Colden suddenly aware of his rudeness quickly moves to introduce Lagrord.
"..and this is my gallant friend Lagrord, a handsome and brilliant young man." he takes a step to the side and let the two younglings eyeball eachother.
*Lagrord is sddenly very self conscious and not sure what to do. He had learned early on that speaking in public was liable to get him beat. (BUt not by Colden, goodness no). All he can think to do is give another bow*
Hello guys! I am very sorry for being AFC for so long, I was travelling during this time and unfortunately did not manage to write an appropriate entry last Friday and lived with no acceptable internet access a while. Now I am on my way back home and will catchup as soon as I can. Really sorry for inconvenience.
In the meantime, the adventure preparation at Nareth's place was going in full chase. He lived in a small cabin not far from the barracks, next to the place that served as his private office, or a cabinet. In any case, he himself wanted to call it so. The room was tiny but comfy, always tidy but at the moment it looked chaotic as he put out all his stuff available.
By the light of a candle, Nareth was preparing his backpack, of a standard edition in Patrol. He frankly liked its contents and personally found it unconditionally important and obligatory for use. In every possible way, the sergeant forced to load this patrol pack to the fullest capacity during his drills, although the lion's share of its contents there was used very rarely in soldiers' everyday life. Well, maybe except a small bag with potions: antidots, first aid balsams, bandages. And yes, a small set for making fire. After a small a small jar with strong spirituals went into a first aid bag as well. Nareth remembered situations when a good sip of this buzz helped better than words or persuasions.
He decided to wear linen clothes underneath, then leather sub-student and pants, a standard army chain mail. The last one was his iron plate, with bracers for arms and legs. Nareth purely enjoyed this preparation as in his everyday life he rarely had to wear this armor. It was dusty and missed some proper oiling, what he fixed on the fly. Then he put on his traveling belt with a lot of garters and accessories for fastening things. His hiking knife with long blade and tiny saw on the edge went to the left side, and a dagger - to the right. With a sharp move, he fastened the scabbard with a long sword to his belt.
It looks like he is set... Or is he? He decided to make a short departure prey for the Refiner, but he skipped all the necessary formalities, like crossing hands on his chest and bowing his knees. Nareth believed that the Refiner is powerful enough to hear his prey even without these gestures, but he forced the others to uphold these procedures always. He put his helmet and cape on and opened the door... Almost forgot to grab his spear and round iron shield (Nareth used his privileges to keep his weapons at his cabin, instead of keeping them in the armory). He is getting too old for this, thought he angrily. Now it is the time to meet Master Colden at the armory.
Nareth's backpack contents, he has Strength 16 (+3):
Backpack 5lbs
Rope 10lbs
Bedroll 5lbs
Winter blanket 3lbs
Cold weather outfit 7lbs
Waterskin 5lbs per day (4pints or .5gal), 1 day
3 torches 3lbs
Food— 1lb per day, 7 days
45lbs total
First Aid bag - 1lbs
Long sword - 3lbs
Long Knife - 1 lbs
Dagger - 1 lbs
Spear - 3 lbs
Iron Buckler - 2 lbs
Iron Helmet - 1 lbs
Bracers - 3 lbs
Iron plate - 2 lbs
Cape - 1 lbs
Hurriedly nodding in response to the guard's salute, Nareth left the barracks. He wanted to give instructions to his deputies in the garrison, but Gressick had already fully taken the responsibility and all control. At that moment, Nareth felt himself unnecessary and headed even more decisively towards the stables. He wanted to prepare saddle bags for shipment and check his horse as well. The groom should have prepared the animal for departure already.
Soon the arrangements were completed and Nareth entered the armory fully equipped for embark. He saw Colden, Lagrord and Sus'Ann and bowed politely. The sergeant moves closer, listening to the conversation and, as usual, awaiting orders.
Sus'Ann nods for Lagrord, and after some hesitation she asks Colden:
"So we go to Bloodeye territory to... negotiate with them and get some information... I beg your pardon, but what a scholar and a half-orc do in the wild, with such a task? Nareth has some combat experience at least, but i doubt he spent much time out there recently."
Sus'Ann has a pack ready at home for a trip like this, she just needs to get the food and the water. If Colden convince her to join she can gather the necessary gear quickly.
Holy Symbol
Backpack 5lbs
Rope 10lbs
Bedroll 5lbs
Winter blanket 3lbs
Cold weather outfit 7lbs
Waterskin 5lbs per day (4pints or .5gal), 1 day
Hooded lantern 2lbs
Oil (1 flask) 1lbs
Tinderbox 1lbs
Food— 1lb per day, 7 days
Dagger - 1lbs
Quarterstaff - 4lbs
Sling - no weight
Sling bullets(20) - 1lbs
Herbalism kit - 3lbs
Healer's kit - 1lbs
Holy Water (1 flask) - 1lbs
Map case, with self made map - 1lbs
"We go to learn as much as we can of the enemy we face. Each of us will have different roles to fill in the near future, and this is ours. I've read every book this kingdom have, Hells, I've probably written half of them myself!" Colden chuckles."So I am confident I can use my 'scholarly' skills in a wide array of opportunities. And when that fails, I'll use my other.. less scholarly.. skills." Colden taps one hand on his axe and lift up his crossbow with the other.
"And this 'mere' halforc is more than you might find meets your eye. He will be up to the task, I'm sure of it. I've trained him myself. " Colden winks at Sus'ann at this, reassuringly but with a hint of joking. "I won't lie, this mission is not for the faint of heart or the meek. It will be challenging and I won't ask of you to join, but if you want, we will surely be in need of your particular set of skills sooner or later. Join or not, that is your prerogative. The King's orders is on us and us alone."
Out of habit, Nareth crosses his arms on the chest and shakes his head approvingly. Obviously, he was not used to discussing orders, even if they come from foolish rulers or commanders.
" M'Lady Sus'Ann, if I may... " - he bows - " That's being said: our King himself entrusted us with this important mission. And M'Lord Colden is his confidant. Personally, this is enough for me, I says. I saw missions with even smaller brief than this one. The teachings of your Order demands humility and the questioning and hesitation are the greatest enemies of the Refiner, may his Name be blessed. " - he raises his eyes above for a short while and stares again at Sus'Ann.
I’m going to take the liberty as DM to move the game along at this point. The party is prepared and will leave within an in-game hour.
@lolien , if your character is convinced or is not convinced to accompany, please roleplay that in as we go.
You make your way through the fallen dusk around Astorwind towards the edge of the town where Garta awaits. A strong wind picks up, blowing dust into your mouths and swirling around the old lamps like swarms of minuscule flies. The sky is dark, but the coming storm seen just a few days ago from the ramparts can be sensed. The clouds froth in slow-motion overhead like the boiling of water and faintly roar their discomfort down upon your departure.
Garta is looking up at the sky nervously as you approach. There are two soldiers standing at her side. “This is a bad omen from the spirits,” she says, invoking ancient raider superstition. “We do not bring horses,” she says at Nareth. “They will call wild hunter monsters to us. It is fine for the patrol for they are large in number. But we are small.”
The soldiers standing at Garta side roll their eyes at the raider woman’s dark words. “It’s just a bit of rain,” says Jirt, one of Nareth’s old friends. He is a short, well-muscled human with shaggy hair and beard reminiscent of a dwarf. In fact, most of his friends in the patrol give him a hard time at being a dwarf. “You muddies can keep your spirits,” he adds, using the contemptuous name soldiers have for their raider enemies on the battlefield. The name refers to the raider’s tendency to fight over the mud they live in.
Garta bristles at the insult. “You will know I speak the truth when the ice knives from the sky spirits cut out your heart!” she hisses.
Jirt just looks at Nareth with a, “She’s crazy!” expression.
The other soldier, Kefto, an average sized man with a very serious demeanor and long hair in a pony tail, looks at her in confusion. “It’s only harvest season,” he says. “The sharpened ice never falls until after winter solstice!”
“Fool!” spits Garta, but she doesn’t elaborate, instead throwing herself into a pout and looking away.
“Captain Nareth,” says Jirt, extending his hand after a crisp salute. “General Gressick ordered us to join you and help you protect his daughter. He filled us in that you’re traveling to some land the raiders think is holy or something. Personally, I find it all reeks of Winter demons. There’s not a holy spot in the whole Valley aside from the Refiner’s temple here in Astorwind.”
“It’s called Warne-harsard Wast,” spits Garta sharply.
“Yeah, I’m just going to call it Warny for short,” smirks Jirt. “If that’s ok with you and your ugly skin paint.”
Garta stands up to her full height, trying to look intimidating, pointing at her many tattoos. “I’ll have you know that THESE are the long lost marks of my future as a raider princess. I would have been highly prized by clan leaders as a bride!”
Jirt grins. “Sounds good,” he says. “I like that. ‘Princess.’ Has a good ring to it.”
Garta’s eyes narrow as she can’t quite bridge the culture gap to discern if she’s being mocked and disregarded or being paid respect. In the end, she simply huffs and looks away.
Nareth nods to Jirt, while to listen to Garta's speech. Obviously, her pagan superstitions do not bother him at all and captain remains calm. He them finish their quarrel and says:
" Greetings! This is a great luck for us and definitely a good sign! I am sure, Jirt is able to combat all the bad omens of ye kind, Garta, with his sharp and long tongue, aye Jirt? " - answers he the soldier's question and smiles into his beard - " Me myself don't like much to be a packed mule, so ye pagan signs better be true. " - He gets off his horse and comes closer.
" Any other advices? Ya can always enlighten us with ye tribal wisdom, I says. " - asks Nareth Garta, gazing at the horizon. The storm casted unpleasant memories, and the old scars began to ache from the cold again. Nareth winced irritably.
Garta glares at Nareth as though he is a challenge.
“Yes,” she snaps. “Do what I say.”
And with that she turns around and walks towards the wilderness, not bothering to see if anyone follows.
Kefto looks after her with a confused expression. The expression seems to be his natural state of being. “She seems to be a little bossy.”
Your party is gathered. It is time to venture forth!
I will wait at least one real-time day before I begin the next scene. If no one posts anything that needs to be addressed, the scene will be advanced.
Now is the time for last minute prep or questions or other things you need to know.
Feel free to roleplay until then.
"Haha!" Colden's laugh is imminent and honest. Used to King Corak's sometimes bossy ways, he finds this woman in her candor and crude ways a pure delight.
"Well, no time for chitchat. I suggest we do as she says and follow her!" Again Colden chuckles. "We can talk while we walk. We've got plenty of ground to cover and the day is already late. Laggie, coming?" With this, Colden turns and follows Garta. Before reaching full pace, he secures all straps of his backpack and hoist his crossbow up in a comfortable position, securing its strap around his shoulder to shift the weight from his arms to his torso.
"Ah, too bad she ain't a dwarf lass.. she would've made a marvelous bride. Feisty! Proud! Fierce!" Colden thinks and smiles to himself as he begins to follow Garta.
Nareth throws hi saddlebags over his back and looks expectantly at Jirt. He looks irritated. Despite the habit of obeying orders, which were often made by foolish people, he still could not accept the necessity to listen to a woman. He considered himself undoubtedly an astute person, but still remained reserved and full of prejustices.
He spoke to Colden, catching up with him and Lagrord.
" M'lord Colden! Forgive me. I do not want to discuss orders at such a crucial moment, but are ya sure that she should be trusted? Isn't she with the BloodEyeses ? This is a bold assumption, but leaving the horses ... This is contrary to any tactics! "
Colden adjusts his pace to allow Nareth to catch up and looks at him.
"Sure? Am I sure the sun will rise tomorrow? Am I sure that winter won't fall on us in the very next day and remain for a hundred years? Am I sure that a good sip of dwarven ale will quench my thirst? No, I'm not sure of any of it, but damn me if I won't give it a try! And the latter, I'll try threefold just to be sure.. hehe.. " Colden chuckles again, already missing the comfort of his abode and his hearth, of warm ale and fresh bread. "Tactics are but experiences tried that worked. We are doing something new, something previously not tried, thus we do it in a new way. I will keep records of this choice, this experience. And who knows, in a year or two after we've succeeded, perhaps this will be the new tactic? Do me this favor, Nareth. You know full well how to poke your spear at a throng of hungry peasants, but listen to the lass and learn from her. I sense she has much knowledge of which we don't. And what a fine lass she is.. " The last part is said more to himself, in a hushed voice.
As he walks, deep in thoughts, Colden starts to write an Ode to Garta..
Proud as few, she lights my heart anew.
Fierce and bold, she has my heart in a firm hold.
Powerful and proud, my heart sings so loud!
For the mighty Garta, my glorious warrior mate
I would pass through Hell's gate
and sell my soul for but one date.
Ahem, maybe not my best work.. ah well, it was a hasty one.
Nareth bluntly interrupts Colden's thoughts chasing Garta with his sight:
" Master Colden ... I dare not object, but if ya are not sure of anything other than sunrise or a sip of ale, may the Refiner bless us all, which I also do; then this is certainly not a reason to blindly listen to those who originated from wilderness. I don’t dare to argue, but ya are probably stayed in the castle for a far too long time with ye books. Just like me, however. "
He turns around, looking for moral support from Jirt and Kefto. He continues:
" It's not a tactical decision. I says, if ya order me, you would obey and silently give ya me horse... Hells! Yes, I would give the ya last piece of me bread just to fulfill ye order. Forgive me, but I cannot blindly observe, how do ya fulfill any requests from the first oncoming raider. "- Nareth sniffs contemptuously.
“ Why don't ask her if we need to take our weapons. It might be so, that to wield weapons is a bad omen too, that will surely infuriate the spirits, aye? " - he says the last sentence louder so Garta could hear him. He does, however, follow Colden his in a marching manner, with the shield on his back, leaning on a spear and carrying saddle bags in the second hand. Apparently tangible effort does not require.
Hey guys! A small remark, my personal opinions and Nareth's thoughts don't match in most of the cases:). I am trying to role play my dude as best as I can and if sometimes it might be abusive, I beg you apologize. Just decided to put this disclaimer here if it is not obvious for some people in order not to scary them away. I am not peculiar to racism, sexism, and so on but this is all RPGs are for, right? To try somebody else's skin. Thanks!
@ashafetov Your roleplaying is excellent! No need to apologize, we are writing a story here. Actually, I'm really glad you wrote your character this way, it will make the story much more fun!
The dust swirls around your lighted torches as you walk the faint traces of the road, heading into the darkness. Nareth's last objection cuts through the breeze and faint rumble of the brewing storm.
Garta continues to lead as though she didn't hear Nareth behind her. She lifts her chin, though her footsteps become stomps and she grips the flickering torch more fiercely.
"I think you're right, captain Nareth," says Kefto seriously. "I don't understand why we are following this woman. Why couldn't we just get directions and bring Master Cramnoch ourselves?"
"Because the Princess is a muddy, idiot," says Jirt, rolling his eyes. "We're going to find the Bloodeye Clan, though I'd rather stick my sword into their leader's guts as parley with him."
The perimeter walls of the inner town loom over you in the blackness as you approach. The few guards left on duty, mostly retired veterans, salute wordlessly as they open the gates for you.
On either side of the road leading into the darkness lies the farmlands that feed Astorwind. The shadows from your torches cast long distorted shapes of late summer goods lying in the field, ripe for picking. The homes are still lit as their inhabitants eat their supper, fruits of their year-long labor.
"I agree with the Captain, though," says Jirt, continuing the conversation once you are beyond the walls. "If our weapons infuriate the spirits, the 'spirits' may be little surprised at how infuriated I can be."
Lagrord thinks to himself:
*Of course, we must insult those who are to help us. They are different, they must be inferior. But how can Garta speak so freely on her own? WIthout Colden to shield me, I would have been dead for less.*
Colden smiles as he listens to the superstitious soldiers bickering like typical humans. Most of them have never had to face the struggles of xenophobia or being part of a minority. He would pity them if he could, but his empathy only goes so far and too many years working for humans have made him a bit jaded. His smile has no warmth, it's the kind of smile he wears like he wears a fine cloak or a dashing hat, a well chosen piece of garment added for its features, not a genuine part of himself. Though few would ever see it for anything other than true and genuine.
"Men. We've left Astorwind behind us and are now relying on ourselves.. and the Refiner. We have a mission, a task, and I am the task master. Even if you do not trust Garta, trust in me and my judgement. King Corak chose me, Gressick chose Garta, and you were chosen to support, and support you will. " Colden gives his well-oiled, reassuring smile and looks them all in their eyes, one after another, trying to project his confidence into them by mere force of mind.
"Maybe a song or two, while we are still in friendly neighbourhoods, to lift the spirits and say our goodbyes to fair Astorwind?" He doesn't wait for any replies, instead pick up his flute and plays one of his signature songs, a tune he composed for King Corak many years ago. He knows its a favorite of many old soldiers, it's part nostalgic and part uplifting. In between the tunes, he sings while he taps the flute on his axe head to keep the beat.
Colden’s song, though not particularly skillful by his own standards, rouses Jirt and Kefto, sullen from the mild rebuke, into a lighter mood. Genuine music is a rarity in Astorwind, except during harvest and holidays or sung a cappella in the fields and kitchens. Musical instruments are also a rarity in Astorwind, especially a flute of high quality like Colden’s. Truth be told, both Jirt and Kefto had silently hoped, when they were assigned this mission by General Gressick, that they might have a chance to hear the pleasant humming of the flute’s gentle notes.
The song is a common working tune sung by peasants and soldiers that glorifies the joy of hard work in the sun and has a catchy chorus. Kefto and Jirt raises their voices exuberantly along with Colden’s song. Neither of them can carry a tune to save their life, but their enthusiasm more than makes up for it.
The song ends with the flickering shadows dancing in time merrily. Kefto and Jirt slap each other and Nareth on the back heartily.
As the song’s last echoes reverberate off the farmhouse walls and rolling hills in the dark, another voice lifts up in song quite different from the tune just heard. Garta’s low, powerful voice lets out a haunting, dark music, alien to Astorwind citizens in composition and language. The song is broken by harsh shouts and eerie ululating, and seems to have no chorus or plan, never repeating itself in tune.
Though none but Garta can understand the words, the tune fills everyone with a deep fire and determination.
When the song ends on a low, ululating note, a somber silence falls on the party. After a moment, Jirt, trying to be the popular joker, says in a voice that seems harsh and grating after the music, “What in Astorwind was tha—!” But he gets cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kefto.
*Lagrord always revelled in Colden's songs and his spirits were lifted, having been incredibly nervous at leaving the city. Lagrord cannot even remember the last time he slept outside the castle.*
*But Garta's song was different. It was alien, but hinted a greater things than he had ever known. He knew none of the words, but to him, the song felt like freedom, unrestrained. He dearly wished the trip would give him the chance to speak to Garta*
Comments
"..and this is my gallant friend Lagrord, a handsome and brilliant young man." he takes a step to the side and let the two younglings eyeball eachother.
What weapons are you two bringing on the trip?
Is there any other gear you would like to pack?
Thanks in advance!
By the light of a candle, Nareth was preparing his backpack, of a standard edition in Patrol. He frankly liked its contents and personally found it unconditionally important and obligatory for use. In every possible way, the sergeant forced to load this patrol pack to the fullest capacity during his drills, although the lion's share of its contents there was used very rarely in soldiers' everyday life. Well, maybe except a small bag with potions: antidots, first aid balsams, bandages. And yes, a small set for making fire. After a small a small jar with strong spirituals went into a first aid bag as well. Nareth remembered situations when a good sip of this buzz helped better than words or persuasions.
He decided to wear linen clothes underneath, then leather sub-student and pants, a standard army chain mail. The last one was his iron plate, with bracers for arms and legs. Nareth purely enjoyed this preparation as in his everyday life he rarely had to wear this armor. It was dusty and missed some proper oiling, what he fixed on the fly. Then he put on his traveling belt with a lot of garters and accessories for fastening things. His hiking knife with long blade and tiny saw on the edge went to the left side, and a dagger - to the right. With a sharp move, he fastened the scabbard with a long sword to his belt.
It looks like he is set... Or is he? He decided to make a short departure prey for the Refiner, but he skipped all the necessary formalities, like crossing hands on his chest and bowing his knees. Nareth believed that the Refiner is powerful enough to hear his prey even without these gestures, but he forced the others to uphold these procedures always. He put his helmet and cape on and opened the door... Almost forgot to grab his spear and round iron shield (Nareth used his privileges to keep his weapons at his cabin, instead of keeping them in the armory). He is getting too old for this, thought he angrily. Now it is the time to meet Master Colden at the armory.
Backpack 5lbs
Rope 10lbs
Bedroll 5lbs
Winter blanket 3lbs
Cold weather outfit 7lbs
Waterskin 5lbs per day (4pints or .5gal), 1 day
3 torches 3lbs
Food— 1lb per day, 7 days
45lbs total
First Aid bag - 1lbs
Long sword - 3lbs
Long Knife - 1 lbs
Dagger - 1 lbs
Spear - 3 lbs
Iron Buckler - 2 lbs
Iron Helmet - 1 lbs
Bracers - 3 lbs
Iron plate - 2 lbs
Cape - 1 lbs
We are just waiting on you, @lolien ! Take your time, we will begin the next scene once you’re ready.
I’m excited!
Soon the arrangements were completed and Nareth entered the armory fully equipped for embark. He saw Colden, Lagrord and Sus'Ann and bowed politely. The sergeant moves closer, listening to the conversation and, as usual, awaiting orders.
"So we go to Bloodeye territory to... negotiate with them and get some information... I beg your pardon, but what a scholar and a half-orc do in the wild, with such a task? Nareth has some combat experience at least, but i doubt he spent much time out there recently."
Holy Symbol
Backpack 5lbs
Rope 10lbs
Bedroll 5lbs
Winter blanket 3lbs
Cold weather outfit 7lbs
Waterskin 5lbs per day (4pints or .5gal), 1 day
Hooded lantern 2lbs
Oil (1 flask) 1lbs
Tinderbox 1lbs
Food— 1lb per day, 7 days
Dagger - 1lbs
Quarterstaff - 4lbs
Sling - no weight
Sling bullets(20) - 1lbs
Herbalism kit - 3lbs
Healer's kit - 1lbs
Holy Water (1 flask) - 1lbs
Map case, with self made map - 1lbs
"And this 'mere' halforc is more than you might find meets your eye. He will be up to the task, I'm sure of it. I've trained him myself. " Colden winks at Sus'ann at this, reassuringly but with a hint of joking. "I won't lie, this mission is not for the faint of heart or the meek. It will be challenging and I won't ask of you to join, but if you want, we will surely be in need of your particular set of skills sooner or later. Join or not, that is your prerogative. The King's orders is on us and us alone."
" M'Lady Sus'Ann, if I may... " - he bows - " That's being said: our King himself entrusted us with this important mission. And M'Lord Colden is his confidant. Personally, this is enough for me, I says. I saw missions with even smaller brief than this one. The teachings of your Order demands humility and the questioning and hesitation are the greatest enemies of the Refiner, may his Name be blessed. " - he raises his eyes above for a short while and stares again at Sus'Ann.
@lolien , if your character is convinced or is not convinced to accompany, please roleplay that in as we go.
You make your way through the fallen dusk around Astorwind towards the edge of the town where Garta awaits. A strong wind picks up, blowing dust into your mouths and swirling around the old lamps like swarms of minuscule flies. The sky is dark, but the coming storm seen just a few days ago from the ramparts can be sensed. The clouds froth in slow-motion overhead like the boiling of water and faintly roar their discomfort down upon your departure.
Garta is looking up at the sky nervously as you approach. There are two soldiers standing at her side. “This is a bad omen from the spirits,” she says, invoking ancient raider superstition. “We do not bring horses,” she says at Nareth. “They will call wild hunter monsters to us. It is fine for the patrol for they are large in number. But we are small.”
The soldiers standing at Garta side roll their eyes at the raider woman’s dark words. “It’s just a bit of rain,” says Jirt, one of Nareth’s old friends. He is a short, well-muscled human with shaggy hair and beard reminiscent of a dwarf. In fact, most of his friends in the patrol give him a hard time at being a dwarf. “You muddies can keep your spirits,” he adds, using the contemptuous name soldiers have for their raider enemies on the battlefield. The name refers to the raider’s tendency to fight over the mud they live in.
Garta bristles at the insult. “You will know I speak the truth when the ice knives from the sky spirits cut out your heart!” she hisses.
Jirt just looks at Nareth with a, “She’s crazy!” expression.
The other soldier, Kefto, an average sized man with a very serious demeanor and long hair in a pony tail, looks at her in confusion. “It’s only harvest season,” he says. “The sharpened ice never falls until after winter solstice!”
“Fool!” spits Garta, but she doesn’t elaborate, instead throwing herself into a pout and looking away.
“Captain Nareth,” says Jirt, extending his hand after a crisp salute. “General Gressick ordered us to join you and help you protect his daughter. He filled us in that you’re traveling to some land the raiders think is holy or something. Personally, I find it all reeks of Winter demons. There’s not a holy spot in the whole Valley aside from the Refiner’s temple here in Astorwind.”
“It’s called Warne-harsard Wast,” spits Garta sharply.
“Yeah, I’m just going to call it Warny for short,” smirks Jirt. “If that’s ok with you and your ugly skin paint.”
Garta stands up to her full height, trying to look intimidating, pointing at her many tattoos. “I’ll have you know that THESE are the long lost marks of my future as a raider princess. I would have been highly prized by clan leaders as a bride!”
Jirt grins. “Sounds good,” he says. “I like that. ‘Princess.’ Has a good ring to it.”
Garta’s eyes narrow as she can’t quite bridge the culture gap to discern if she’s being mocked and disregarded or being paid respect. In the end, she simply huffs and looks away.
" Greetings! This is a great luck for us and definitely a good sign! I am sure, Jirt is able to combat all the bad omens of ye kind, Garta, with his sharp and long tongue, aye Jirt? " - answers he the soldier's question and smiles into his beard - " Me myself don't like much to be a packed mule, so ye pagan signs better be true. " - He gets off his horse and comes closer.
" Any other advices? Ya can always enlighten us with ye tribal wisdom, I says. " - asks Nareth Garta, gazing at the horizon. The storm casted unpleasant memories, and the old scars began to ache from the cold again. Nareth winced irritably.
“Yes,” she snaps. “Do what I say.”
And with that she turns around and walks towards the wilderness, not bothering to see if anyone follows.
Kefto looks after her with a confused expression. The expression seems to be his natural state of being. “She seems to be a little bossy.”
I will wait at least one real-time day before I begin the next scene. If no one posts anything that needs to be addressed, the scene will be advanced.
Now is the time for last minute prep or questions or other things you need to know.
Feel free to roleplay until then.
"Well, no time for chitchat. I suggest we do as she says and follow her!" Again Colden chuckles. "We can talk while we walk. We've got plenty of ground to cover and the day is already late. Laggie, coming?" With this, Colden turns and follows Garta. Before reaching full pace, he secures all straps of his backpack and hoist his crossbow up in a comfortable position, securing its strap around his shoulder to shift the weight from his arms to his torso.
"Ah, too bad she ain't a dwarf lass.. she would've made a marvelous bride. Feisty! Proud! Fierce!" Colden thinks and smiles to himself as he begins to follow Garta.
"As you say, Master Cramnoch."
He spoke to Colden, catching up with him and Lagrord.
" M'lord Colden! Forgive me. I do not want to discuss orders at such a crucial moment, but are ya sure that she should be trusted? Isn't she with the BloodEyeses ? This is a bold assumption, but leaving the horses ... This is contrary to any tactics! "
"Sure? Am I sure the sun will rise tomorrow? Am I sure that winter won't fall on us in the very next day and remain for a hundred years? Am I sure that a good sip of dwarven ale will quench my thirst? No, I'm not sure of any of it, but damn me if I won't give it a try! And the latter, I'll try threefold just to be sure.. hehe.. " Colden chuckles again, already missing the comfort of his abode and his hearth, of warm ale and fresh bread. "Tactics are but experiences tried that worked. We are doing something new, something previously not tried, thus we do it in a new way. I will keep records of this choice, this experience. And who knows, in a year or two after we've succeeded, perhaps this will be the new tactic? Do me this favor, Nareth. You know full well how to poke your spear at a throng of hungry peasants, but listen to the lass and learn from her. I sense she has much knowledge of which we don't. And what a fine lass she is.. " The last part is said more to himself, in a hushed voice.
Proud as few, she lights my heart anew.
Fierce and bold, she has my heart in a firm hold.
Powerful and proud, my heart sings so loud!
For the mighty Garta, my glorious warrior mate
I would pass through Hell's gate
and sell my soul for but one date.
Ahem, maybe not my best work.. ah well, it was a hasty one.
" Master Colden ... I dare not object, but if ya are not sure of anything other than sunrise or a sip of ale, may the Refiner bless us all, which I also do; then this is certainly not a reason to blindly listen to those who originated from wilderness. I don’t dare to argue, but ya are probably stayed in the castle for a far too long time with ye books. Just like me, however. "
He turns around, looking for moral support from Jirt and Kefto. He continues:
" It's not a tactical decision. I says, if ya order me, you would obey and silently give ya me horse... Hells! Yes, I would give the ya last piece of me bread just to fulfill ye order. Forgive me, but I cannot blindly observe, how do ya fulfill any requests from the first oncoming raider. "- Nareth sniffs contemptuously.
“ Why don't ask her if we need to take our weapons. It might be so, that to wield weapons is a bad omen too, that will surely infuriate the spirits, aye? " - he says the last sentence louder so Garta could hear him. He does, however, follow Colden his in a marching manner, with the shield on his back, leaning on a spear and carrying saddle bags in the second hand. Apparently tangible effort does not require.
Garta continues to lead as though she didn't hear Nareth behind her. She lifts her chin, though her footsteps become stomps and she grips the flickering torch more fiercely.
"I think you're right, captain Nareth," says Kefto seriously. "I don't understand why we are following this woman. Why couldn't we just get directions and bring Master Cramnoch ourselves?"
"Because the Princess is a muddy, idiot," says Jirt, rolling his eyes. "We're going to find the Bloodeye Clan, though I'd rather stick my sword into their leader's guts as parley with him."
The perimeter walls of the inner town loom over you in the blackness as you approach. The few guards left on duty, mostly retired veterans, salute wordlessly as they open the gates for you.
On either side of the road leading into the darkness lies the farmlands that feed Astorwind. The shadows from your torches cast long distorted shapes of late summer goods lying in the field, ripe for picking. The homes are still lit as their inhabitants eat their supper, fruits of their year-long labor.
"I agree with the Captain, though," says Jirt, continuing the conversation once you are beyond the walls. "If our weapons infuriate the spirits, the 'spirits' may be little surprised at how infuriated I can be."
*Of course, we must insult those who are to help us. They are different, they must be inferior. But how can Garta speak so freely on her own? WIthout Colden to shield me, I would have been dead for less.*
"Men. We've left Astorwind behind us and are now relying on ourselves.. and the Refiner. We have a mission, a task, and I am the task master. Even if you do not trust Garta, trust in me and my judgement. King Corak chose me, Gressick chose Garta, and you were chosen to support, and support you will. " Colden gives his well-oiled, reassuring smile and looks them all in their eyes, one after another, trying to project his confidence into them by mere force of mind.
"Maybe a song or two, while we are still in friendly neighbourhoods, to lift the spirits and say our goodbyes to fair Astorwind?" He doesn't wait for any replies, instead pick up his flute and plays one of his signature songs, a tune he composed for King Corak many years ago. He knows its a favorite of many old soldiers, it's part nostalgic and part uplifting. In between the tunes, he sings while he taps the flute on his axe head to keep the beat.
The song is a common working tune sung by peasants and soldiers that glorifies the joy of hard work in the sun and has a catchy chorus. Kefto and Jirt raises their voices exuberantly along with Colden’s song. Neither of them can carry a tune to save their life, but their enthusiasm more than makes up for it.
The song ends with the flickering shadows dancing in time merrily. Kefto and Jirt slap each other and Nareth on the back heartily.
Though none but Garta can understand the words, the tune fills everyone with a deep fire and determination.
When the song ends on a low, ululating note, a somber silence falls on the party. After a moment, Jirt, trying to be the popular joker, says in a voice that seems harsh and grating after the music, “What in Astorwind was tha—!” But he gets cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kefto.
*But Garta's song was different. It was alien, but hinted a greater things than he had ever known. He knew none of the words, but to him, the song felt like freedom, unrestrained. He dearly wished the trip would give him the chance to speak to Garta*
Oops...
Sorry.