some other noble, you have been directed here via the above missive. Otherwise, you have been here for a couple of days, waiting for more adventurers to arrive.

In any case, you have seen the missive, and you recognize the name Carstairs. As the Duke of the royal city, Carstairs is the second most powerful lord in the Kingdom, largely serving as chief executive for his majesty the King. His name and magical seal on the missive is a clear statement of the importance placed on this endeavor.[/sblock]

Brook looks around the room then takes time to bath and wash the dirt of his travels off before seeing their host.

Having completed his ablutions the runepriest heads to the commons to see what he can discern from the gossip over the general situation and about his host.

Deacon is slow to rise this morning. He gets up, gives himself a quick shave and wash, and puts on his armor, polymorphed into a tabard and tunic, well made, but hardly opulent, straps his hammer at his side, and makes his way out as well.

For now, he contents himself with standing against a wall and watching the crowd. He wonders who else had shown up to answer the call? As confident as he was with his and Brook's combined abilities, he reckone that there wasn't much two men could accomplish against giants.

Deacon takes out the folded up letter and rereads it. Lord Martaen... Not a name he was intimately familiar with, but he'd heard a few of his past patrons throwing it around occasionally. Perhaps they had referenced him to this Lord Martaen. The soldier looks around the common gathering area to see if there were any others who seemed to stand out from the servants.

Miranda had been at the keep for several days now, waiting for more 'guests' to arrive. She had yet to meet the Baron himself, as he had been hard at work on preparations for this meeting- but she had had access to his library, which held enough works to keep her attention.

She had also been here long enough to thoroughly terrify many of the servants, and the windows to her room had been lit with dancing flames during each night- she kept the fireplace stoked enough to maintain an uncomfortably warm temperature (which was, for her, just right).

Today, though, was different. More of the Baron's guests had arrived, and most of the others were expected- the formal meeting that she had been waiting for would take place in only a little while. She disdained the human custom of wasting water to bathe, and instead cleaned up with heated, scented sand (and magic) and dressed carefully, in swirling robes of red silk trimmed with gold. Her armor, laquered leather the color of dried blood, was trimmed in flowing golden script that resembled dancing flames. When she was satisfied that she would convey a properly impressive image, she gathered up her staff and set out down the hall towards the common gathering area. It was time to see what other forces were to be put in the field against the menace of the marauding giants...

Wik's temper flared at the pointed remark about the bathing facilities, but cooled just as quickly. How long had it been since his last bath? There was the night he was caught out in the rain a week or so ago. But a real bath? Weeks? He had been living wild on the edge of civilization for so long such a thing had stopped being a part of his life. He looked at a the mirror. His hair and beard were a tangled mess. Mirrors weren't readily available in the wilderness either. Would it be too forward to ask for his clothes to be washed and mended as well as the services of a barber?

Putting down his gear in the room Wik set out to find a servant. Spotting a lad carrying an armload of firewood he approached. "Lad, would it be possible to get a barber sent to my room or is there a place here in the castle where I can find one? Also, I could use the services of a laundress." He reached for a silver piece in his pouch unconsciously. Then paused, was a servant in a castle likely to expect a tip. Certainly the lads in the rural inns always did, but was this different? Damn, adjusting to civilization was going to be a challenge. He watched the lad closely for any sign he expected a coin for his troubles.

Gwenn Arellic, human rogue(thief) 12

Gwenn had spent quite a lot of time trying to decide what to do when the King's request came out. Even knowing what the giants had done to Sevaria, it could still be a trap. That damn Alleric sense of duty would not have let her leave this alone. The only question was who to appear as.

It would take quite an effort with her hair and makeup to pass for anything but an Alleric to anyone who knew the family well. Or even anyone who paid attention -- a portrait of her great-aunt, sword in hand, hung along the path to the Baron's audience chamber and save for a few decades' changes in fashion the woman in that picture could have been her rather than her grandfather's sister. Even after what they had done to her father, no one tried to pretend Kayla Alleric had not been a hero of the Realm, nor that she had been very close to the Baron's grandfather.

And hiding the accent and speech of someone raised a noble was something she was skilled in doing for a few minutes or hours, not days or weeks. So best not to deny Alleric blood or being raised as a noble if asked directly. Mari Kastelic, then. The real Mari Kastelic had been her uncle's illegimate daughter by the just-barely-noble daughter of one of their neighbors, and about the right age. And was officially missing, not dead.

[sblock=backstory]Mari, though, was quite dead. She had insisted on playing the part of Gwenn to draw off the chase while they were on the run from the collapse of her father's army. At the time Gwenn had not been in a position to insist that she did not. And while Mari, like any daughter or son of house Alleric, knew how to handle a blade, she was not her cousin's equal even then.[/sblock]

She bathed, and dressed as a minor noble raised in the northern martial tradition -- which, after all, she was, save for the 'minor' part. A fine green cloak over her black drowmesh armor, blade and dagger on her belt. Still, she hesitated before putting on her rapier.

Anyone attempting this fools' errand would have a highly enchanted weapon, but hers, upon close examination, would be known to be Gwenn Alleric's blade. There was nothing for it, though; she did not have another suitable blade, the funds to buy one near its equal, or the slightest inclination to trade her last gift from her father for something less distinctive. And having Gwenn Alleric's blade in her room was scarecly less incriminating than having it on her person. Besides, few people knew their swords well enough to recognize hers, and even those that did would need to look closely.

Besides, if they were going to arrest me, they should have tried when I first arrived.

Aelar of the Feywood

Aelar watches his surroundings carefully and keeps Shade nearby. Big groups are prone to mood swings. The elven druids senses are sharpened from his forest life and old habits are hard to change.

Lucan arrives at the keep in confusion, half-convinced that this is part of a trap laid by some of his old guildmates. Still, the seal looked real enough, and the messenger showed just the right amount of disgust.

He does his best to pass unnoticed into his quarters, where he quickly crops his hair and goatee to look a bit more fashionable. He readily accepts a new set of clothes and sends his adventuring gear to be cleaned and repaired. Lucan fixes his blade to the belt of his tunic and steps out into the common area. He scans the room with an assassin's keen eye. That's when he spots him: the guard captain! The one responsible for Lucan's failed attempt...could this be a trap?

Lucan immediately retreats back into his room and slams the door behind him. He gasps, breathing heavily. He runs to the window and flings it open, then, realizing it's much too high to jump from, picks up a chair and wedges it against the door.

"Ha!" he thinks, "let them come for me now!"

As Miranda enters the common area, she catches Deacon's attention immediately. Her way of dress, her facial features, the way she carried herself, all indicators that she was hardly one of the common folk. Perhaps she was one of the others who had come to answer the summons.

Deacon picks himself up from the wall and dusts off the sleeves of his white tunic and smoothes his dark blue tabard before making his way over to Miranda. From the way he was dressed, he might as well be one of the servants, though the two scars on his face and the rather large hammer at his side spoke another story. He clears his throat and gives a small bow, "Good morning, madam, my name is Deacon. Might I ask what your business here is?" he asks with a practiced smile, coming from his experience in dealing with nobility.

Inspiratorium said:

As Miranda enters the common area, she catches Deacon's attention immediately. Her way of dress, her facial features, the way she carried herself, all indicators that she was hardly one of the common folk. Perhaps she was one of the others who had come to answer the summons.

Deacon picks himself up from the wall and dusts off the sleeves of his white tunic and smoothes his dark blue tabard before making his way over to Miranda. From the way he was dressed, he might as well be one of the servants, though the two scars on his face and the rather large hammer at his side spoke another story. He clears his throat and gives a small bow, "Good morning, madam, my name is Deacon. Might I ask what your business here is?" he asks with a practiced smile, coming from his experience in dealing with nobility.

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Miranda had barely entered the common area when the human approached her- the fact that he had done so made her sure that he was no servant (most of the servants were, perhaps rightly, frightened of her). And he was not the host here- while she had not met the baron, she had heard descriptions of him. That meant that this man was one of the adventurers who had been invited here to deal with the giants- in other words, he was an ally.

Miranda took a careful, considering look at him now, noticing his scars and the massive hammer he carried. A warrior, surely- solid and strongly built, he seemed to be tied to the element of earth, though not as tightly as Miranda was tied to the powers of flame. She smiled brightly. At this range, though, he would surely have noticed the tiny flames which danced in her eyes- and the fact that the air around her was noticeably warmer than the rest of the room.

"I am Miranda Yasmina, called Al'Ifritah," she began, her voice at once pleasant and imperious. She added a few words in a strange foreign tongue before continuing. "I am an emissary from the courts of the efreet, in the City of Brass, a world beyond this one. But the giants that ravage these lands have provoked much anger, in many lands. I have come to make certain that they burn for their depradations." While her voice remained calm, it carried unshakable confidence. "I presume you are here for much the same reason- how are you known?"