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Message: <blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2356918" data-attributes="member: 17151">►Gate 57: Now with Veterans, Chapter 13Sgt. Mogrin Ironson and his men waited at attention until the madwoman and her inquisitor pets came close enough to smell their pretty church-clean cloaks.  Captain Rolland told him everything he needed to hear about the pompous cow.  He fought alongside priests and chaplains during the war.  He can respect them.  Inquisitors get good men killed.  They are zealots.  This Niabelis woman is not killing any of his men.        “Sir! The Dog Soldiers salute you!” Sweet Lips, the new squad spokesman greeted Sister Niabelis.  Rumors abound that he is supposed to be charming.  He nearly tripped over his own banner.  If he had stepped on it, he would have fainted, the Sergeant promised to skin him for such an infraction.  Sgt. Ironson took three steps forward, saluted.  The squad followed through with silent, professional precision.        “Well met...” the Sister started.            “Save it Lady, I don't care.  We follow you, we kill the bastards.  You and the good Captain get the credit.  Me and the men get a bonus and a week's leave.  It's good enough as long as we avenge our crews.  And don't bother with the Look.  If I was a bad seed, my mother would have dropped me in the well as a babe or my own men would've run me through in the battlefield as a man.  My squad is ready to march, let's get going.”  The Sergeant's Wrath of the Gods stare made the Sister Inquisitor blanch.  Her mouth hung open.        “I won't forget this, mark my words.  Let's go.” Sister Niabelis finally said.  The Inquisitors behind her didn't even stick up to defend her.  She will fix them later. All of them.            The squad broke into an easy march.  Sister Niabelis and her men fell into step right behind.  She handed the Sergeant the map as soon as she ripped the Brooch of Truth Telling from her breast.  The Sister has had too much truth of late.  What does an Inquisitor have to do to gain some respect?    Fifteen minutes into the excursion the Dog Soldiers ran into a choker ambush.  The veterans barely slowed down enough to spit on their corpses.  The Sergeant killed one all by himself.  Sweet Lips pinned the other to the wall with the banner pole while the crossbow men snuffed it.  The gilded spear tip came off.  Sgt. Ironson made him tuck the banner away, it is stained, but he allowed the young man to live.  The Sergeant gave the boy the evil eye.  He went to war with the boy's paw, he was a part of the jail house levy, a criminal. He would drink too much, get into fights, and wipe out a tavern when he went into a rage.  A berserker in the city is a hazard, in the field of battle, he is a godsend.  Sgt. Ironson made a soldier and a church man out of that jailbird.  There is a military grade bastard somewhere inside this young idiot, Sgt. Ironson means to find him.Elsewhere.....    Theodyl passed out fifteen minutes from the enemy.  Paragon 152 to 3 fed him a restorative.  Moro stayed with the bard, he's a fan.  The war-forged is impressed, Theodyl cut their travel time in half.  He half-wondered if his war hymns could possibly hold such power.  They always make him feel good.  Paragon ordered the changelings to scout ahead, he drew out his chapbook and looked for a something he hasn't sung lately.    Siff slipped on his fancy new ring and faded from sight.  Patter cinched his new cloak and took to the air, borne on batwings.  Ivor spent precious moments looking for his new toy.  He found, instead, a note from Pook, calling him an idiot.  He turned, Pook jabbed a Wand of Polymorph Other at his face.  A heart beat later, a rat sped down the tunnel chased by a leopard wearing Ivor's lost Collar of the Cat.  Paragon only let them pick one toy each out of the House Sivis swag.  Pook is ahead of the game.    Moro Taller talked non-stop as Theodyl tried to ready his weapons.  It seems the gnome spent all of his free time reading through the Guild library.  He's never heard of the Bardic Song Theodyl used to speed their march.  He wants to see his sources.  The gnome doesn't get it.  It wasn't a secret before Moro asked, now Theodyl would rather bed a spine fish than share.        There are six different tunnels leading to the Black Hand Tribe's new village. The pump rooms proved to be the perfect spawning grounds for the illicit mushroom beds.  The sightless sludge crabs they love to eat literally spring out of the flood gates.  Their blood maybe a little diluted since their forefathers came to Sharn, but goblins are very hardy.  An enterprising group of goblins can go far with just the right location.  Gronit Longheels sniffed at the sludge pit.  There is something he needs to remember, but it keeps slipping away.  He squatted down to see if he can catch a nice juicy crab.            “What are you doing slave?” The war-forged demanded as he stalked up to the goblin.        “Slave?” Gronit asked as he turned.    The war-forged mage caught the goblin's gaze and used a spell to suck away its will.  The meat-bag blinked stupidly as the mage gave it a strict set of instructions.  Somehow the words didn't stick.  The war-forged made a fist, but then paused.  Killing slaves will just make more work for his team mates.         “Slave, go to there.  Stand guard.  Watch tunnel.  Outsiders come, slave ring bell.”  The war-forged stated slowly.  The goblin did as instructed and got to live another day.    Skullstaff released the short crooked staff that is his name sake.  Once, it was a lich who tried the Lord of Blades' patience, now it serves the cause.  It stood there and waited for it's master's will.  The war-forged touched an odd necklace about it's neck.  It is a skeletal hand, human, clutching a dragonshard.  Watch, and call me if anything else goes wrong, the mage commanded through it.  The red jewels set into the skull's eye sockets flashed, it isn't allowed to speak without orders.      Siff slipped behind the war-forged mage and followed invisibly in it's footsteps. In the shadows, a leopard and a rat are watching.  A changeling with bat wings is sitting on a pipe overhead, he's got a bow.      The lich-staff didn't say a thing.  It had called the master as instructed when the changelings walked past the stupid goblins.  The master didn't bother to ask for details, the lich-staff didn't offer any.  The war-forged saw the stupid goblin by the sewage pond and drew it's own conclusions.  The mage should have been more specific with the last set of instructions it forced upon it's will.  Though trapped, the essence of the lich can make use of the arrogant idiocy of it's masters.  It may not remember it's own name, but it will soon be free.  It is too damned crazy to lose hope.    Pook stalked off to find out as much as he possibly can about the battlefield.  Ivor shook off the multitude of rat thoughts plaguing his mind.  He sighted the alarm system. He stole the bell clapper, then the bell, and finally the rope.  The bell and the clapper went into the sludge.  Ivor then used the rope to make a snare.  A few long minutes later Pook returned.  Ivor greeted him with a rude gesture, Pook ignored him.  He shook off his cat form and signaled Patter to sit and watch.  Ivor found a neat hiding space and did the same.  Pook pulled out a scroll and a stylus.  He drew a map of the goblin chambers, jotted down important details, and marked off all the empty dwellings.  Pook then shifted to Leopard form and sprinted towards Paragon.  The goblin guards stared at the big cat and did nothing.  It is just a cat, they will know an outsider when they see one, they are not stupid.  If they bothered to look behind them, they would have noticed the changelings at work.  They are supposed to watch the tunnels though, not the village.    The lich-staff watched the changelings go about their business.  It's orders include watching the slaves to make sure they do their job and don't wander off.  There is nothing about intruders other than to signal the master whenever something gets past the guardian meat bags.  There are no orders about other creatures leaving so it doesn't have to report the leopard's exit.  The part of it's mind not bound by the master's commands collected as much information as possible.  In a pinch, it is convinced that it will be able to take advantage of the situation.  The goblins are useless as pawns, but these other creatures might be useful.  Thankfully, the changelings didn't touch the crates.  It would have had to report them.</blockquote>

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