The Mourning After (Horror) (IC)

[Leatherhead]

"Yes." Fillu replies, her eyes grow sharp when the sacred clawfoot bond is mentioned, but focus back into the familiar cold stare just as quickly.

With a sudden movement, she digs into a drawer and unfurls a map on her desk. "Whitewood Ranch. A Vadalis holding. North of town here along the rail. At first, the Clans weren't eager to let them set up shop outside of town, but skilled veterinarians and a constant supply of horse meat changed their minds. Currently they make a great deal of money selling their mounts, thoroughbred and Magebred, to prospectors looking for quick riches in Q'barra."

The woman opens another drawer, and pulls out a sack, tossing it on the desk, the distinctive sound of Galifars clanks within. "Prospectors, archeologists, adventurers, grave robbers. All and any are likely to show up every day, there to look at the livestock for a trip out east. Whatever else you see is incidental, customers often end up in strange places. They will not know better if you do not tell them."

The halfling pauses long enough to pour herself a drink. "Or don't. I do not need to know how it is seen. The less I know, the better. We are strangers at birth. Today you are only guests at my inn. Tomorrow we will be strangers again. Tell Yamyra what you see, she will know what to do. Pick your masks, wear them for a day, so they will fit tomorrow."

After finishing her drink, her stance relaxes. A smile carves it's way into her face. Somehow this predator before you has metamorphosed into a demeanor that what would be expected of a premier hotelier. Warm and inviting, charming even. She rings a bell and the door opens. "Bellhop, please see our guests back to the front desk? The clerk will have the keys to your rooms when you get there." As you leave, she bows "Enjoy your stay at the Gold Dragon Inn!"

GM: The bag has 500gp inside.

 

[Neurotic]

Malix remain silent and tense during the talks. The beast and the strange, focused woman bring his combat insticts to the fore. And his training and paranoia rev up.

 

[Hades#2]

Xian stays silent during the conversation but his eyes sweep the room taking note of the organization and placement of the contents. The Halfling woman is intriguing and appeared to be one of importance.

 

[MetaVoid]

Ozzar nods at the woman and goes pass the bellhop. A bath and a drink not necessarily in that order would sit well right now.

 

[Kobold Stew]

Tillington is in awe of the entire establishment, and wants to try a drink in every bar. He giggles as he works out a possible itinerary within the building.

He pauses to reflect on recent events -- he made it out of the city, which is good, and he hopes that he won't be suspected of the death of the woman; his being caught up in the fire has helped provide an alibi for him. Coming across Maladiel was a real stroke of luck, he realizes, and now with these others he's in a group and safely anonymous. Not drawing any attention to himself.

"Who wants a drink?" he asks in a loud voice, and throwing his arms in the air. "I say we start on the ground floor and work our ways up!"

 

[JustinCase]

"Excellent idea," Maladiel agrees, as they make their way behind the warforged. "Let's get our stuff into our rooms first, perhaps refresh ourselves a bit, then on to the bar."

The half-elf is already thinking about a plan, but he also realizes the importance of acting like normal guests for now.

"Bellhop," he addresses the warforged butler, "Tomorrow I would like to go shopping. Could you please provide me with a list of fine tailors, jewellers and upmarket livery stables?"

 

[Leatherhead]

Bellhop responds in a voice that sounds like it tuned with a music box. "If you are looking for the best Gatherhold has to offer, the question isn't where, it's when. Outside of House holdings, the Clans travel with the seasons. Currently, the weavers of Clan Zublu claim the loomhouse, they specialize in making clothes out of feathers. Rathi Emerald Eyes is the best gem carver I have ever seen, and you should be able to find her in the whitesmithy, teaching her apprentices. As for mounts, the best place for folk of our statures to look is the Whitewood Ranch just outside of town."

At the front desk, the clerk hands over a key. "The Business Suite. A shared common space with individual bedchambers off to the side, ideal for all sorts of meetings. Don't worry about your luggage, we will see it up for you."

GM: And with that, you have a day to live it up and make your plans! What is first?

 

[Neurotic]

"Not much of luggage. Omnia mea mecum porto. But thank you Bellhop."
Malix knows he will look weird in well dressed high-end lodge like this. He nods to Maladiel.
"You enjoy their hospitality. I'll check the streets, see if common citizens are hungry or sickly. Do what I can. I will return before the sun is down and we can talk. Buy some clothing for me, please, you're the expert in the area. I'll wash before we present ourselves to the wider audience. Note that my vow limits my options in the face department, I have to wear a mask as a symbol of my dedication to life. No one is to know the healer so I cannot benefit from doing good deeds, but do them for the benefit of others exclusively."

He goes out, getting to know the surroundings, looking around the building for quick exits in emergencies, height of the buildings around it, lay of the land so to speak.

 

[Leatherhead]

All's Quiet on the Thranian front.

Act one.
In Southern Cyre, near what would become known as The Field of Ruins.

Princess Borann ir'Wynarn of Breland and Bishop-Militant Grodan of Thrane address the combined forces of the Brelish military, and Thrane armies. They speak of grand conquest, a reunited Galifar, and the end to a hundred years of war. The speech quickly falls into the background as we refocus on a single platoon. A mixed unit of solders in worn uniforms, mumbling in the ranks about their favorite things and people back home. Their Lieutenant, a charismatic type that Breland was famous for, quiets the troupes. He has their orders, they will march north and protect the artillery. Despite the bluster from the brass, they have been stalled out for days by an entrenched unit of Cyran solders. The artillery would solve this problem, glassing out the area. The Lieutenant and the Sergeant debate about the ethics of this for a bit, while a few of the lower ranks comment about how tired they are and how they wish they could just be done. The Platoon moves out and gets involved with a skirmish where a few of the members die, poignantly holding on to their mementos.

Act two.
On the other side of the field.

The Cyran forces are in raggedy shambles. The combined invading force outnumbers them three to one. Mercenaries mix ranks with nationals complaining about everything from the quality of the food to the propensity of the nationals to simply fall back and let the mercs do the heavy lifting. The last comment stings “Cryans are artist first and soldiers third”. To which the national Lieutenant solemnly admits the truth of. In her response she lays out the basics. The Cyrans never wanted the war in the first place. For them it isn't about conquest, it's about survival and legitimacy. If that means biting their tongues, picking up arms, and marching to the beat of a mercenary drummer, who dedicates their life to fighting and should know how to do it better than a weaver or poet, then so that shall be done. Both arguments fall quiet with a hint of catharsis after letting out their emotions. The scene is interrupted by the return of a Warforged patrol. Through the use of guerrilla tactics as learned from the mercenaries, the tireless Warforged soldiers had enacted a plan that successfully gave the illusion of a massively stronger army being entrenched here. Everyone feels better at the news, but that relief is momentary when intelligence comes through with new orders: There is an artillery unit on the march, and they need to stop it.

Act three.
In the middle of the field.

The opposing armies meet. Defensive lines are drawn. The artillery begins powering up. The Cyran forces charge. Then, as the artillery is about to fire, The Mourning happens. The artillery stops. Mists engulf the stage as monsters come out from all directions attacking everyone. The invading and defending forces join together to fight for their lives. And after a hard long battle with much death, the Lieutenants come together, shake hands as comrades, and depart the battlefield to return to their respective HQ's and deal with the bigger threat.

GM: So yeah, this is kind of filler. Does anyone have any shopping plans before you go in? Maybe now would be a good time to have a discussion about you cover story? Otherwise we can get on with it.

 

[MetaVoid]

Ozzar cleaned himself, luxuriating in the warm bath. He didn't have much chance to enjoy finer things in life ever since that failed assassination day. And having a chance to scrub the smell of the dead from his body is a nice bonus.

He even thought for a moment not to go out for a drink! Instead of drinking himself into a stupor he actually considers enjoying the city. This will be a good change, he decides, heading out.

He walks around the city, taking in sights and smells, noting the potential rogue hideouts, nodding to the guards and watchmen and returning back for lunch and some light beer.