Legacy of the Tempest, Chapter I: Artful Beginning

[Creamsteak]

That very same druid turns back on the man accusing him of fear with a smirk and a grimace on his face. "You have no damn idea what fear is. Bidding your time is wisdom, not the acts of a young and naive imitation like yourself. Have you any idea how many other enclaves of the remaining society have attempted what you all claim we can do? No, we must beat them by being still, then striking out when they are battered and beaten! Damnit, have you any idea what your talking about at all? All of you! This is not a matter of virture and justice, or good and evil, this is a matter of survival!"

He then turns to one of his companions, a huge man weighing no less than 300 pounds, and covered with nearly as much hair. The druid says something quitely in a distinctly druidic tongue, hushed to a whisper. The huge man then stands, "You hear the Keeper of the Grove, and if you want to listen, then stay. But if you think your a good 'nuff match for those monsters, I'll take you out to one of their weakest camps. You'll see how tough they are, you talk like you know, but I wanna show you what your claiming can't be done."

 

[Creamsteak]

One of the more surely humans, a man renowned as a blacksmith and carpenter of great modesty, stands up with a drink in his hands.

"Don't go with him, that man'll rip you to pieces himself to prove a point. He's a lycanthrope you know. How else would he be getting along so well with a Keeper. Damn hypocritical monsters."

 

[Uriel]

Having remained silent until now, the Elf known as Amrath stands, walking around the table of the Council, mutterin quietly to himself in a disturbing sussurus, like the distant laugh of a child one moment and the direct and pointed words of a statesman the next, though never audibly enough to be intelligible. Stopping at an antiquated suit of armor leaning against one wall he peers closely at it through his pale green mask, a smlie upon lips dry from weariness, lips bereft of a proper laugh for many a day.
A spider worked at it's web, running back and forth between the shoulder plate and the wrist of the Suit, the armor welded in place, at attention, though the sentinel was long since out of work, so long had it sat here like so much other refuse from the World above, now dead.
Amrath frew a slim dagger from under his chest wrappings, turning, noting that several of the Council were staring at him as they often did, so unsettling was his manner.
'The Tempest are like this delicious little spider oh yes, delicious, aren't they...he,he,succulent, I would deem..., strong in their net of Power, but so easily disrupted with the well-placed and precise strike...' Amrath cut the lynchpin strand, anchoring the entirety of what the little arachnid had been labouring at all day, no doubt, watching as the spider went into an agitated state as it's web became chaotic and disorderly.
Amrath turned back to the Council and said 'The tempest are a Big Spider, I agree...but my knife is Oh-so-sharp...and eager to test their Webs. I vote to strike against them as well.'

 

[Jarval]

"You make a good point." Surtsey seems little bothered by the elf's strange manner. "We do not strike at them where they are strong. We attack where they have the most to lose, and we the most to gain. Target their supply lines, cut their access to their foul machines. The Tempest thinks us beaten, and I doubt they will place their best warriors on guarding goods passing through what they deem to be tamed lands.

"And I care not if that man is a lycanthrope, dwarf, elf or human. Race should not draw divisions between us while aliens walk our lands. I will gladly take up on your offer, if you know of such a camp."

 

[Caliber]

Nodding as the others speak, Sendar momentairily grimaces at Amrath's musings. Still ... the elf has a point ... even if he IS crazy ...

As Surtsey speaks up, Sendar joins in after him. As will I! The land demands these outsiders leave. I hope to see it done.

 

[Uriel]

Sitting once more, Amrath continues to listen to the Council Members, alternately sharpening a Kukri and idly drawing monsterous faces on an old Map, representing the Tempest-controlled areas, most likely, though with Amrath, one could never be sure...

 

[Creamsteak]

As the argument begins to polarize against the druid and his allies, he becomes so frustrated that he simply stands up, and begins to walk out of the meeting. "Go to your doom, brave heroes of the dead. I'll have nothing to do with this foolery. Come keepers, we'll return to the sacred place."

The three begin to walk towards the exit. Some seem to sigh relief. The Dwarf taunts them, "That's right, you big brave coward. You'll change your mind when we start to win, you will!" Others seem to be rather cautious of the situation, waiting to see the judgement of the outspoken councilmen first. The last group seem stressed to no end.

 

[Jarval]

"I have no ill-will against you, Keeper. We may disagree on how to fight the Tempest, but we do agree that the evil must be contested." Surtsey walks after the druid. "I ask that you stay, and apologise for my hasty words earlier. Loosing your wisdom from this council serves none of us, and there are some who speak without regard to the knowledge of others, myself included."

 

[Macbeth]

Ketrik

"Good. Leave now. We will pursue our destiny, and fight back the tempest." Ketrik says as the druid retreats. He then turns back to the assembly: "What is our plan? Where do we strike?"

 

[Caliber]

It saddens me that we could not all come to an understanding. But if it is us who will stand for now, then so be it. Let us now discuss where to strike.