Blood from Stone Chapter #1: A Simple Message

Thin rays of sunlight pierce an overcast sky on this cold Olarune morning along the eastern edge of the Blackcaps. This natural illumination from on high is greeted by the little orange darts arising flickering from below, created by no less natural or enduring forges of the town of Cragwar.

On the slightly elevated northwest periphery of the town, facing east, with the forge district on its south, the foothills to its west, and the plains of Aundair and Thrane to its north, rests a small three story property. Walled off, by a ten foot stone wall and itself constructed of stone, there is little else that would recommend this building as more important than an inn or warehouse in the lower part of the town...

Which is exactly what Kuven Deneith intended. Young, with a head of short, bristly, blonde hair, he appears to have all the weight of man twice his age bearing down on him as he turns, his eyes brushing over the worn mosaic on the ceiling depicting a battle between a lion, ram, and dragon, before settling his gaze on those standing figures seeking his attention...

"Names."


Roll call! Introduce yourself ingame.

"Moravec Cystaelaer." Over the past few months, he had adopted an Elven word that meant "homeless" as his surname, and it had grown on him over the course of his wanderings from southern Karrnath.
The fingers of his right hand unconsciously fidgeted with the handle of the mace at his belt while his eyes roamed about the room, coming back to look at Deneith every so often.

Taking a step forward, Eldrago removes his hat with a flourish and a bow.

Standing upright, he announces "Eldrago the Magnificient at your service!", and is unable to repress a private smile at the gorgeous Leona.

He casts his eye about, quickly scanning his surroundings, while maintaining an air of indifference.

"Dreary morning, is it not?! I was hoping for a splash more sunshine than this, this morn. The chill air gives motive for movement, though, does it not?"

The look on the dwarf's face would remind you of someone who just accidentally bit down on a slice of lemon without first covering it in a layer of sugar. His brows furrowed, his lips pursed, his breathing just loud enough to denote an exasperated sigh over and over again... Massif Dardungren stands with his arms crossed and glances at the other three people before turning to the young Deneith house member.

"Names? You mean the House sent me to you and you didn't even hear about it?" He reaches inside his tunic and pulls out his House Deneith / Defender's Guild medallion and looks at it with annoyance. "What good is being a guild member if none in yer House actually talks to each other?"

He sighs once more and drops the medallion from his grasp, which clinks lightly against his armored chest. "Name's Massif Dardungren. Defender's Guild. On assignment. And at yer disposal." This last sentence sounds as though it wasn't easy for him to say, as Massif seems to expect things to go horribly wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.

Kuven acknowledges every name with a curt nod, even to the ostentatious Eldrago, a gesture that is more than appropriate if one has the proper respect for social rank that is as much an inherited trait of the Dragonmarked as their namesakes, perhaps even moreso. But the young Deneith doesn't even spare a nod for the unruly dwarf, instead directing his cool, steely towards Massiff...

"Ah, Massiff Dardungren!!! Forgive me. How could I possibly have forgotten to pay immediate respect to one of the Defenders' noble meatshields, especially when said meatshield conducts themselves with the discipline and humility that make the Holds, " Kuven rounds his desk, his eyes closing with the dwarve's as he bends over so no more than an inch seperates them, "You will learn, Dardungren, that the Sentinel Marshals, unlike the Defenders, require their mercenaries be equiped with a brain as well as a blade. Or a still tongue at the very least."

With that dressing down, Deneith walks back to his desk, speaking in a more casual tone, "I will keep this short. Bandits attacked a caravan along the trade road southwest of the mountains. Many were killed, but person of great importance was taken. Two days ago, a goblin free miner spotted an armed group brandishing weapons similar to those described by the survivors in an abandoned mine a mile upland from Cragwar."

"The hostage in question is of not a subject of the Brelish king and, given our proximity to the border, is thus under the protection of the Sentinel Marshals. My outpost is the closest, but most of my men are in the field and couldn't be reassinged in a reasonable amount of time. My kin in the Defenders Guild sent me..limited help, " his eyes brush past the dwarf, "...so I have recruited the best of what I could find, " he lets out an audible sigh and tosses a rolled parchment at your feet, "That is a rough map of the area where the bandits are holed up, as described by the goblin. You are to go there with all due haste, retrieve the hostage and take prisoner any bandits you can. Failing that, you are to exact justice by whatever means necessary. Your reward will be commensurate with your success, in both gold and the friendship of my House."

He looks from face to face, "Any questions?"

OOC: Apologize for the delay. Took a long weekend.

Moravec scooped up the map, examining it in order to determine if he did have any questions. The job seemed straightforward enough, based on the brief description they had just been given, but he wouldn't mind knowing more. Where are these bandits supposed to be hiding? What about their prisoner is so important to Deneith? How many are there? How far away is their lair, and are we on our own for supplies?
These questions swirled through his head as he looked over the map, picking out as many details as he could.

"Questions? But not all are relevant to the discussion at hand! I see we are forced to concentrate on the mundane first and foremost. Does the kidnapped personage perchance have a name? Perhaps a description? Could we obtain a copy of this person's travel documentation, in order to facilitate a correct identification? How many bandits are we talking about? What weapons were they carrying? Would it be possible to interview the survivors? Will we be given proper documentation to legitimise our operation, or are we to operate under more..."

and here Eldrago pauses to risk another predatory glance at the beautiful shifter,

"... shall we say "restrained" circumstances?"