Search for the White Rose [IC]

[Goddess FallenAngel]

You enter the city of Evenstar, the capital city of the small kingdom of Myrbar. People teem throughout the city, packing wagons and draft beasts, and carrying packages to and fro. You see many and varied races, most armed, and a good deal of individuals with the exhausted and desperate look of refugees. Crows and other birds of ill omen seem to be on every rooftop, as if to pronounce doom upon the town.

Myrbar has become the base of operations of the resistance to the Shadowmasters; their army now extends a week’s march from the mountains from whence they came, sweeping across the plains down towards the city, driving refugees of the halfling, orc, and human tribes before them. As you pass through the town, you hear rumors – that the city will soon be abandoned, that the Shadowmaster army is only a week’s march from the city, that they already have spies within the city, working to undermine the resistance from within. Speculation is running wild – will the Sidhe return from their seclusion? Will the warring tribes of centaurs work together and join the alliance? All this and more can be overheard just by walking the streets.

All of you have come here to help, for you own reasons – whether they be noble or base. As you reach the center square, along with several other travelers, a man wearing the uniform of a town crier moves through the crowd. “Here ye, here ye… a call for volunteers for special missions in the war! Gather at the castle at the noon hour! Here ye…” he moves out of the town square. It is now roughly eleven o’clock.

 

[dog45]

A small shadow threads its way through the crowds. It pauses underneath an awning to allow a team of oxens by. It slips again into the throng, stepping into the spaces that people leave behind. Nearing the square, a man pushing a cart is distracted by the criers voice and he runs his cart of watermelons up against the curb. The latch on the cart is jarred loose and the large melons bounce free, heading towards a child sitting further down the curb.

The shadow breaks out from the crowd and snatches up the young girl right before the cascade of melons crash and splatter the now empty spot. The cart driver yells out in alarm, and the girls mother turns around to see her daughter standing next a dusky gnome clad in a black cloak. He gently pushes the child towards her mom as she runs to her and says, "You should be more careful where you put her next time." The mother bends down to pick up her girl and when she straightens up, the gnome has disappeared. She cranes her neck around looking for sign of him, but neither she nor the cart driver spot the samaritan gnome.

Over near the castle gate a shadow flickers by and Bregan walks out from behind some crates. Giving the area a quick glance, he climbs up on a few and leans against the wall, watching the people that gather to volunteer.

 

[hafrogman]

A lone man stands like an island in the teeming throngs, a stately figure clad in heavy armor, with his hand held lightly over the sword at his side. He has all the bearing and demeanor of a knight, with none of the trappings. His armor is old, and a dull matte; his sword is that of a soldier, well loved, but plain.

He holds his head high as he looks upwards towards the gathered birds. He is seemingly oblivious to the crowds as they are forced to flow around him. One ear, however, picks out the rumors and discussion in the town. Doom hangs heavy over this place, and they find themselves in need of heroes. His time has arrived. The people will know the name of Edvik once more.

As the town crier makes his announcement, Edvik the Bastard suddenly seems to come to life. Striding deliberately through town, he makes his way to the appointed gathering area. Best to arrive early and be able to observe the competition. As he walks, he passes a merchant whose cart has just spilled melons all over the street. One errant melon rolls free, bouncing on the cobblestones until it is stopped short by Edvik's steel clad boot. He slowly bends down to retrieve the offending fruit, giving a small sneer. He tosses it back to its owner.

"You should be more careful with your merchandise. Someone could get hurt."

Then he turns on his heel and resumes his path to the castle gates.

 

[PhoenixAsh]

A halfling ambles along the city street astride a black and white saddled husky, his pace slow and halting on the crowded road, doubtless to the consternation of those hurrying around him. His muted, natural attire and the gear bulging in his pack suggest he is fresh from the backwoods, and the axe at his side seems stained with more tree sap than blood.

He pauses at every overheard conversation, straining to hear the casual rumors bandied about. His expression varying between wonder and nervousness, he only continues when an angry word or stare jars him from his reverie. Or when a fruit cart runs afoul of a curb.

Releasing a held breath, he glances around the town center, with a final longing look back the way he came. Gradually he urges his dog back around, as if to follow that path back home, but straightens to listen to the crier's announcement.

"Special missions... that'd be for us, wouldn't it Sage?" He comforts himself in scratching his mount behind his ears. After a moment's hesitation, he rides with a purpose through the crowds towards the castle gate.

 

[Razamir]

The young wizard leans heavily on his oak staff as he maneuvers through the dense crowd. His gaze is steely and cold, reflecting the grim mood of the townsfolk around him. He nods to a dwarf merchant who has had to pack his shop and entire life into a single weather-worn wagon. Myrbar was a temporary refuge for some but it wouldn’t last, they would come. Ekoss had heard the rumors of the Shadowmaster’s invasion, but seeing the desolate faces of these folk made it seem much more real.

“Here ye, here ye… a call for volunteers for special missions in the war! Gather at the castle at the noon hour! Here ye…”

Ekoss hears the call for heroes above the murmur of the crowd. A slight smiles cracks across his face. At least they haven't given up all hope.. He pauses for a moment and splashes water in his face, then makes his way towards the castle.

 

[Mista Collins]

Chest forward and head held high in a confident manner, the young man leads his horse by the reins through the crowded streets. His armor is well cared for and the metal gives off a small shine despite the small amount of sun reaching it through the heavy clouds.

“Here ye, here ye… a call for volunteers for special missions in the war! Gather at the castle at the noon hour! Here ye…”

Hearing the call for heroes and his family’s history of great things, Harlan might finally be able to continue the legacy of his family. Heading to the castle with a slow strut, Harlan passes a merchant who is eyeing the latch on his cart. A few busted melons are scattered across the cobblestone ground. Harlan is a bit hungry, but a melon might be a little too much for him to carry. If only the man had an apple or two.

Finally reaching the castle gate, Harlan stands there in a near motionless stance waiting until noon to see whom all comes to volunteer.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

Using his girth to push past the gathering crowd, Grun nudges a particularly recalcitrant fishwife out of his way with an iron-shod quarterstaff. While deft with the quarterstaff, the half-orc's touch is firm. With a glare at Grun, the fishwife moves out of the cleric's path.

Looking up at the town crier and the castle tower that looms above the city, Grun ignores the rumble in his belly to peer at the crier and listen intently to the man's call for volunteers. With naught but an audible grunt, Grun inwardly muses on the possibility of redemption the town's need seems to offer. His plate mail clanking with each thick step, Grun ambles off toward the keep, his thoughts his own, his eyes firmly planted on the mud and earth of the city streets.

Sensing the approach of stone, Grun looks up at the castle. With an approving grunt, Grun roughly clasps calloused fingers about his silver holy symbol of Moradin and shuffles forward to enter underneath castle's portcullis. Oblivious to those who mill about the castle, Grun moves forward, obviously casting about for a place of assembly where those who seek to volunteer gather.

 

[Goddess FallenAngel]

The castle is tall and imposing, constructed out of the dark grey granite that is quarried in this area. The castle gates are closed, the portcullis down, with guards in front of the doors that bypass the portcullis. As Grun heads for one the doors, the guards cross their spears in front of him. “I am sorry sir, but the castle is currently off-limits to civilians. If you are here to volunteer, please wait. Someone will be out to collect everyone at noon.” The guard gestures with his free hand to the small group of mixed individuals standing outside the gates, and to the few individuals leaning against the castle walls. There is even a centaur among them, a rare sight as the centaurs tend to stay to their territory farther east.

As time passes, a few more stragglers join the group waiting outside the gates. A few vendors take advantage of the small gathering, wandering through the group selling meat pies for three copper each, though at those prices it is best not to ask what kind of meat they contain. As the sun reaches its zenith, one of the doors opens. The guards step to one side as a tall man exits the castle; Edvik and Harlan recognize the badge that he wears as that belonging to the King’s seneschal. (Knowledge, Nobility & Royalty, 16+5=21 and 10+5=15, respectively.)

He steps out and surveys the ragged company before him. He seems somewhat disappointed at the turnout, but continues. “Adventurers and Loyalists! If you are here to strike back at the Shadowmasters and their armies, if you are brave enough to stand against them, follow me, and you will be given your chance!” He turns and enters the door. Beyond the door, you can see the castle courtyard where he awaits just inside.

As the first of you steps up and passes the guards, the seneschal holds out his hand to stop you. “Tell me – what skills do you bring to this battle? Why do you volunteer?”

 

[CanadienneBacon]

Having been forcibly denied entry beyond the citadel's portcullis and not wanting to test his quarterstaff against a series of armed pikemen at the gate, Grun instead stood steadfast, front and center of the lowered gate. Never one to mind the glares of those around him at his uncultured nature, Grun whiled away the rest of the hour admiring the grey stone of the castle and examining bits of the ground under his feet for the quality of the earth in these parts. In a low grunting voice, Grun began to talk to himself, "Stone and earth, stone and earth. Rock and wall, rock and wall. Which will rend and which will fall?"

When the tall human exited the keep, Grun straightened from his examination of the dirt and noted the way the company of guards at the portcullis yielded to the man's authority. Stepping forward in the poor light of the day, Grun offers the following in common heavily accented with a dwarvish undertone and interspersed with a series of grunts, "I heal injured, tend sick, fortify weaklings. I a priest of Moradin and lend strength the dwarven forefather give me to you cause."

 

[dog45]

Bregan sits on the crates next to the wall, watching as people come up and gather. An orcish looking man in particular commands his attention by merit of the figure paying a complete lack of attention to anyone around him. He's big though. Probably good in a fight, Bregan thinks to himself.

The gates open and a man steps out, speaking about fools heroics. Bregan listens to the half-orcs words and crawls down behind the crates. Willing the shadows from within to come forth he creeps around the crates, past the guards and gate and crouches down behind the seneschal. That's a nice shiny badge he's got, thinks Bregan as he snatches it. The dark-skinned gnome then brazenly walks out from behind the sensechal, tosses him his badge and leans against the gate. "Aside from my now obvious talents, I fought in the Wizard Wars and if these Shadowmasters are anything like their dead counterparts then you'll appreciate my expertise in the matter."