Stood within the depths of the Steadfast Cathedral, Irsia stood alone in front of the main altar to the Benevolent. Her vision, usually black as pitch lest she used her spectral vision, was bathed in a warm, fuzzy light while she stood here. Her silver eyes were turned upwards, peering towards this warm, soothing light and basking in the deity's favour. The gentle bells sounding here and there within the Cathedral reached her ears, together with the soft utterances of prayer and chants spoken to the other divines also honoured within this grand structure. The great wolf, the grand stag, the wise eagle, the proud jaguar. Various animal deities existed beside the Benevolent, responsible for the safety of different peoples and guiding them towards good.
The Cathedral was a beacon of light, a shining peak within Steadfast and the ward against evil within it with it's Monastery and the Order of the Golden Dawn. The second most prominent beacon being the Castle with it's peacekeepers and agents. Even the operatives working under Betwixt sometimes pinched in to help keep the city in order or prevent it from falling too deeply into corruption and evil, even if they may favour chaos more than law.
Janheimr was still in a state or turmoil. Injuries that caused rifts and spawned various amounts of corruption to spill onto the world. From vile dragons to imps sowing discord, constantly challenging the guardians of the world to answer the call to protect the bastions of light and put forth effort into repairing the world. The World Guardian, Divines, creatures of the Aether, servants of nature and order, individuals that seek to lead a good life - they all pinch in in the grand effort to keep the corruption at bay.
And thus far, the effort was fruitful in that it kept Steadfast pristine and devoid of genuine corruption. The sort that sought to pull the people into the clutches of evil deities and malevolent forces at least, for smaller events of falling to certain vices still prevailed. But those would always be there, lest freedom was taken away from everyone and dictatorship of the harshest level was introduced instead. But that wasn't what Steadfast was about. The citizens were not prisoners and slaves - they could choose their own path.
As Irsia continued to stand before the altar to the Benevolent, white robes billowing around her angelic frame, her brows furrowed a little. There was a pang, a light discord in the light chiming of bells that no less turned her ear and had her turn her head a little as though to hear better. Recently, there's been news of a camp of refugees nearby. One that was currently approached by a pair of emissaries, one from the Order and one from the Cathedral, seeking to further talks about deciding what should be done about this grouping of humans that were settling right outside of Steadfast. Refugees from Erinsrest, victims of the Void corruption and Void monstrosities that pushed them to fleeing from their home grounds. What brought them here? Steadfast was as it's name implies - strong and stable. It attracted those who were lost and searching. And the human emigrants were one such group of people.
But they were expelled. Not on account of being human or coming from lands where anthropomorphic creatures were treated with hostility. But based on the corruption Irsia saw in them. There was a seed within them that bespoke of dangerous things. In agreement with King Gabriel, the Order of the Golden Dawn escorted the arrivals - mainly participants of the other, human Order, outside of the gates of Steadfast, beseeching them to "find their way" and "redeem themselves" first before returning. Instead of doing so, they established a settlement outside of the walls. A settlement to which new arrivals into Steadfast docks migrated, mostly humans, and allowed it to bulge into something of a small town almost. Certainly no longer temporary, either.
Now the two emissaries - Irsia's favoured priestess - Helen, and a paladin of the Order that had the most dealings with humans - Argus, were approaching the village to discuss their reasons for lingering and negotiate terms for their departure. Their presence was a reason of growing unrest within Steadfast. Concerns about the humans stealing into the city and sowing mischief. Even if there were efforts at redeeming themselves in the eyes of the Cathedral and the Crown, the path was still long before this matter was concluded.
The Cathedral was a beacon of light, a shining peak within Steadfast and the ward against evil within it with it's Monastery and the Order of the Golden Dawn. The second most prominent beacon being the Castle with it's peacekeepers and agents. Even the operatives working under Betwixt sometimes pinched in to help keep the city in order or prevent it from falling too deeply into corruption and evil, even if they may favour chaos more than law.
Janheimr was still in a state or turmoil. Injuries that caused rifts and spawned various amounts of corruption to spill onto the world. From vile dragons to imps sowing discord, constantly challenging the guardians of the world to answer the call to protect the bastions of light and put forth effort into repairing the world. The World Guardian, Divines, creatures of the Aether, servants of nature and order, individuals that seek to lead a good life - they all pinch in in the grand effort to keep the corruption at bay.
And thus far, the effort was fruitful in that it kept Steadfast pristine and devoid of genuine corruption. The sort that sought to pull the people into the clutches of evil deities and malevolent forces at least, for smaller events of falling to certain vices still prevailed. But those would always be there, lest freedom was taken away from everyone and dictatorship of the harshest level was introduced instead. But that wasn't what Steadfast was about. The citizens were not prisoners and slaves - they could choose their own path.
As Irsia continued to stand before the altar to the Benevolent, white robes billowing around her angelic frame, her brows furrowed a little. There was a pang, a light discord in the light chiming of bells that no less turned her ear and had her turn her head a little as though to hear better. Recently, there's been news of a camp of refugees nearby. One that was currently approached by a pair of emissaries, one from the Order and one from the Cathedral, seeking to further talks about deciding what should be done about this grouping of humans that were settling right outside of Steadfast. Refugees from Erinsrest, victims of the Void corruption and Void monstrosities that pushed them to fleeing from their home grounds. What brought them here? Steadfast was as it's name implies - strong and stable. It attracted those who were lost and searching. And the human emigrants were one such group of people.
But they were expelled. Not on account of being human or coming from lands where anthropomorphic creatures were treated with hostility. But based on the corruption Irsia saw in them. There was a seed within them that bespoke of dangerous things. In agreement with King Gabriel, the Order of the Golden Dawn escorted the arrivals - mainly participants of the other, human Order, outside of the gates of Steadfast, beseeching them to "find their way" and "redeem themselves" first before returning. Instead of doing so, they established a settlement outside of the walls. A settlement to which new arrivals into Steadfast docks migrated, mostly humans, and allowed it to bulge into something of a small town almost. Certainly no longer temporary, either.
Now the two emissaries - Irsia's favoured priestess - Helen, and a paladin of the Order that had the most dealings with humans - Argus, were approaching the village to discuss their reasons for lingering and negotiate terms for their departure. Their presence was a reason of growing unrest within Steadfast. Concerns about the humans stealing into the city and sowing mischief. Even if there were efforts at redeeming themselves in the eyes of the Cathedral and the Crown, the path was still long before this matter was concluded.
Under morning’s first light, concealed within the confines a cellar located beneath one of the outlying structures within Steadfast’s walls, Lauriel knelt down before a wooden altar with eight lit white candles spread around it evenly. Spread across the altar a young male anthropomorph, a brown tabby feline, arched his back and let out a low purr of pleasure. Keeping her eyes lowered to the ground, Lauriel took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting things take their course as the sacrifice happened naturally- not confined, not restricted, not forced, just set on its path.
The male feline’s chest rising and falling with more rapid heaving, his muscles grew more taut and his body arched even more in pleasure. His masculinity, in the form of his barbed penis, was fully erect and throbbing in the open air, its tip glistening with his early juices. Making lewd thrusting motions atop the altar, the feline felt darkness slowly encapsulate his soul, taking over him and siphoning away his life force one microscopic bit at a time. His pleasure peaking and yet not cresting and bringing him to orgasm, his eyes swam with tears at the sheer power of the emotions, sheer level of pleasure flooding through his system. If someone had told him two days ago that he would be naked before a human female and thrusting into the air, seeking to mate with anything but finding no release, he would have meekly laughed and sought to hide his blush, hide his dark desires, beneath his brown fur. But here he was, basking in the purest of pleasures, debasing himself in the most primal of ways, thrusting and yearning to find release, with the simple act of arousal and lust overwhelming him and his young, weak soul.
Panting heavily, his claws digging, clawing at the wood of the makeshift altar, his thrusting at the open, chilled air grew more frantic, more haphazard, seeking his release with every fiber of his being. Suddenly, mid-thrust, his constant heavy purring stopped, tapering off into a wet gasp of sorrow before his body fell limply onto the altar with a dull thud. His sounds of pleasure, his movements and their sounds now come to an end, leaving just the flickering of eight candle flames softly in the darkness.
With a heavy sigh, Lauriel looked up and shaking her head, rose and regarded the feline and his yearning pleasure, never sated, with disregard. His unspent seed, unfulfilled lust never being quenched, his manhood slowly fell as his body resumed its natural placidity. Another failed, another soul too weak, another not strong enough, not interested enough in the darkness to be worthy of their cause. Such marking the second hiccup, second failure of others meant for greater things since taking her dark oath, Lauriel turned and briefly regarded the slumped form of the first failure, her first attempt at sowing the seeds of darkness within a non-human form. The middle-aged female avian, despite her rich blue and green plumage, was devoid of life. Despite her desire, despite her yearning for pleasure, for release, she had not wanted it enough, not wanted it enough to stand amidst the darkness and revel in it, instead becoming passive and letting it overtake them.
Turning away from the two of them, Lauriel regarded the figure leaning against the doorway, a look of lazy disinterest on their dark and sultry features. Pursing her lips and drawing in a deep breath, Lauriel strode out of the room, climbing up the stairs and into the building above, passing by Sylvia with a small nod. Knowing what was meant for her to do, Sylvia rolled her eyes and languidly strode forward to begin to prepare the bodies for disposal and see to it that all evidence of what had happened here was obliterated and wiped clean as if it had never happened.
Hours later, as the sun climbed closer and closer to its zenith, the twin amber eyes of Alkar Wolffson, former Lord of Timberhold, dishonored and without a keep, a pack to call his own, peered out at the walls of Steadfast. Eyeing the city with disgust, reviling the prosperity they enjoy, the power and respect Gabriel, the pretender, held, he spotted two figures in the form of a snow leopardess and a blue scaled reptile pass through the gates and head towards the scant but growing refugee village. His gaze drawn to them as non-humans tended to stay within their petty walls, Alkar could not help but let out a small huff of annoyance. ‘What do they want now? More requests to turn away the needy while they revel in their wealth? The mistress might find some interest in them…information that might be worth a reward to her.’
Making sure to remain hidden and slipping from shadow to shadow despite his bulk, Alkar deftly tracked the pair as they entered the village.
The male feline’s chest rising and falling with more rapid heaving, his muscles grew more taut and his body arched even more in pleasure. His masculinity, in the form of his barbed penis, was fully erect and throbbing in the open air, its tip glistening with his early juices. Making lewd thrusting motions atop the altar, the feline felt darkness slowly encapsulate his soul, taking over him and siphoning away his life force one microscopic bit at a time. His pleasure peaking and yet not cresting and bringing him to orgasm, his eyes swam with tears at the sheer power of the emotions, sheer level of pleasure flooding through his system. If someone had told him two days ago that he would be naked before a human female and thrusting into the air, seeking to mate with anything but finding no release, he would have meekly laughed and sought to hide his blush, hide his dark desires, beneath his brown fur. But here he was, basking in the purest of pleasures, debasing himself in the most primal of ways, thrusting and yearning to find release, with the simple act of arousal and lust overwhelming him and his young, weak soul.
Panting heavily, his claws digging, clawing at the wood of the makeshift altar, his thrusting at the open, chilled air grew more frantic, more haphazard, seeking his release with every fiber of his being. Suddenly, mid-thrust, his constant heavy purring stopped, tapering off into a wet gasp of sorrow before his body fell limply onto the altar with a dull thud. His sounds of pleasure, his movements and their sounds now come to an end, leaving just the flickering of eight candle flames softly in the darkness.
With a heavy sigh, Lauriel looked up and shaking her head, rose and regarded the feline and his yearning pleasure, never sated, with disregard. His unspent seed, unfulfilled lust never being quenched, his manhood slowly fell as his body resumed its natural placidity. Another failed, another soul too weak, another not strong enough, not interested enough in the darkness to be worthy of their cause. Such marking the second hiccup, second failure of others meant for greater things since taking her dark oath, Lauriel turned and briefly regarded the slumped form of the first failure, her first attempt at sowing the seeds of darkness within a non-human form. The middle-aged female avian, despite her rich blue and green plumage, was devoid of life. Despite her desire, despite her yearning for pleasure, for release, she had not wanted it enough, not wanted it enough to stand amidst the darkness and revel in it, instead becoming passive and letting it overtake them.
Turning away from the two of them, Lauriel regarded the figure leaning against the doorway, a look of lazy disinterest on their dark and sultry features. Pursing her lips and drawing in a deep breath, Lauriel strode out of the room, climbing up the stairs and into the building above, passing by Sylvia with a small nod. Knowing what was meant for her to do, Sylvia rolled her eyes and languidly strode forward to begin to prepare the bodies for disposal and see to it that all evidence of what had happened here was obliterated and wiped clean as if it had never happened.
Hours later, as the sun climbed closer and closer to its zenith, the twin amber eyes of Alkar Wolffson, former Lord of Timberhold, dishonored and without a keep, a pack to call his own, peered out at the walls of Steadfast. Eyeing the city with disgust, reviling the prosperity they enjoy, the power and respect Gabriel, the pretender, held, he spotted two figures in the form of a snow leopardess and a blue scaled reptile pass through the gates and head towards the scant but growing refugee village. His gaze drawn to them as non-humans tended to stay within their petty walls, Alkar could not help but let out a small huff of annoyance. ‘What do they want now? More requests to turn away the needy while they revel in their wealth? The mistress might find some interest in them…information that might be worth a reward to her.’
Making sure to remain hidden and slipping from shadow to shadow despite his bulk, Alkar deftly tracked the pair as they entered the village.
With the tents and hurriedly erected structures of the human encampment drawing nearer, the two emissaries were still hard at a dispute between themselves. Helen - as Irsia's favoured, was elected to go on account of her purity and the knowledge she would uphold the noblest ideals of Steadfast and it's people. The pairing with Argus was less fortunate, however, and she quickly understood exactly why that was. The official of the Order was an old paladin, but one who seemed to have strayed from his path lately.
"No Argus. We are here to negotiate terms for them to leave the premises of Steadfast. Not to-"
"I am more than certain Steadfast would have greater use for them staying. Working for Steadfast. Look at this encampment they've built here. They're industrious! We could have use for their work within the walls of the city."
"Ugh- would you stop interrupting me!" The priestess raised her voice a notch, cleared her throat, then carried on more calmly. "As I was saying - that is not what the Crown desires. The Crown-"
"I am certain even King Gabriel wouldn't turn his nose at a few extra coins in his coffers from a greater number of loyal, taxed citizens. And he probably would not mind rewarding one who persuaded them to join the city, either..."
"Argus! Are you even listening to me?"
But the old paladin's eyes were on the nearing settlement. With the discord between the two emissaries, however, there was a mighty low chance that they would achieve any sort of positive outcome regarding their mission here in the first place. With ears drawn back, Helen glanced to the skies and shook her head while uttering under her breath. "Benevolent guide us. This old oaf will ruin everything."
Back at the Cathedral, Irsia stood with her head bowed slightly. There was a deep sense of unease that she felt, as though an evil was already sinking it's claws into the people of Steadfast. There were ones among the ranks of the Order, too, that wavered. That turned to greed and pride instead in ways that lead to greater and greater sin. It was not unheard of for the paladins of the Order to be proud of their station. Proud of being the defenders of the city not only through a strong arm but also through strong morals and values. It was unacceptable to have those paragons be corrupt.
With Helen being a favoured of the angelic entity, Irsia often prayed for divine favours for the priestess and druidess serving the Cathedral - strengthening her on her path. Especially now that she was on an arguably difficult errand. She and Argus - one of the paladins of the Order, were to persuade the "citizens" of the human encampment to move farther away from Steadfast, beseeching them to respect the city's borders of influence. They were to discuss terms under which the humans would be willing to move. King Gabriel did not wish for such rabble to become part of Steadfast unless they managed to show they could adapt. This protest they've put up instead certainly did not attribute to a more favourable decision from the wise sabretooth.
Further, as Helen neared the encampment, Irsia could feel the telltale signs of corruption within. Was this what had alarmed her earlier? Was this the discord she's heard on the chimes? Or was it closer? "Be careful, dear Helen. Stay vigilant..." The snow leopardess spoke softly, head still bowed in reverence to the Benevolent for a moment longer before she turned to depart from the Cathedral. Her eyes shone silver, unveiling before her the safe route to take out of the building in pale blue and teal, the warm glow of the altar now behind her. Off to the sides, every altar devoted to a different, good-aligned deity cast it's own light that was perceivable to the angel. She, however, stepped out towards the dark beyond the Cathedral.
To Irsia, the sight of Steadfast from atop of Temple Hill always felt as thought she was looking upon a city of lights. While her eyes glowed silver, she could see the outlines of the city buildings in teals and greys, but the most resplendent sight were the lights. The people. Irsia crossed the gardens until she was stood by the railing that marked the edge of the plateau of Temple Hill. Her paws, by memory, reached up to rest atop the marble railing while her eyes looked out towards the port district. Another ship has arrived. The lights upon it dimmed, not as bright, but not red. At least from this far away they did not look red. Her eyes continued to survey Steadfast from this high above. The most rudimentary way for her to see the state of the city. For now, all seemed well. But the chimes ringing in discord were still present in the back of her mind...
"No Argus. We are here to negotiate terms for them to leave the premises of Steadfast. Not to-"
"I am more than certain Steadfast would have greater use for them staying. Working for Steadfast. Look at this encampment they've built here. They're industrious! We could have use for their work within the walls of the city."
"Ugh- would you stop interrupting me!" The priestess raised her voice a notch, cleared her throat, then carried on more calmly. "As I was saying - that is not what the Crown desires. The Crown-"
"I am certain even King Gabriel wouldn't turn his nose at a few extra coins in his coffers from a greater number of loyal, taxed citizens. And he probably would not mind rewarding one who persuaded them to join the city, either..."
"Argus! Are you even listening to me?"
But the old paladin's eyes were on the nearing settlement. With the discord between the two emissaries, however, there was a mighty low chance that they would achieve any sort of positive outcome regarding their mission here in the first place. With ears drawn back, Helen glanced to the skies and shook her head while uttering under her breath. "Benevolent guide us. This old oaf will ruin everything."
Back at the Cathedral, Irsia stood with her head bowed slightly. There was a deep sense of unease that she felt, as though an evil was already sinking it's claws into the people of Steadfast. There were ones among the ranks of the Order, too, that wavered. That turned to greed and pride instead in ways that lead to greater and greater sin. It was not unheard of for the paladins of the Order to be proud of their station. Proud of being the defenders of the city not only through a strong arm but also through strong morals and values. It was unacceptable to have those paragons be corrupt.
With Helen being a favoured of the angelic entity, Irsia often prayed for divine favours for the priestess and druidess serving the Cathedral - strengthening her on her path. Especially now that she was on an arguably difficult errand. She and Argus - one of the paladins of the Order, were to persuade the "citizens" of the human encampment to move farther away from Steadfast, beseeching them to respect the city's borders of influence. They were to discuss terms under which the humans would be willing to move. King Gabriel did not wish for such rabble to become part of Steadfast unless they managed to show they could adapt. This protest they've put up instead certainly did not attribute to a more favourable decision from the wise sabretooth.
Further, as Helen neared the encampment, Irsia could feel the telltale signs of corruption within. Was this what had alarmed her earlier? Was this the discord she's heard on the chimes? Or was it closer? "Be careful, dear Helen. Stay vigilant..." The snow leopardess spoke softly, head still bowed in reverence to the Benevolent for a moment longer before she turned to depart from the Cathedral. Her eyes shone silver, unveiling before her the safe route to take out of the building in pale blue and teal, the warm glow of the altar now behind her. Off to the sides, every altar devoted to a different, good-aligned deity cast it's own light that was perceivable to the angel. She, however, stepped out towards the dark beyond the Cathedral.
To Irsia, the sight of Steadfast from atop of Temple Hill always felt as thought she was looking upon a city of lights. While her eyes glowed silver, she could see the outlines of the city buildings in teals and greys, but the most resplendent sight were the lights. The people. Irsia crossed the gardens until she was stood by the railing that marked the edge of the plateau of Temple Hill. Her paws, by memory, reached up to rest atop the marble railing while her eyes looked out towards the port district. Another ship has arrived. The lights upon it dimmed, not as bright, but not red. At least from this far away they did not look red. Her eyes continued to survey Steadfast from this high above. The most rudimentary way for her to see the state of the city. For now, all seemed well. But the chimes ringing in discord were still present in the back of her mind...
As the somewhat mismatched pair reached the vague wooden palisade constructed around the burgeoning village, Solemn Stand, two human males clumsily got up from wooden stools on either side of an impromptu gateway between two one-story wooden buildings through which humans passed freely. Clad in mismatched leather jerkins, trousers, and boots, they both wore bright yellow armbands and were armed with short swords which were sheathed on their belts. The man on the right, who sported a dark mustache, raised a hand in an awkward hail. “Hail there, furred and scaled friend, what umm brings you to our most promising and growing of cities, Solemn Stand?”
His partner, who was slightly shorter and was clean shaven, cleared his throat and leaned over, cupping his hand over his mouth to hide his lips and whispered something rashly into his friend’s ear. Blinking and nodding sheepishly, the mustached guard chipped up before the pair could respond. “I urm, should inform you, if you did not know already, that the city gates have a toll for all non-humans passing through. Courtesy of Lord Chalsin’s benevolence, all non-residents are allowed entry, of course, but such entry does not come without its costs as we have to make sure you are safe in a city that is not your own.” Finishing with a small, awkward smile, he looped his thumbs through his belt and adopted a confident stance, as his partner had done moments before.
As humans of all shapes and sizes passed by the pair guards without disruption, the overall nature and demeanor of the populace became evident. Downtrodden but struggling to survive and eek out their meager existence, the people of the newly founded Solemn Stand bustled on with their daily existence, with their heads down but ears open in hope of aid from over the wall. Through the thoroughfare passing between the two wooden structures the sight of a thriving tent city morphing into a more solid one was clear. Over the din of commotion of the city’s inhabitants was the steady hammering sound of construction as houses were erected and buildings furnished. While not as bustling as Steadfast’s own gates, there were carts intermittent among the people as good were brought to and from the nearby major city. Largely exporting trade goods and importing raw material and foodstuffs, the productive and industrious nature of man was indeed true.
Further down the bustling dirt covered street, Alkar stood behind the side of a building still in the process of being constructed. Cloak drawn close and cowl over his head, obscuring his identity as much as it could be given girth, he did not wish for any chance of the interlopers to catch a glimpse of him all the same. His keen ears shifting through the background noise and picking up on the guard hailing the anthropomorphs, he could not help but adopt a cheeky grin. ‘Here come two officials of some sort from the city, and what are they met with? A request for a toll…the audacity of that pungent barrel of lard known as Lord Chalsin is appalling…were another in power here, Steadfast would truly have a rival city to contend with in no time…’
Trying to appear as natural as he could, the hulking cloaked figure that he was, he tried to appear casual and leaned back against the wooden wall in a casual, relaxed manner. No stranger to traversing the streets of Solemn Hand, he nonetheless knew that his presence drew attention, and if it were not for a writ of free passage, he would have been harried by the guards far more for his freedom of movement.
His partner, who was slightly shorter and was clean shaven, cleared his throat and leaned over, cupping his hand over his mouth to hide his lips and whispered something rashly into his friend’s ear. Blinking and nodding sheepishly, the mustached guard chipped up before the pair could respond. “I urm, should inform you, if you did not know already, that the city gates have a toll for all non-humans passing through. Courtesy of Lord Chalsin’s benevolence, all non-residents are allowed entry, of course, but such entry does not come without its costs as we have to make sure you are safe in a city that is not your own.” Finishing with a small, awkward smile, he looped his thumbs through his belt and adopted a confident stance, as his partner had done moments before.
As humans of all shapes and sizes passed by the pair guards without disruption, the overall nature and demeanor of the populace became evident. Downtrodden but struggling to survive and eek out their meager existence, the people of the newly founded Solemn Stand bustled on with their daily existence, with their heads down but ears open in hope of aid from over the wall. Through the thoroughfare passing between the two wooden structures the sight of a thriving tent city morphing into a more solid one was clear. Over the din of commotion of the city’s inhabitants was the steady hammering sound of construction as houses were erected and buildings furnished. While not as bustling as Steadfast’s own gates, there were carts intermittent among the people as good were brought to and from the nearby major city. Largely exporting trade goods and importing raw material and foodstuffs, the productive and industrious nature of man was indeed true.
Further down the bustling dirt covered street, Alkar stood behind the side of a building still in the process of being constructed. Cloak drawn close and cowl over his head, obscuring his identity as much as it could be given girth, he did not wish for any chance of the interlopers to catch a glimpse of him all the same. His keen ears shifting through the background noise and picking up on the guard hailing the anthropomorphs, he could not help but adopt a cheeky grin. ‘Here come two officials of some sort from the city, and what are they met with? A request for a toll…the audacity of that pungent barrel of lard known as Lord Chalsin is appalling…were another in power here, Steadfast would truly have a rival city to contend with in no time…’
Trying to appear as natural as he could, the hulking cloaked figure that he was, he tried to appear casual and leaned back against the wooden wall in a casual, relaxed manner. No stranger to traversing the streets of Solemn Hand, he nonetheless knew that his presence drew attention, and if it were not for a writ of free passage, he would have been harried by the guards far more for his freedom of movement.
Paws raised in a return hail, the emissaries were no less perplexed to hear a request for a toll in order to be allowed entry. Helen and Argus exchanged glances at that and, while the taller draconian proceeded to speak with the guards, the leaner and slighter priestess turned her attentive eyes to the sight before her.
The settlement showed no signs of yielding to Steadfast's repeated requests. More, it seemed that the place had allies and sympathisers within Steadfast that traded with the growing settlement-... no, town and was therefore given means to expand and thrive. Who was allowing for this? Why were the King's words not heeded? The Order's stance not followed? The redemption of the immigrants was not meant to happen through letting them feed off of Steadfast's work while they do naught but expand their own society right at the city's doorstep! The Crown would hear of this, if King Gabriel was nor familiar with this situation already.
"Hail friends. What is this toll you speak of to us? We are emissaries from the exalted Order of the Golden Dawn and the Crown of Steadfast. Surely you would not demand a toll from such esteemed visitors?"
Argus' gall grated on Helen and, indignantly, she demanded; "No matter. If we are not allowed entry - we would like to speak to the leader of this trav-... of this town."
"Oh calm down now my dear compatriot. I am sure we can come to a mutual agreement here."
"I will not pay a copper to enter a settlement that is not even meant to be here, Argus. Now..." She turned to address the guards. "Could you ask for your leader or lawful representative to come see us, please."
As Helen was, very likely, unknown by the locals and guards here in the Solemn Hand, even if the guards had a friendly disposition in general, her attempt at exerting her authority as an emissary had no greater sway. However, with her tone and official demeanour she presented herself no less convincingly. (1d20 for persuasion: 17) Arms crossed right underneath her modest bosom, her keen blue eyes regarded the guards patiently.
Argus shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other, regarding his compatriot with a bit of wary reluctance. They were not going to achieve much in ways of business and agreements if they were going to just bluntly chase their goal of getting the humans to move away. Speaking in a hushed voice while yanking Helen back a little by her upper arm, Argus remarked; "Don't you think you are being a little rash, priestess? They are striving to make a living here. We cannot just demand they pack up and leave."
Appalled by the draconian's own gall, the priestess squirmed away from his hold and hissed back. "Do not touch me. I am following the Crown's wishes. This town has no right of existing here. They did not heed our words prior and they're setting in roots despite our requests. We must act more decisively. If you want to undermine this goal, go back now." (1d20 for intimidation: 15 against Argus' 17)
The draconian quirked a brow at the angry rebuttal, finding it impressive but... not enough to sway him to leave. "We've been sent together, priestess. Remember that."
Helen harrumphed and turned to look at the guards again. Her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment and stress. This was meant to be a simple errand to visit the settlement and make an agreement with the local leader - set the terms for their resettlement. Instead, she was battling with her co-emissary to begin with!
The settlement showed no signs of yielding to Steadfast's repeated requests. More, it seemed that the place had allies and sympathisers within Steadfast that traded with the growing settlement-... no, town and was therefore given means to expand and thrive. Who was allowing for this? Why were the King's words not heeded? The Order's stance not followed? The redemption of the immigrants was not meant to happen through letting them feed off of Steadfast's work while they do naught but expand their own society right at the city's doorstep! The Crown would hear of this, if King Gabriel was nor familiar with this situation already.
"Hail friends. What is this toll you speak of to us? We are emissaries from the exalted Order of the Golden Dawn and the Crown of Steadfast. Surely you would not demand a toll from such esteemed visitors?"
Argus' gall grated on Helen and, indignantly, she demanded; "No matter. If we are not allowed entry - we would like to speak to the leader of this trav-... of this town."
"Oh calm down now my dear compatriot. I am sure we can come to a mutual agreement here."
"I will not pay a copper to enter a settlement that is not even meant to be here, Argus. Now..." She turned to address the guards. "Could you ask for your leader or lawful representative to come see us, please."
As Helen was, very likely, unknown by the locals and guards here in the Solemn Hand, even if the guards had a friendly disposition in general, her attempt at exerting her authority as an emissary had no greater sway. However, with her tone and official demeanour she presented herself no less convincingly. (1d20 for persuasion: 17) Arms crossed right underneath her modest bosom, her keen blue eyes regarded the guards patiently.
Argus shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other, regarding his compatriot with a bit of wary reluctance. They were not going to achieve much in ways of business and agreements if they were going to just bluntly chase their goal of getting the humans to move away. Speaking in a hushed voice while yanking Helen back a little by her upper arm, Argus remarked; "Don't you think you are being a little rash, priestess? They are striving to make a living here. We cannot just demand they pack up and leave."
Appalled by the draconian's own gall, the priestess squirmed away from his hold and hissed back. "Do not touch me. I am following the Crown's wishes. This town has no right of existing here. They did not heed our words prior and they're setting in roots despite our requests. We must act more decisively. If you want to undermine this goal, go back now." (1d20 for intimidation: 15 against Argus' 17)
The draconian quirked a brow at the angry rebuttal, finding it impressive but... not enough to sway him to leave. "We've been sent together, priestess. Remember that."
Helen harrumphed and turned to look at the guards again. Her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment and stress. This was meant to be a simple errand to visit the settlement and make an agreement with the local leader - set the terms for their resettlement. Instead, she was battling with her co-emissary to begin with!
The mustached guard, named Hubert, warmed to Argus’s entreaties, and opened his mouth to reply, but closed it after Helen began with her demanding tone. Hubert looked to his partner, Gern, and they both rolled their eyes at the snow leopard’s entitled spiel to her partner, not impressed by her somewhat arrogant demands at refusing the toll and at her ridicule of their settlement. (1d20 for saving throw for persuasion and intimidation: 13) However, upon hearing her request to meet with a representative, they both looked to each other, shrugged, and nodded in agreement.
Waiting for the two to finish their little spat as the kinder of the two, the draconic figure, pulled the clearly out of line female snow leopard out of the way, Gern leaned over to Hubert and once more putting his hand to his mouth whispered into his friend’s ear. “What a piece of work that one is, eh? She is definitely from the hoytie toytie crown, that is for sure.” Chuckling, Hubert nodded in agreement before the two of them straightened up as the pair of non-humans turned back to them.
Clearing his throat, Hubert once more chimed up “Miss Umm…Snow? If you want, we can ask for a representative to come, but since it is nearing the middle of the day it may take a while for them to come. Perhaps you can wait here and your…more diplomatic companion can be escorted to our command tent? Since we are not meant to be here, I am sure you not walking around what should be an empty field is no big deal. Surely there are more pressing matters to attend to in the royal palace with its finery while your more diplomatically skilled friend entreaties with our leadership in our meager dwellings.”
Adopting a look of minor smugness at his jab, Hubert kept a serious demeanor all the same, as it was true that midday lunch would slow matters, as would the request to come meet with some pretentious figure from Steadfast.
Meanwhile, within the safety of Steadfast’s walls, Lauriel, clad in her street garb, strode into a local tavern located near the gate heading to the human encampment, The Cornerstone. Her rusty brown cowl covering concealing part of her face, namely her clear, cyan eyes, her fairly common adventurer’s garb of a green tunic with tight black trousers and ruddy brown boots and vambraces gave her a common, humble appearance. Having opted to keep a common quality slightly curved blade with her for protection, such secured with a belt holster across her chest, she hoped to not appear too shady, too dangerous, yet not too weak or plain either. (1d20 for stealth: 15) Striding through the door after a pair of wily looking foxes left, Lauriel kept her head down and headed over to the lively bar.
The tavern’s tenants opting more for food and non-alcoholic beverages than they would no doubt later in the day, the noonday meal and break time provided a lively but not rowdy crowd. Known for its cheap food and even cheaper drink, The Cornerstone was not a complete dive, but was far from one of the finer establishments in town. Sniffing at the air as numerous smells from the active kitchen wafted through the air, overwhelming any smells from the various patrons at the tavern, Lauriel spotted the broad blue, furred back of her query and the reason for her visit. Roaming over his slate blue and strongly muscled back, braided white hair, and almost pit fighter’s attire, a small smile briefly flashed across her lips. ‘Melissa was right…he is impressive…now to see what gets his goat as they say’
Leaning against a spare table near the bar, Lauriel patiently waited for a seat next to him to clear up. Once a rugged looking otter got up and headed out Lauriel slipped it and took the barstool to the right of Penth, one of the local gate guards. Not paying him any mind, she sat down in a bit of an angry slump, resting her elbows firmly on the bar and leaning onto it. Gesturing to the barkeep to get her attention with a wave of her hand, the curvy and slightly overweight middle-aged female grey furred feline headed over with a little bit of a pep in her step. “What can I get cha, dearie?” Grumbling, Lauriel shrugged and still looking down at the bar, spouted out a loud complaint in a somewhat course, upset tone “What can you get me? Why not five minutes alone with that cock sucker…But seeing as nobody can seem to believe me, why not a tankard of yer most palatable grog and open up a tab and keep ‘em comin’.”
A few of the nearby patrons pausing and giving a shrug at her human’s complaining, even if it was early for such at a bar, they resumed their business, unperturbed. The barkeep pausing as a small frown crossed her features, she nodded all the same and in a less chipper tone responded. “Uh, sure thing…”, turning around and heading over to a nearby tap, she grabbed a wooden tankard and filled it. Turning back around, she set it down before Lauriel with a terse nod before quickly heading away, not wanting to get wrangled up as a sounding board for the woman’s woes.
Waiting for the two to finish their little spat as the kinder of the two, the draconic figure, pulled the clearly out of line female snow leopard out of the way, Gern leaned over to Hubert and once more putting his hand to his mouth whispered into his friend’s ear. “What a piece of work that one is, eh? She is definitely from the hoytie toytie crown, that is for sure.” Chuckling, Hubert nodded in agreement before the two of them straightened up as the pair of non-humans turned back to them.
Clearing his throat, Hubert once more chimed up “Miss Umm…Snow? If you want, we can ask for a representative to come, but since it is nearing the middle of the day it may take a while for them to come. Perhaps you can wait here and your…more diplomatic companion can be escorted to our command tent? Since we are not meant to be here, I am sure you not walking around what should be an empty field is no big deal. Surely there are more pressing matters to attend to in the royal palace with its finery while your more diplomatically skilled friend entreaties with our leadership in our meager dwellings.”
Adopting a look of minor smugness at his jab, Hubert kept a serious demeanor all the same, as it was true that midday lunch would slow matters, as would the request to come meet with some pretentious figure from Steadfast.
Meanwhile, within the safety of Steadfast’s walls, Lauriel, clad in her street garb, strode into a local tavern located near the gate heading to the human encampment, The Cornerstone. Her rusty brown cowl covering concealing part of her face, namely her clear, cyan eyes, her fairly common adventurer’s garb of a green tunic with tight black trousers and ruddy brown boots and vambraces gave her a common, humble appearance. Having opted to keep a common quality slightly curved blade with her for protection, such secured with a belt holster across her chest, she hoped to not appear too shady, too dangerous, yet not too weak or plain either. (1d20 for stealth: 15) Striding through the door after a pair of wily looking foxes left, Lauriel kept her head down and headed over to the lively bar.
The tavern’s tenants opting more for food and non-alcoholic beverages than they would no doubt later in the day, the noonday meal and break time provided a lively but not rowdy crowd. Known for its cheap food and even cheaper drink, The Cornerstone was not a complete dive, but was far from one of the finer establishments in town. Sniffing at the air as numerous smells from the active kitchen wafted through the air, overwhelming any smells from the various patrons at the tavern, Lauriel spotted the broad blue, furred back of her query and the reason for her visit. Roaming over his slate blue and strongly muscled back, braided white hair, and almost pit fighter’s attire, a small smile briefly flashed across her lips. ‘Melissa was right…he is impressive…now to see what gets his goat as they say’
Leaning against a spare table near the bar, Lauriel patiently waited for a seat next to him to clear up. Once a rugged looking otter got up and headed out Lauriel slipped it and took the barstool to the right of Penth, one of the local gate guards. Not paying him any mind, she sat down in a bit of an angry slump, resting her elbows firmly on the bar and leaning onto it. Gesturing to the barkeep to get her attention with a wave of her hand, the curvy and slightly overweight middle-aged female grey furred feline headed over with a little bit of a pep in her step. “What can I get cha, dearie?” Grumbling, Lauriel shrugged and still looking down at the bar, spouted out a loud complaint in a somewhat course, upset tone “What can you get me? Why not five minutes alone with that cock sucker…But seeing as nobody can seem to believe me, why not a tankard of yer most palatable grog and open up a tab and keep ‘em comin’.”
A few of the nearby patrons pausing and giving a shrug at her human’s complaining, even if it was early for such at a bar, they resumed their business, unperturbed. The barkeep pausing as a small frown crossed her features, she nodded all the same and in a less chipper tone responded. “Uh, sure thing…”, turning around and heading over to a nearby tap, she grabbed a wooden tankard and filled it. Turning back around, she set it down before Lauriel with a terse nod before quickly heading away, not wanting to get wrangled up as a sounding board for the woman’s woes.
Helen's eyes widened at the further gall of the guards. They would so openly mock her for obeying the Crown!? Not only that but they would also dare to just call her by a moniker! And that oaf? More diplomatically skilled!? She drew a breath as though she wanted to explode with a string of insults or further demands or reasons for why she ought to be heeded, but instead the tension spread through her body - outlining what slight muscle she had and making her simply look angrier, ready for a scuffle almost, but silent. Argus regarded the angry display with a passing glance, clearing his throat loudly as though reminding her now that they were on an important diplomatic mission and that they ought to behave as such. As emissaries. She merely shot him an icy glare in response the blade of her weapon gaining a pale, blue glow and letting out a brief, icy crackle.
The taller draconian shook his head slowly and then turned to regard Hubert with a pleasant smile - as pleasant as a draconian could muster at least. He responded; "That sounds optimal. I am sure we can make a good deal and be done without interrupting other, pressing matters. Do lead the way." As an added incentive, the draconian clinked the pouch of coins he had at his hip - ensuring the guard he would not be crossing in without being capable of paying a toll, if such would still be demanded of him.
"What!? Argus! You don't even know what we are here for!" Helen called after him with a look of furious shock on her usually calm and collected features.
"I will negotiate what is best for Steadfast and these people." 'And my purse' - he thought to himself while gracing his erstwhile compatriot with but a sideways glance.
"Argus!" She almost yowled and took a step forth... no doubt halted by the remaining guard who, despite the fact he was not supposed to even be there, did perform his job of not letting her in willy nilly. "Let me though." Helen demanded through clenched teeth. With Argus being granted access without her, she had no way of paying for a toll herself.
The Cornerstone was bustling with activity, mostly on account of the visitors to Steadfast who were weary from their travels as well as those intending to be setting out, visiting traders and the like. As such, The Cornerstone frequently featured a wide variety of people or various races and species, but also the guards of the nearby gate - the gate closest to the Solemn Stand. Despite it's smaller finery compared to an establishment such as The Lion's Mane, The Cornerstone used it's funds to the best of it's capability and provided for it's patrons well despite being of much lesser renown.
All in all, it was a guard's place of reprieve from a day spent on duty. And after a night shift watching the gate, Penth certainly longed for a drink and some sleep. Or, currently, to just drink away the annoyance a couple drunken street performers caused him. Granted, he scared them off by nearly tugging the tail straight out with the entire spine of one of the rapscallions, but the slimy bastard slipped away with a broken tail-bone only. At the time, he shared the company of a fellow guard, a burly, ruggedly dressed otter who shared the night shift with him. They discussed the matter of perhaps asking to be moved to a different watch post. The drunken folk from the nearby low theatre certainly got on their nerves more than it was worth to admit.
Before long, though, the otter stood and excused himself by means of "finding a wench and dropping to bed". Penth grunted in response to that and turned to his drink again - only to growl loudly when someone else sidled in and settled down, heavily and angrily, on the stool occupied by his buddy prior. He looked over the woman - a human, with disdain. Her looks weren't half bad for a potential wench he could spare some coin on and take to bed to relieve himself prior to sleeping the brightest parts of the day away before his next shift. Snarling at the lack of attention from the woman, though, Penth turned to his own drink.
A low, gruff cackle escaped his mouth when he heard what sort of mouth the new arrival, it seemed, had on her. He heard the, admittedly, very brief exchange, then shot her another scrutinising glance before speaking in a low tone of voice - feeling up to the role of a guard out of habit rather than a sense of duty.
"What stung you in the ass then?" A crude conversation opener, but there really was a reason for why Penth wasn't exactly liked in the city. He was, also, referring more to the fact of her saying nobody believed her - so in a sense it was a veiled invitation for her to share her tale.
Likewise, after having emptied his mug of ale, Penth hammered the wooden surface of the bar as a ways of getting attention and request his mug refilled. The fourth time. No one really reacted to Penth's way of "saying" he wanted more ale by now. No one except for the barkeep, at least. It was through customers like him that the money he might've been giving them on ale were usually then needed to repair or replace the desk, a table or tables - depending whether he got himself into a brawl over some discussion about regulations or guard pay inside of the establishment. No one really stood up the the tiger... for obvious reasons perhaps. Further, the slam against the bar made Lauriel's newly arriving, filled tankard to spill some of it's contents over the edges. Penth didn't seem to notice or care.
The taller draconian shook his head slowly and then turned to regard Hubert with a pleasant smile - as pleasant as a draconian could muster at least. He responded; "That sounds optimal. I am sure we can make a good deal and be done without interrupting other, pressing matters. Do lead the way." As an added incentive, the draconian clinked the pouch of coins he had at his hip - ensuring the guard he would not be crossing in without being capable of paying a toll, if such would still be demanded of him.
"What!? Argus! You don't even know what we are here for!" Helen called after him with a look of furious shock on her usually calm and collected features.
"I will negotiate what is best for Steadfast and these people." 'And my purse' - he thought to himself while gracing his erstwhile compatriot with but a sideways glance.
"Argus!" She almost yowled and took a step forth... no doubt halted by the remaining guard who, despite the fact he was not supposed to even be there, did perform his job of not letting her in willy nilly. "Let me though." Helen demanded through clenched teeth. With Argus being granted access without her, she had no way of paying for a toll herself.
The Cornerstone was bustling with activity, mostly on account of the visitors to Steadfast who were weary from their travels as well as those intending to be setting out, visiting traders and the like. As such, The Cornerstone frequently featured a wide variety of people or various races and species, but also the guards of the nearby gate - the gate closest to the Solemn Stand. Despite it's smaller finery compared to an establishment such as The Lion's Mane, The Cornerstone used it's funds to the best of it's capability and provided for it's patrons well despite being of much lesser renown.
All in all, it was a guard's place of reprieve from a day spent on duty. And after a night shift watching the gate, Penth certainly longed for a drink and some sleep. Or, currently, to just drink away the annoyance a couple drunken street performers caused him. Granted, he scared them off by nearly tugging the tail straight out with the entire spine of one of the rapscallions, but the slimy bastard slipped away with a broken tail-bone only. At the time, he shared the company of a fellow guard, a burly, ruggedly dressed otter who shared the night shift with him. They discussed the matter of perhaps asking to be moved to a different watch post. The drunken folk from the nearby low theatre certainly got on their nerves more than it was worth to admit.
Before long, though, the otter stood and excused himself by means of "finding a wench and dropping to bed". Penth grunted in response to that and turned to his drink again - only to growl loudly when someone else sidled in and settled down, heavily and angrily, on the stool occupied by his buddy prior. He looked over the woman - a human, with disdain. Her looks weren't half bad for a potential wench he could spare some coin on and take to bed to relieve himself prior to sleeping the brightest parts of the day away before his next shift. Snarling at the lack of attention from the woman, though, Penth turned to his own drink.
A low, gruff cackle escaped his mouth when he heard what sort of mouth the new arrival, it seemed, had on her. He heard the, admittedly, very brief exchange, then shot her another scrutinising glance before speaking in a low tone of voice - feeling up to the role of a guard out of habit rather than a sense of duty.
"What stung you in the ass then?" A crude conversation opener, but there really was a reason for why Penth wasn't exactly liked in the city. He was, also, referring more to the fact of her saying nobody believed her - so in a sense it was a veiled invitation for her to share her tale.
Likewise, after having emptied his mug of ale, Penth hammered the wooden surface of the bar as a ways of getting attention and request his mug refilled. The fourth time. No one really reacted to Penth's way of "saying" he wanted more ale by now. No one except for the barkeep, at least. It was through customers like him that the money he might've been giving them on ale were usually then needed to repair or replace the desk, a table or tables - depending whether he got himself into a brawl over some discussion about regulations or guard pay inside of the establishment. No one really stood up the the tiger... for obvious reasons perhaps. Further, the slam against the bar made Lauriel's newly arriving, filled tankard to spill some of it's contents over the edges. Penth didn't seem to notice or care.
Both guards gulping and taking a wary half step back, as well as laying their hands on the pommels of their swords at the crackling of the snow leopard’s impressive weapon, Gern shot Hubert a sideways look. Steeling is resolve, Hubert, the guard in charge, steadied himself and shot the snow leopard a glaring look. (1d20 for saving throw for resolve: 16) Clearing his throat, in a more commanding tone that before, he spoke to Helen. “Additionally, all weapons of non-sanctioned persons will be stowed at the gatehouse upon entry. I am sure you understand, such being a finer point of diplomacy when entering another’s domain, being a representative of the crown and all.”
His firm words bolstering his fellow guard, Gern gave a harsh glare at Helen while Hubert nodded to Argus, assenting with his recommendation. “I think that given you are clearly a member of high esteem and authority well earned, that you bearing your mace, akin to a royal scepter at that, especially compared to your friend’s sharp walking stick, is fine. And no fee will be necessary- you are clearly a representative after all, and such can easily be waved amongst friends.” Turning abruptly, Hubert lead the way, leaving Gern and his glowering gaze to deal with the seemingly hostile snow leopard.
As Argus and Hubert headed past the makeshift ‘gate’ and into the village, Gern did indeed clear his throat loudly and more prominently show that his hand was on the pommel of his blade. In a cocky tone, he spat out “You ‘eard the man, hand over the weapon and pay, or get back to your fancy castle…ma’am”
Further down the street, Alkar grinned at hearing the exchange. Barely holding back a chuckle at the encounter and the utter dismay the feminine voice experienced, especially since it was somewhat as a result of the male voice’s doing. Shaking his head at the disagreement even two members representing the same cause experienced, as well as the breakdown of order and chain of command between the two emissaries, a wolfish grin cross his cloaked features as he turned to his left and slipped away, heading towards the command tents while making sure to stay out of the emissary’s sight. Knowing a shortcut, he made sure to end up there before the guard and the male emissary. Sliding up behind the main tent, he crouched low and waited, his ears primed and intently listening for whatever the corrupted city, Steadfast, had to talk about with the nearby humans.
In The Cornerstone, Lauriel heard the small cackle off to her left, but showed no sign of doing so. Her refined hearing easily picking up the coarse but expected dialogue from her mark, she kept her composure and not looking up or over at Penth, shrugged and in a loud and exasperated yet wholly upset tone, replied; “What stung me? What stings everyone in this god-forsaken world. If it is not one thing, it is the next. A shithead boss, a cocky tease, a blubbering dolt not listening when they aught to, all the same shit really.” With her drink before her, Lauriel looked at it, wary that seeming too eager for a drink would signal too much of a lack of interest, but waiting too long would undermine her guise.
Holding back from jumping at the loud pounding by Penth- Lauriel’s muscles taut beneath her clothing at the loud sound, she offered a cheeky scowl and finally turned to address the massive tiger in a sly tone. “Spill my drink again, and I will be the one stinging you in the ass, friend.” Not unfamiliar with a city’s perturbed populace as a former paladin, Lauriel also knew well the mentality of the guards and foot troops. Grasping the handle of her drink and raising her still fairly full tankard, she lightly knocked it against the empty one Penth had just hammed on the bar with, and raised it to her lips and took a hearty gulp. Keeping her true opinion of the drink hidden, preferring a smoother beverage such as wine, Lauriel plopped it down heavily, causing almost as much to splash and spill out as Penth’s hammering had done.
Letting out a deep sigh of contentment at the drink, Lauriel wiped her lips with the back of her hand and smacked them loudly. “You know, the real injustice is, I am here footing the bill, suffering for what some loser did to me…I swear, I should just bill someone every time their incompetence sends me to the bar.”
His firm words bolstering his fellow guard, Gern gave a harsh glare at Helen while Hubert nodded to Argus, assenting with his recommendation. “I think that given you are clearly a member of high esteem and authority well earned, that you bearing your mace, akin to a royal scepter at that, especially compared to your friend’s sharp walking stick, is fine. And no fee will be necessary- you are clearly a representative after all, and such can easily be waved amongst friends.” Turning abruptly, Hubert lead the way, leaving Gern and his glowering gaze to deal with the seemingly hostile snow leopard.
As Argus and Hubert headed past the makeshift ‘gate’ and into the village, Gern did indeed clear his throat loudly and more prominently show that his hand was on the pommel of his blade. In a cocky tone, he spat out “You ‘eard the man, hand over the weapon and pay, or get back to your fancy castle…ma’am”
Further down the street, Alkar grinned at hearing the exchange. Barely holding back a chuckle at the encounter and the utter dismay the feminine voice experienced, especially since it was somewhat as a result of the male voice’s doing. Shaking his head at the disagreement even two members representing the same cause experienced, as well as the breakdown of order and chain of command between the two emissaries, a wolfish grin cross his cloaked features as he turned to his left and slipped away, heading towards the command tents while making sure to stay out of the emissary’s sight. Knowing a shortcut, he made sure to end up there before the guard and the male emissary. Sliding up behind the main tent, he crouched low and waited, his ears primed and intently listening for whatever the corrupted city, Steadfast, had to talk about with the nearby humans.
In The Cornerstone, Lauriel heard the small cackle off to her left, but showed no sign of doing so. Her refined hearing easily picking up the coarse but expected dialogue from her mark, she kept her composure and not looking up or over at Penth, shrugged and in a loud and exasperated yet wholly upset tone, replied; “What stung me? What stings everyone in this god-forsaken world. If it is not one thing, it is the next. A shithead boss, a cocky tease, a blubbering dolt not listening when they aught to, all the same shit really.” With her drink before her, Lauriel looked at it, wary that seeming too eager for a drink would signal too much of a lack of interest, but waiting too long would undermine her guise.
Holding back from jumping at the loud pounding by Penth- Lauriel’s muscles taut beneath her clothing at the loud sound, she offered a cheeky scowl and finally turned to address the massive tiger in a sly tone. “Spill my drink again, and I will be the one stinging you in the ass, friend.” Not unfamiliar with a city’s perturbed populace as a former paladin, Lauriel also knew well the mentality of the guards and foot troops. Grasping the handle of her drink and raising her still fairly full tankard, she lightly knocked it against the empty one Penth had just hammed on the bar with, and raised it to her lips and took a hearty gulp. Keeping her true opinion of the drink hidden, preferring a smoother beverage such as wine, Lauriel plopped it down heavily, causing almost as much to splash and spill out as Penth’s hammering had done.
Letting out a deep sigh of contentment at the drink, Lauriel wiped her lips with the back of her hand and smacked them loudly. “You know, the real injustice is, I am here footing the bill, suffering for what some loser did to me…I swear, I should just bill someone every time their incompetence sends me to the bar.”
"Argus!" Helen called out once more and was about to start in after the lumbering, armoured draconian were it not for the markedly more guarded stances from the gate watch, reaching for their weapons in response to the snow leopardess' weapon responding to her agitation. It gave her pause, a scowl followed by a helpless glance after the steadily departing, erstwhile companion - so readily welcomed whereas it was demanded of her to disarm herself and pay a toll as well.
Her ire simmered hotter given how markedly Argus was elevated whereas she was shunned, based simply on her trying to get the larger paladin in line with their mission. 'Kind Benevolent, why? Why him of all people?' She thought to herself while momentarily gazing up to the skies. She was on the verge of breaking down, but reminded herself of being Irsia's favoured and a high ranking priestess, as well as a druidess! She would see to it that matters were restored to their former order. This settlement was a den of villainy and she was going to see to having it moved elsewhere!
For now, though, her icy glare settled on the remaining guard and narrowed her eyes at his demand. (1d20 for resolve; 4) But she gave in. She was on a mission - she couldn't just up and leave! But how would she be entering the settlement if the guard demands a toll of her now? Hiding what ire she could behind a mask of discipline, Helen reached for her enchanted naginata - though slowly so as not to incite the other guard into attacking, and, instead of giving it up to be confiscated, stuck it blade-first into the earth. With her paw on the weapon still, thorny vines reached up and enveloped the weapon protectively.
"This is so you do not get any ideas." She said, then - markedly more solemn and sad than her earlier icy and stern discourse. "But I have no coin to pay for a toll."
While past the guard post, Argus nodded appreciatively to the notion of his "sceptre of station" being left in his possession as well as the fact his coin would not be necessary for any tolls. Both facts clearly pleased the draconian. As he walked alongside the guard, he looked around the progress that was being made regarding the structure of the Solemn Stand.
"Fine work. Fine work I say. Steadfast could have use for such industrious minds. I bemoan the fact the Crown acts so sluggishly about giving you the rights to stay inside the walls instead of being exiled here." The draconian stated. "But, perhaps, if you prove what kind of a magnificent stronghold you can build with the limited resources you have, the King will see that you have indeed proven yourselves more greatly than through any other means."
Argus carried himself with an air of dignity as the paladin of the Order, feeling like he might've gained a greater esteem here than he ever had within the Order itself where he was thought as too prideful and too attached to material wealth - if his grand armour did not speak volumes about it already. Weapon-wise... it was a work in progress.
The female cat behind the bar winced in response to the repeated boasts of strength from her patrons, looking with dread at the wood that would only withstand so much - even if she's ordered for it to be as sturdy as it came. "Friends, please - ease up on the hammerin'.
"Shut up and pour me another." Penth growled in response and slammed his fist against the bar both to accentuate the demand as well as spite the, by now, deeply worried barkeeper. She looked with dismay at the crack that already appeared on the once-pristine surface.
Hearing Lauriel's complaints and woes and, possibly, spilling her drink a second time with the slam if she hadn't kept it in the air to take a swig by then, the guard laughed boisterously before retorting. "And who are you perchance? Miss 'Treat Me Different'? Deal with the cards yer served and quit whining."
Faced with the cheeky threat, the guard let out a loud guffaw that turned a few heads towards him. Penth looked at the considerably slighter female as though sizing her up, then gruffly stated. "Stingin's about all you'll do to me lass. And then..." He slammed his large, open paw against the bad again - it creaking tellingly, and leaned in menacingly towards his current conversation partner. "... I deal with stinging gnats pretty handily."
"Penth, please. Before I send for the guards..." The barkeeper cautioned him, growing meeker by the second as the tiger's gaze swung back towards the cat.
"The guard is already 'ere! So speak your peace to me or be quiet!" He turned to look into his mug and, noticing it was still empty, rammed a hole in the bar's wooden surface. "Where's my ale!?"
"... you have... exceeded your... tab by..." The barkeep uttered, then ducked as Penth simply flung the empty mug towards her.
"Then I'll get some for meself!" The tiger growled, making to stand and head behind the bar.
Finally, also, the tiger addressed Lauriel's later remark regarding footing a bill. "What is it you do anyway, lookin' like a footpad?" A cocky grin spread on his face. "Speak up before I lock you up."
Her ire simmered hotter given how markedly Argus was elevated whereas she was shunned, based simply on her trying to get the larger paladin in line with their mission. 'Kind Benevolent, why? Why him of all people?' She thought to herself while momentarily gazing up to the skies. She was on the verge of breaking down, but reminded herself of being Irsia's favoured and a high ranking priestess, as well as a druidess! She would see to it that matters were restored to their former order. This settlement was a den of villainy and she was going to see to having it moved elsewhere!
For now, though, her icy glare settled on the remaining guard and narrowed her eyes at his demand. (1d20 for resolve; 4) But she gave in. She was on a mission - she couldn't just up and leave! But how would she be entering the settlement if the guard demands a toll of her now? Hiding what ire she could behind a mask of discipline, Helen reached for her enchanted naginata - though slowly so as not to incite the other guard into attacking, and, instead of giving it up to be confiscated, stuck it blade-first into the earth. With her paw on the weapon still, thorny vines reached up and enveloped the weapon protectively.
"This is so you do not get any ideas." She said, then - markedly more solemn and sad than her earlier icy and stern discourse. "But I have no coin to pay for a toll."
Deeper in the camp...
While past the guard post, Argus nodded appreciatively to the notion of his "sceptre of station" being left in his possession as well as the fact his coin would not be necessary for any tolls. Both facts clearly pleased the draconian. As he walked alongside the guard, he looked around the progress that was being made regarding the structure of the Solemn Stand.
"Fine work. Fine work I say. Steadfast could have use for such industrious minds. I bemoan the fact the Crown acts so sluggishly about giving you the rights to stay inside the walls instead of being exiled here." The draconian stated. "But, perhaps, if you prove what kind of a magnificent stronghold you can build with the limited resources you have, the King will see that you have indeed proven yourselves more greatly than through any other means."
Argus carried himself with an air of dignity as the paladin of the Order, feeling like he might've gained a greater esteem here than he ever had within the Order itself where he was thought as too prideful and too attached to material wealth - if his grand armour did not speak volumes about it already. Weapon-wise... it was a work in progress.
.
Back in Steadfast, at the Cornerstone...
The female cat behind the bar winced in response to the repeated boasts of strength from her patrons, looking with dread at the wood that would only withstand so much - even if she's ordered for it to be as sturdy as it came. "Friends, please - ease up on the hammerin'.
"Shut up and pour me another." Penth growled in response and slammed his fist against the bar both to accentuate the demand as well as spite the, by now, deeply worried barkeeper. She looked with dismay at the crack that already appeared on the once-pristine surface.
Hearing Lauriel's complaints and woes and, possibly, spilling her drink a second time with the slam if she hadn't kept it in the air to take a swig by then, the guard laughed boisterously before retorting. "And who are you perchance? Miss 'Treat Me Different'? Deal with the cards yer served and quit whining."
Faced with the cheeky threat, the guard let out a loud guffaw that turned a few heads towards him. Penth looked at the considerably slighter female as though sizing her up, then gruffly stated. "Stingin's about all you'll do to me lass. And then..." He slammed his large, open paw against the bad again - it creaking tellingly, and leaned in menacingly towards his current conversation partner. "... I deal with stinging gnats pretty handily."
"Penth, please. Before I send for the guards..." The barkeeper cautioned him, growing meeker by the second as the tiger's gaze swung back towards the cat.
"The guard is already 'ere! So speak your peace to me or be quiet!" He turned to look into his mug and, noticing it was still empty, rammed a hole in the bar's wooden surface. "Where's my ale!?"
"... you have... exceeded your... tab by..." The barkeep uttered, then ducked as Penth simply flung the empty mug towards her.
"Then I'll get some for meself!" The tiger growled, making to stand and head behind the bar.
Finally, also, the tiger addressed Lauriel's later remark regarding footing a bill. "What is it you do anyway, lookin' like a footpad?" A cocky grin spread on his face. "Speak up before I lock you up."
Gern, keeping his hand lazily on the pommel of his blade, shook his head in amusement at the furred woman’s outcries and dismay. Seeing that despite all of the huffing and puffing, that she was not able to meet his gaze, he grinned, his confidence boosted at being able to stare down such a foe. A bit taken aback by the dismay of magical prowess and the dauntless act of defiance with her blade, he pursed his lips and cockily spouted out “Listen here, I do not know what they teach or tell you at the palace, m’lady, but if you do not have the coin to pay, then you will have to pay me…in another fashion, or hightail it back to your fancy quarters.” Upon mentioning other forms of payment, Gern’s gaze crawled greedily across the snow leopard’s bust, causing him to lick his lips faintly mid-speech. (1d20 for persuasion; 10)
Deeper in the camp…
Smiling confidently as the emissary’s words bolstered his own fair opinion of the burgeoning work of the tent village becoming far more substantial, Hubert beamed from ear to ear. “If it were your friend back there saying that, I would believe you were being disengen-…disengin-…not being honest, but I believe you, kind sir. What is your name, if I may get it?” A sheepish look on his features, he meant what he said, as such mirrored many of the hopes and dreams of the workers in Solemn Stand. If there was to be any hope at being allowed to stay, they needed to put their best foot forward, but also show that they were not willing to back down easily, and as a result would make good allies, if not additions to Steadfast itself.
At The Cornerstone…
Lauriel grimaced inwardly at the guard’s crude and crash behavior, but showed no sign of his attitude putting a dampen on her mood even further. Fortunately having lifted her tankard and taken a sip before more could be spilled on his behalf, she set it down with a heavy thump to indicate her being upset at his gall. Turning to face him once more, Lauriel grumpily spat out “Who am I? Who are you Mister Bar-thumper? Trying to get out your sexual frustrations on the bar? Whatever cards I am dealt or not, I deal with them just fine. I did not ask for some nosey tiger to listen in on my concerns anyways…” Going back to her drink, with precise indifference Lauriel took a healthy gulp before she fired off her cheeky threat about stinging Penth.
Shrugging off the massive tiger’s menacing reply, Lauriel only lazily deigned him worthy to look up at once more when he stood up to grab his own ale from behind the bar. “Oh please, calm yer arse down before some REAL men set you out on your arse in the alley. If she will be getting you a drink, she will be getting you a drink. I have had it with people trying to walk all over others while they are at work. Just because she is doing her job does not give you a right to spit all over her and show her disrespect. She does not have to be a member of the damned palace guard to be shown any respect, does she?” Keeping a calm, somewhat dour gaze to match his, but not backing down, Lauriel added; “What I do is my own business and that of my friends, and I would be out of lockup before the watch was switched.” Knowing full well that the best lies and personas held grains of truth in them, Lauriel’s practiced tongue spun her web of lies and truths well. Keeping her dull, unimpressed look at Penth, she patiently waited to see if her calculated ploys to calm him down whilst simultaneously endearing him to her and her mindset succeeded or fell through and another…more hands-on approach was necessary.
Deeper in the camp…
Smiling confidently as the emissary’s words bolstered his own fair opinion of the burgeoning work of the tent village becoming far more substantial, Hubert beamed from ear to ear. “If it were your friend back there saying that, I would believe you were being disengen-…disengin-…not being honest, but I believe you, kind sir. What is your name, if I may get it?” A sheepish look on his features, he meant what he said, as such mirrored many of the hopes and dreams of the workers in Solemn Stand. If there was to be any hope at being allowed to stay, they needed to put their best foot forward, but also show that they were not willing to back down easily, and as a result would make good allies, if not additions to Steadfast itself.
At The Cornerstone…
Lauriel grimaced inwardly at the guard’s crude and crash behavior, but showed no sign of his attitude putting a dampen on her mood even further. Fortunately having lifted her tankard and taken a sip before more could be spilled on his behalf, she set it down with a heavy thump to indicate her being upset at his gall. Turning to face him once more, Lauriel grumpily spat out “Who am I? Who are you Mister Bar-thumper? Trying to get out your sexual frustrations on the bar? Whatever cards I am dealt or not, I deal with them just fine. I did not ask for some nosey tiger to listen in on my concerns anyways…” Going back to her drink, with precise indifference Lauriel took a healthy gulp before she fired off her cheeky threat about stinging Penth.
Shrugging off the massive tiger’s menacing reply, Lauriel only lazily deigned him worthy to look up at once more when he stood up to grab his own ale from behind the bar. “Oh please, calm yer arse down before some REAL men set you out on your arse in the alley. If she will be getting you a drink, she will be getting you a drink. I have had it with people trying to walk all over others while they are at work. Just because she is doing her job does not give you a right to spit all over her and show her disrespect. She does not have to be a member of the damned palace guard to be shown any respect, does she?” Keeping a calm, somewhat dour gaze to match his, but not backing down, Lauriel added; “What I do is my own business and that of my friends, and I would be out of lockup before the watch was switched.” Knowing full well that the best lies and personas held grains of truth in them, Lauriel’s practiced tongue spun her web of lies and truths well. Keeping her dull, unimpressed look at Penth, she patiently waited to see if her calculated ploys to calm him down whilst simultaneously endearing him to her and her mindset succeeded or fell through and another…more hands-on approach was necessary.
Helen's eyes were still slightly downcast after her admission of not having the coin to pay for a toll to enter. Hoping that, perhaps, seeing her compliance in disarming herself as an emissary would be enough to sway his heart into letting her through. What she heard coming from the guard's mouth instead, however, brought her gaze up to meet his in a display of shock at what he insinuated. ((1d20 +3 for resolve. 19+3; 21)) Her cheeks reddened, her body tensed and she looked poised almost like a warrior readying herself to strike. ((1d20 for self-restraint; 6)) 'That's it. No one makes such lewd suggestions to a priestess of the Steadfast Cathedral!'
The vines around her weapon receded and, with a flourish, Helen brandished the naginata and pointed it at the guard. ((1d20 for intimidation: 3)) With how flustered with the earlier 'request' she was, her words came out rather feeble due to the tension that similarly ran through her at the time. "How... how dare you!? I am a priestess! You-... you can't just-!" Giving up on her discourse, and not having the self-restraint to prevent herself from acting brashly, Helen charged the guard. ((1d20 attack roll; 18)) Being well trained in the use of her weapon, the snow leopardess would easily reach and overpower the guard before he could muster a defence. She went for a non-lethal approach, knocking the man down and planting a bare foot on his chest while setting her weapon in a warning against any sort of brash motion in retaliation. She growled
"I am not to be trifled with!"
The draconian reflected Hubert's smile and looked immensely happy with himself to be gaining such an avid listened and such a good reception within this human camp. To think Helen wished these people gone! They were particularly upright and good folk. They would do so much better as allies rather than as rivals. He would see to the negotiations going his way if he could help it. He smiled at the man's attempts at phrasing a more difficult word, but refrained from trying to correct him.
"Paladin, Argus Rimefire, good sir. The name that will end this silly problem the Crown seems to have about your settlement." Proud, the draconian puffed up his chest beneath his armour - appearing ever so slightly larger and more regal. At the mention of Helen, however, he turned to glance over his shoulder with an expression of, almost, disinterest. "It is a terrible shame my friend is so set on following her orders. Anybody with at least an ounce of thought can see there's a greater benefit in working together rather than against each other."
Argus was decidedly in favour of what the citizens of Solemn Stand were working towards. They proved they could take care of themselves and establish a great foothold for themselves, establishing trade, making something essentially out of nothing. Powerful allies, indeed.
Having refilled his mug for himself and taking another deep drink of ale, Penth scarcely noticed the barkeeper fleeing the establishment who sought to bring in genuine assistance against the rowdy, troublesome and destructive guard. And the tiger seemed to care for it naught. He paid attention to Lauriel's words half-heartedly, chucking against his drink as it spilled around the corners of his muzzle. Lowering an empty mug and letting out a raucous sigh of satisfaction, he wiped his face with the back of his hand before glowering at the human woman and retorting;
"Are you offerin'? Because if not, shut up before I bend you over the bar and take you here and now."
Penth turned to refill his mug again, not looking towards a few other patrons of the Cornerstone departing to look for assistance against the increasingly drunken guard. "Ye asked the moment you sat down and started bemoaning your fate right next to me, lass. So don't complain." The tiger remarked gruffly, giving Lauriel a bleary-eyed scowl before turning to empty another mug. Hearing Lauriel's further words, he looked around unsteadily after the barkeeper and snorted. Lowering his mug again he guffawed. "Looks like I'm the barkeep now. Free rounds anyone?" He called out towards the common room...
... but nobody answered.
"No? Good! More for me." He stifled a burp and turned to pour himself yet another round. His next words addressed Lauriel though. "So yer some goody two-shoes in disguise? Bah. Should've known. It's because of folks like you that city guards can't use weapons because 'that is too dangerous'. Or criminals are set free because 'they deserve a second chance'. Bah... Respect!? I've never been given the respect I deserve for watching the damned gate all night and not breaking people's spines for trying to taunt me while I'm on duty!" Penth growled, leaned against the half-broken bar with his back towards Lauriel and tipped a mug towards his lips yet again. Drowning his problems, indeed.
The vines around her weapon receded and, with a flourish, Helen brandished the naginata and pointed it at the guard. ((1d20 for intimidation: 3)) With how flustered with the earlier 'request' she was, her words came out rather feeble due to the tension that similarly ran through her at the time. "How... how dare you!? I am a priestess! You-... you can't just-!" Giving up on her discourse, and not having the self-restraint to prevent herself from acting brashly, Helen charged the guard. ((1d20 attack roll; 18)) Being well trained in the use of her weapon, the snow leopardess would easily reach and overpower the guard before he could muster a defence. She went for a non-lethal approach, knocking the man down and planting a bare foot on his chest while setting her weapon in a warning against any sort of brash motion in retaliation. She growled
"I am not to be trifled with!"
Deeper in the camp...
The draconian reflected Hubert's smile and looked immensely happy with himself to be gaining such an avid listened and such a good reception within this human camp. To think Helen wished these people gone! They were particularly upright and good folk. They would do so much better as allies rather than as rivals. He would see to the negotiations going his way if he could help it. He smiled at the man's attempts at phrasing a more difficult word, but refrained from trying to correct him.
"Paladin, Argus Rimefire, good sir. The name that will end this silly problem the Crown seems to have about your settlement." Proud, the draconian puffed up his chest beneath his armour - appearing ever so slightly larger and more regal. At the mention of Helen, however, he turned to glance over his shoulder with an expression of, almost, disinterest. "It is a terrible shame my friend is so set on following her orders. Anybody with at least an ounce of thought can see there's a greater benefit in working together rather than against each other."
Argus was decidedly in favour of what the citizens of Solemn Stand were working towards. They proved they could take care of themselves and establish a great foothold for themselves, establishing trade, making something essentially out of nothing. Powerful allies, indeed.
The Cornerstone
Having refilled his mug for himself and taking another deep drink of ale, Penth scarcely noticed the barkeeper fleeing the establishment who sought to bring in genuine assistance against the rowdy, troublesome and destructive guard. And the tiger seemed to care for it naught. He paid attention to Lauriel's words half-heartedly, chucking against his drink as it spilled around the corners of his muzzle. Lowering an empty mug and letting out a raucous sigh of satisfaction, he wiped his face with the back of his hand before glowering at the human woman and retorting;
"Are you offerin'? Because if not, shut up before I bend you over the bar and take you here and now."
Penth turned to refill his mug again, not looking towards a few other patrons of the Cornerstone departing to look for assistance against the increasingly drunken guard. "Ye asked the moment you sat down and started bemoaning your fate right next to me, lass. So don't complain." The tiger remarked gruffly, giving Lauriel a bleary-eyed scowl before turning to empty another mug. Hearing Lauriel's further words, he looked around unsteadily after the barkeeper and snorted. Lowering his mug again he guffawed. "Looks like I'm the barkeep now. Free rounds anyone?" He called out towards the common room...
... but nobody answered.
"No? Good! More for me." He stifled a burp and turned to pour himself yet another round. His next words addressed Lauriel though. "So yer some goody two-shoes in disguise? Bah. Should've known. It's because of folks like you that city guards can't use weapons because 'that is too dangerous'. Or criminals are set free because 'they deserve a second chance'. Bah... Respect!? I've never been given the respect I deserve for watching the damned gate all night and not breaking people's spines for trying to taunt me while I'm on duty!" Penth growled, leaned against the half-broken bar with his back towards Lauriel and tipped a mug towards his lips yet again. Drowning his problems, indeed.
Taking a step back and making to draw his sword, the emissary kept true to her role, and appeared about as intimidating as a child wielding an ear of corn. Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, putting him at ease, he grinned cockily at the stumbled words which did not match her weapon and stance whatsoever. Mocking her unsteady demeanor, Gern teased “What are you gonna do about it, you pppprieste-” Cut off as he was wholly unexpecting her change of tactic, his muscle memory was sufficient to pull the sword slightly out of his scabbard, but mostly due to his hand already being laid upon the pommel. (1d20 for defense; 15) Recoiling half a step, but still too little too late, he let out a strangled yelp as he found himself flat on his back and the air knocked out of his chest. Shocked, he made to move, but felt the firm pressure of Helen’s paw on his chest. Gulping, he saw her weapon aimed at him out of the corner of his eye.
While a decent amount of the survivors of Erinsrest had witnessed their fair share of violence and conflict as they fled the city and made their way to Steadfast, the sight of a powerful snow leopard knocked a guard down was not something they were accustomed to, and many hastily fled the area. Yet not all nearby were commoners and builders and merchants, and while many of Erinrest’s defenders had fallen in its defense, there were those that survived due to skill or sheer dumb luck.
It just so happened that Angela, a magus in training was nearby, standing further inside Solemn Stand at the first stall, having been in a minor dispute with a hawker of trinkets and baubles. The raised voice of Helen’s having drawn her attention, she had tried to disregard the disagreement with the guard as she was a bit flustered with the merchant ripping her off, hence did not want to intervene with a rowdy anthropomorph and a guard. Angel was one of the aforementioned few who had survived out of sheer dumb luck…and more than a healthy dose of incompetence- having accidentally had a stunning spell misfire and knock her out cold instead. Seeing a guard attacked and an outsider lowering her blade at them, she gasped and rushed to action.
Hastily calling upon her training and her particularly favorite spell to witness, but one she had yet to master: shards of ice. Raising both her hands and flinging them forward as she mentally pictured shards of ice spewing forth in a brilliant display in her mind, Angela silently and mentally cast shards of frost directly at Helen in hopes of battering her back and disarming her, not intent to do real harm evident. (1d20 for spell success rate; 3) (1d20 for spell misfire chance; 8) (1d8 for spell occurrence chance; 5) (1d12 for spell target; 9) (1d20 for spell power; 14) Whether due to a desire to do little harm, or due to her own incompetence, the spell did not elicit icy shards as she had hoped, and instead a chilled path sprouted up in a jagged line out from her outstretched hands. (1d20 for spell range; 11) Spraying out and freezing the ground in a streak, the chilled spell shot towards Helen as well as Gern as he lay on his back.
The mist reaching both Gern and Helen’s weapon in the blink of an eye, Angela’s silent spell, even though miscast, was effective in its delivery nonetheless (1d20 for Gern’s resistance; 4). Reaching Gern, covering him and his garb and sword in a frosty sheet, it continued up and reached Helen’s weapon’s tip and covering its magical blade in hoarfrost before continuing up the shaft and to Helen herself. Fortunately whatever wisps of the frosted jazzed line started to seep into Helen’s paw did not delay her reaction, and she fortunately was able to avoid the brunt of the spell as it moved on a short distance past where she had previously been before the spell faded away. Gasping and covering her quickly reddening cheeks in dismay, Angela felt the weight of her mistake and fell to her knees as she looked upon the guard covered in a chilled mist and at the toll her miscast spell had cost.
Deeper in the camp…
The pair far away enough to not be caught up in the series of haphazard mistakes of Angela’s, their journey to the command tent went unimpeded. Grinning at the paladin, Hubert proudly out his hand in an offered handshake at the introduction. “Hubert Narsmith, city guard and former carpenter at your service, sir.” Not intimidated but instead impressed by the puffed up chest and more impressive posture, Hubert did the same by puffing out his chest and straightening his shoulders as they walked along. No longer particularly bothered by Helen as the current company more than made up for her indiscretions, Hubert shook his head dismissively and spoke up “Aye aye there, Argus, but there are always naysayers, especially among some camps here. Some think we should not tempt fate by staying here, and fear retribution or dismissal by Steadfast and the umm…kind crown.” Not intending to mislead, Hubert all the same left out some of the more radical factions of belief at work within Solemn Stand, as some very vocal figures thought it would be best to settle elsewhere, free from Steadfast’s shadow and potential wrath.
At The Cornerstone…
Her expression souring ever so briefly at the guard and her attempts to persuade him to her cause going so awry, particularly at his drunken sexual innuendo, Lauriel sighed inwardly as while he was moving along the right path towards corruption, he was doing so in the most foolhardy of ways. While if given the right circumstances, she may have gladly bed such a specimen, her plans for him were more…material, as his station as a guard would allow her to more easily move items and people through the gate, especially under the cloak of night.
Watching him with growing disinterest, Lauriel saw him continue to drink, almost dramatically so if she did not know better. Not bothering to respond to his jab at her previously thought out attempt to garner his cooperation due to them having similar situations with crummy bosses and strangers, Lauriel shrugged off his demeanor and did not take the bait.
As Penth rambled on in his growing drunken stupor, Lauriel noted that others seemed to be going to fetch the guards- at least ones on duty and not inebriated. Smiling wryly at Penth mentioning criminals and second chances, she mused over the fact that as Melissa’s research had indicated, that he had fallen in with the law many times for his drunken behavior, and this may very well would be another such occasion if she did not interfere. Knowing that Melissa had meant well and most likely ardently done her research, Lauriel was uncertain as to whether or not he was a lost cause. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a silvered coin with elaborate filigree around its edges and fingered it thoughtfully. A magical artifact of sorts, at least when compared to the regular coin, such was a marker of her cause and served a dual purpose as a form of divination in its own right. Affixed with the image of a spiked crown on one side to represent indominable will and singular perseverance, and an elaborate sacred blade on the back side to represent sacrifice and the might of combined force, one such coin was held by only the true servants of the dark powers. Closing her eyes and issuing a small prayer, begging for fate to properly guide her hand, she silently intoned ‘Light or dark, blight or might, shall I save this unwitting servant for my fight?’
Flipping the coin high in the air, she opened her eyes watched its lazy spinning arc through the air before landing on the bar with a small clattering on the wooden surface of the bar before settling in place. Met with the image of the spiked crown, or as Lauriel interpreted it: she was to keep her head and not interfere- if he was to join their cause, it would not be through her hand this night. If it had landed on the image of the sacred blade, she would seek to help prevent the guards from locking him up in a cell to sweat out the alcohol has they had done before. Calming letting out a small sigh, she picked up the coin and stowed it into her pocket once more. Giving Penth a small, almost curt nod as he stood leaning against the bar cockily, Lauriel calmly got up, pulled out a few of Steadfast’s currency and laid them next to her still half-full tankard. Without a second thought, she turned and cooly walked away from the bar, nimbly slipping between two guards who entered as she exited. Whatever fate befell Penth, now was not the time to intervene, and other methods than giving him likeminded friends would be required to garner his services.
While a decent amount of the survivors of Erinsrest had witnessed their fair share of violence and conflict as they fled the city and made their way to Steadfast, the sight of a powerful snow leopard knocked a guard down was not something they were accustomed to, and many hastily fled the area. Yet not all nearby were commoners and builders and merchants, and while many of Erinrest’s defenders had fallen in its defense, there were those that survived due to skill or sheer dumb luck.
It just so happened that Angela, a magus in training was nearby, standing further inside Solemn Stand at the first stall, having been in a minor dispute with a hawker of trinkets and baubles. The raised voice of Helen’s having drawn her attention, she had tried to disregard the disagreement with the guard as she was a bit flustered with the merchant ripping her off, hence did not want to intervene with a rowdy anthropomorph and a guard. Angel was one of the aforementioned few who had survived out of sheer dumb luck…and more than a healthy dose of incompetence- having accidentally had a stunning spell misfire and knock her out cold instead. Seeing a guard attacked and an outsider lowering her blade at them, she gasped and rushed to action.
Hastily calling upon her training and her particularly favorite spell to witness, but one she had yet to master: shards of ice. Raising both her hands and flinging them forward as she mentally pictured shards of ice spewing forth in a brilliant display in her mind, Angela silently and mentally cast shards of frost directly at Helen in hopes of battering her back and disarming her, not intent to do real harm evident. (1d20 for spell success rate; 3) (1d20 for spell misfire chance; 8) (1d8 for spell occurrence chance; 5) (1d12 for spell target; 9) (1d20 for spell power; 14) Whether due to a desire to do little harm, or due to her own incompetence, the spell did not elicit icy shards as she had hoped, and instead a chilled path sprouted up in a jagged line out from her outstretched hands. (1d20 for spell range; 11) Spraying out and freezing the ground in a streak, the chilled spell shot towards Helen as well as Gern as he lay on his back.
The mist reaching both Gern and Helen’s weapon in the blink of an eye, Angela’s silent spell, even though miscast, was effective in its delivery nonetheless (1d20 for Gern’s resistance; 4). Reaching Gern, covering him and his garb and sword in a frosty sheet, it continued up and reached Helen’s weapon’s tip and covering its magical blade in hoarfrost before continuing up the shaft and to Helen herself. Fortunately whatever wisps of the frosted jazzed line started to seep into Helen’s paw did not delay her reaction, and she fortunately was able to avoid the brunt of the spell as it moved on a short distance past where she had previously been before the spell faded away. Gasping and covering her quickly reddening cheeks in dismay, Angela felt the weight of her mistake and fell to her knees as she looked upon the guard covered in a chilled mist and at the toll her miscast spell had cost.
Deeper in the camp…
The pair far away enough to not be caught up in the series of haphazard mistakes of Angela’s, their journey to the command tent went unimpeded. Grinning at the paladin, Hubert proudly out his hand in an offered handshake at the introduction. “Hubert Narsmith, city guard and former carpenter at your service, sir.” Not intimidated but instead impressed by the puffed up chest and more impressive posture, Hubert did the same by puffing out his chest and straightening his shoulders as they walked along. No longer particularly bothered by Helen as the current company more than made up for her indiscretions, Hubert shook his head dismissively and spoke up “Aye aye there, Argus, but there are always naysayers, especially among some camps here. Some think we should not tempt fate by staying here, and fear retribution or dismissal by Steadfast and the umm…kind crown.” Not intending to mislead, Hubert all the same left out some of the more radical factions of belief at work within Solemn Stand, as some very vocal figures thought it would be best to settle elsewhere, free from Steadfast’s shadow and potential wrath.
At The Cornerstone…
Her expression souring ever so briefly at the guard and her attempts to persuade him to her cause going so awry, particularly at his drunken sexual innuendo, Lauriel sighed inwardly as while he was moving along the right path towards corruption, he was doing so in the most foolhardy of ways. While if given the right circumstances, she may have gladly bed such a specimen, her plans for him were more…material, as his station as a guard would allow her to more easily move items and people through the gate, especially under the cloak of night.
Watching him with growing disinterest, Lauriel saw him continue to drink, almost dramatically so if she did not know better. Not bothering to respond to his jab at her previously thought out attempt to garner his cooperation due to them having similar situations with crummy bosses and strangers, Lauriel shrugged off his demeanor and did not take the bait.
As Penth rambled on in his growing drunken stupor, Lauriel noted that others seemed to be going to fetch the guards- at least ones on duty and not inebriated. Smiling wryly at Penth mentioning criminals and second chances, she mused over the fact that as Melissa’s research had indicated, that he had fallen in with the law many times for his drunken behavior, and this may very well would be another such occasion if she did not interfere. Knowing that Melissa had meant well and most likely ardently done her research, Lauriel was uncertain as to whether or not he was a lost cause. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a silvered coin with elaborate filigree around its edges and fingered it thoughtfully. A magical artifact of sorts, at least when compared to the regular coin, such was a marker of her cause and served a dual purpose as a form of divination in its own right. Affixed with the image of a spiked crown on one side to represent indominable will and singular perseverance, and an elaborate sacred blade on the back side to represent sacrifice and the might of combined force, one such coin was held by only the true servants of the dark powers. Closing her eyes and issuing a small prayer, begging for fate to properly guide her hand, she silently intoned ‘Light or dark, blight or might, shall I save this unwitting servant for my fight?’
Flipping the coin high in the air, she opened her eyes watched its lazy spinning arc through the air before landing on the bar with a small clattering on the wooden surface of the bar before settling in place. Met with the image of the spiked crown, or as Lauriel interpreted it: she was to keep her head and not interfere- if he was to join their cause, it would not be through her hand this night. If it had landed on the image of the sacred blade, she would seek to help prevent the guards from locking him up in a cell to sweat out the alcohol has they had done before. Calming letting out a small sigh, she picked up the coin and stowed it into her pocket once more. Giving Penth a small, almost curt nod as he stood leaning against the bar cockily, Lauriel calmly got up, pulled out a few of Steadfast’s currency and laid them next to her still half-full tankard. Without a second thought, she turned and cooly walked away from the bar, nimbly slipping between two guards who entered as she exited. Whatever fate befell Penth, now was not the time to intervene, and other methods than giving him likeminded friends would be required to garner his services.
Caught up in the rush of the moment, Helen was brought out from her battle trance only when she felt an unnatural cold on the grip of her weapon, further making her realise the target of her tackle was affected by some sort of frost spell that was not of her own doing. While the weapon itself seemed unaffected by the element at all, the magical frost did affect her paws. At least to the extent of being able to perceive it, the cold otherwise not being intense enough to harm the snow leopardess based on her innate tolerance towards the element. Though, perhaps only thanks to the relatively small potency of the spell.
While it might've not caused the leopardess harm, the response to her brash action certainly "cooled" her a little bit - enough to let the emissary take a clearer look at the whole situation and realise she's gotten well over her head with her impulsive actions. In a sense, then, the frost spell did work - even if not as intended. It cooled her temper.
The snow leopardess pulled away from her assault - still holding on to her weapon for the time being not looking more dumbfounded and... maybe even scared, rather than infuriated. Combat certainly wasn't in the fore of her capabilities and - though she could defend herself, she generally disliked violence based on her professions and her alignment. As such, she was already lifting her eyes to the skies and mouthing an inaudible plea. "Kind Benevolent, forgive me. I have resorted to brashness and impulsiveness instead of employing sound reason and patience. Forgive me."
Then, casting one more glance towards the downed, frosted-over guard and who looked to be a magician of some regard on their knees and dismayed - probably with her fluke of a spell, the female emissary sought to silently make her exit. ((d20 for silence; 13 +1 for barefooted and +1 for species; 15 She also, however unsuccessfully due to the surroundings, sought to be as inconspicuous as possible while striving to withdraw from the situation and head back towards Steadfast. ((d20 for concealment; 11 -5 for plain sight, 6))
"Ah, rifts are present everywhere good sir." Argus responded to Hubert's talk about there existing different camps within the Solemn Stand. ((d20 for Argus' perception; 8)) Alas, however, while he might know Helen would've jumped at this morsel of information and dig deeper, the wavering paladin had other considerations occupying him and he refrained from asking, perhaps, what different camps there were, where would they want to go, or maybe even simply assure the man that Steadfast's retribution wouldn't be as severe once it heard just how industrious and open the people here are. Missed opportunities, one and all, as the draconian launched into saying instead. "Enough about grim matters, however. Do you still perform your trade as a carpenter, dear Hubert?"
Frankly, the draconian scarcely even seemed to notice just how long they've been walking in order to arrive to the command tent. Were he being led in merry circles or led into an ambush, he probably would not have much of an awareness of that fact until later when their jolly conversation lapsed enough to make him genuinely pay attention to the details. As it stood, the person of the guard and the potential asset gained within the Solemn Stand intrigued him more.
Penth seemed to have lost all interest in the person of Lauriel as he indulged more and more into his ravenous addiction. He did not even notice the woman tossing her coin, nor the fact more and more people were either leaving or casting glances of anticipation towards the entrance of the tavern. Before long, the cat barkeeper that fled the blue tiger's violence returned, calling out in a shrill and semi-confident tone.
"Penth! E-enough with this! The p-peacekeepers are on their way!"
"Hah. Hahah! What'll they do? Reprimand me? Hahahah!" The tiger laughed boisterously.
Before long, the sound of rustling armour and clanking raiment sounded as two new characters entered the Cornerstone - a male and a female by the looks of their silhouettes and armour. The male was a tall griffin with white and golden feathers, a keen stare, robust frame and powerful wings adorning their back. They walked barefoot as their talons could allow them to only wear foot-wraps at best. He carried a full raiment of plate armour and had a serious argument-settler in the form of a long bastard sword at his hip.
His partner was slighter than the male, a tan-furred lynx with warm, brown eyes and a confident smile on her features. Unlike the male, she was clad in chain-mail and using a light crossbow for a weapon and a short-sword for a side-arm. Both Peacekeepers had the insignia of the Crown and Steadfast, however, proudly displayed on their chests - a rampant griffin done in gold with the backdrop of a red shield with a likewise golden border.
"'Fraid it won't be just a reprimand at this point buddy. Come peacefully now." The griffin announced, a regal tone to his voice.
"Bugger off." Penth growled in retort. "I'm not goin' anywhere."
Shaking his head a notch, the male Peacekeeper turned to his female partner and tipped his head in acknowledgement, prompting the lynx to take aim with her light crossbow and fire a bolt at the drunken Penth. ((Lynx's 12+3 (proficiency and dexterity) against Penth's 4-2 (drunkenness); 15 beats 2))
The bolt connects ((1d6 - sedative bolt; 2 damage)), drawing a roar from the blue tiger, but as he turns to respond to the backstabbing strike from the Peacekeepers, he promptly begins to feel the true purpose of the bolt. It was not to harm, but to take the fight out of him. However... ((d20 resistance roll; 18)) Penth's impressive resistance allows him to shrug off the effect of the first dose of sedative. Enraged, the guard leaps over the bar and carries out a charge against the lynx. But the griffin steps in to block him while the lynx reloads her bolt. ((d20 initiative; Penth's 3 against the Griffin's 9)) Intercepting the charging tiger, the brunt of the rush that would've struck the much more fragile lynx instead rebounded against her stronger companion's armour. Penth's claws could not penetrate the Peacekeeper's plate armour ((d20 attack roll of 4 vs 18)) while the Griffin then proceeds to retaliate with a fierce right hook to the head ((d20 attack roll; 16 vs 12, resulting in 1d4+3 STR bonus; 6 damage))
Penth staggered back from the hit, shaking his head and then growling at the Peacekeeper, sporting a daring grin.
"Gotta try harder than that."
The Griffin tellingly drew his weapon out of his scabbard, keeping it loosely at his side. "Your luck may only go so far, Penth. Just stand down."
While it might've not caused the leopardess harm, the response to her brash action certainly "cooled" her a little bit - enough to let the emissary take a clearer look at the whole situation and realise she's gotten well over her head with her impulsive actions. In a sense, then, the frost spell did work - even if not as intended. It cooled her temper.
The snow leopardess pulled away from her assault - still holding on to her weapon for the time being not looking more dumbfounded and... maybe even scared, rather than infuriated. Combat certainly wasn't in the fore of her capabilities and - though she could defend herself, she generally disliked violence based on her professions and her alignment. As such, she was already lifting her eyes to the skies and mouthing an inaudible plea. "Kind Benevolent, forgive me. I have resorted to brashness and impulsiveness instead of employing sound reason and patience. Forgive me."
Then, casting one more glance towards the downed, frosted-over guard and who looked to be a magician of some regard on their knees and dismayed - probably with her fluke of a spell, the female emissary sought to silently make her exit. ((d20 for silence; 13 +1 for barefooted and +1 for species; 15 She also, however unsuccessfully due to the surroundings, sought to be as inconspicuous as possible while striving to withdraw from the situation and head back towards Steadfast. ((d20 for concealment; 11 -5 for plain sight, 6))
Deeper in the Solemn Stand...
"Ah, rifts are present everywhere good sir." Argus responded to Hubert's talk about there existing different camps within the Solemn Stand. ((d20 for Argus' perception; 8)) Alas, however, while he might know Helen would've jumped at this morsel of information and dig deeper, the wavering paladin had other considerations occupying him and he refrained from asking, perhaps, what different camps there were, where would they want to go, or maybe even simply assure the man that Steadfast's retribution wouldn't be as severe once it heard just how industrious and open the people here are. Missed opportunities, one and all, as the draconian launched into saying instead. "Enough about grim matters, however. Do you still perform your trade as a carpenter, dear Hubert?"
Frankly, the draconian scarcely even seemed to notice just how long they've been walking in order to arrive to the command tent. Were he being led in merry circles or led into an ambush, he probably would not have much of an awareness of that fact until later when their jolly conversation lapsed enough to make him genuinely pay attention to the details. As it stood, the person of the guard and the potential asset gained within the Solemn Stand intrigued him more.
At the Cornerstone...
Penth seemed to have lost all interest in the person of Lauriel as he indulged more and more into his ravenous addiction. He did not even notice the woman tossing her coin, nor the fact more and more people were either leaving or casting glances of anticipation towards the entrance of the tavern. Before long, the cat barkeeper that fled the blue tiger's violence returned, calling out in a shrill and semi-confident tone.
"Penth! E-enough with this! The p-peacekeepers are on their way!"
"Hah. Hahah! What'll they do? Reprimand me? Hahahah!" The tiger laughed boisterously.
Before long, the sound of rustling armour and clanking raiment sounded as two new characters entered the Cornerstone - a male and a female by the looks of their silhouettes and armour. The male was a tall griffin with white and golden feathers, a keen stare, robust frame and powerful wings adorning their back. They walked barefoot as their talons could allow them to only wear foot-wraps at best. He carried a full raiment of plate armour and had a serious argument-settler in the form of a long bastard sword at his hip.
His partner was slighter than the male, a tan-furred lynx with warm, brown eyes and a confident smile on her features. Unlike the male, she was clad in chain-mail and using a light crossbow for a weapon and a short-sword for a side-arm. Both Peacekeepers had the insignia of the Crown and Steadfast, however, proudly displayed on their chests - a rampant griffin done in gold with the backdrop of a red shield with a likewise golden border.
"'Fraid it won't be just a reprimand at this point buddy. Come peacefully now." The griffin announced, a regal tone to his voice.
"Bugger off." Penth growled in retort. "I'm not goin' anywhere."
Shaking his head a notch, the male Peacekeeper turned to his female partner and tipped his head in acknowledgement, prompting the lynx to take aim with her light crossbow and fire a bolt at the drunken Penth. ((Lynx's 12+3 (proficiency and dexterity) against Penth's 4-2 (drunkenness); 15 beats 2))
The bolt connects ((1d6 - sedative bolt; 2 damage)), drawing a roar from the blue tiger, but as he turns to respond to the backstabbing strike from the Peacekeepers, he promptly begins to feel the true purpose of the bolt. It was not to harm, but to take the fight out of him. However... ((d20 resistance roll; 18)) Penth's impressive resistance allows him to shrug off the effect of the first dose of sedative. Enraged, the guard leaps over the bar and carries out a charge against the lynx. But the griffin steps in to block him while the lynx reloads her bolt. ((d20 initiative; Penth's 3 against the Griffin's 9)) Intercepting the charging tiger, the brunt of the rush that would've struck the much more fragile lynx instead rebounded against her stronger companion's armour. Penth's claws could not penetrate the Peacekeeper's plate armour ((d20 attack roll of 4 vs 18)) while the Griffin then proceeds to retaliate with a fierce right hook to the head ((d20 attack roll; 16 vs 12, resulting in 1d4+3 STR bonus; 6 damage))
Penth staggered back from the hit, shaking his head and then growling at the Peacekeeper, sporting a daring grin.
"Gotta try harder than that."
The Griffin tellingly drew his weapon out of his scabbard, keeping it loosely at his side. "Your luck may only go so far, Penth. Just stand down."
_______
Combat summary: Penth 💗 60 => 52
Combat summary: Penth 💗 60 => 52
Despite their reticence to step in and intervene with the guard and powerful armed anthropomorph, the crowd’s attention was far from distracted from the spectacle ever since she raised her voice, as had Angela’s attention been drawn at the same time. All manner of merchant, trader, workman on break for lunch, general common folk in all, did not avoid witnessing the assault of one of their ‘city’s’ guards, nor the fact that one of Steadfast’s so-called protectors sought to flee the scene. (1d20 for crowd’s awareness of Helen; 6+23 (1 per person, with 23 people) 29) Her attempt to simply walk away, even though done in a sly and silent manner, was met with fierce gazes full of scorn as the foreign creature, Helen, made to leave. ((1d20 for crowd’s resolve; 12-1 for shock 11) Other than two brave young brothers who stood their ground, forcing Helen to move around them or through them in her desire to leave peacefully, the rest of the crowd was either too stunned, timid, or intimidated by her size and her armament to impede her. It seemed that the two boys standing up against Helen was enough, as she stepped back at their defense.
Fortunately one in the growing crowd, a young robed man named Lars, stepped forth to undo what had been done. Lars happened to specialize in the fire school of the arcane arts, and he held a standing as a proficient magus. Lars, fiery in spirit as well in talent, rushed forward into the open space the crowd had given the snow leopardess, the frozen guard, and the sobbing young magus.
Coming up to Angela who he remembered from the mage college, he asked her in a hushed tone “What happened here A-…Anne, Angela, whatever your name is. What did you do?” (1d20 for Lars’s intimidation; 13) (1d20 for Angela’s resolve; 16) Angela’s sobbing continuing, but not as severely, and she did not reply. It was the pair of young brothers who had stood their ground in front of Helen, still clearly in their teen years, who stepped forth and spoke up loudly, in a tattletale tone. The slightly taller one spoke up first “It was her there, she made the spell go wrong. Her icy magic weapon reflected the spell.” His shorter brother chiming in, he added “Yeah, we all saw it!” The rest of the crowd having grown silent at the teenage brothers’ outcries, uncertain as to what had happened exactly, but warily watching Helen and Lars. The crowd waited with baited breath as they watched the magus in deep red robes inspect the scene, eagerly awaiting his advice and solution (1d20 for Lars’s perception; 9+5 for expertise and knowledge 14).
Furrowing his brow and looking at the trail of frost along the ground and over at the guard covered in ice, Lars was no buffoon to fall for a boisterous pair of teen’s fibbing. Putting one and one together, he knew that a magical weapon, unless specifically enchanted to do so, would not reflect or redirect a spell, and he also knew that the young girl must have cast some alteration of a frost spell that caused a chilled line of frost to speed towards its target. Stepping forward and approaching Gern while dramatically unfurling his robes, Lars reached out with his hands and silently cast Burning Hands (1d20 for spell success rate; 18+5 for proficiency 23) (1d20 for spell effectiveness; 19+7 for elemental advantage 26)
The heat easily radiating off of Lars’s glowing hands, Gern shivered and breathed a haggard, frosted breath as his body rapidly thawed. Holding his hands out and keeping up the spell, Lars moved from Gern along the path back to Angela, thawing the ground, removing any trace of Angela’s mishap of a spell. Stopping his channeling Lars grimly cleared his throat before he loudly declared. “This misdeed is undone by the ingenuity and might of the college of fire!” Pointing at Gern as the guard weakly breathed, and then at Helen, Lars continued “Get that brave soul medical aid, and look at what happened here today. One of our own was attacked, and in the mayhem this young, inexperienced magus was unable to face magically armed intruders on her own."
Many of the crowd softly smiling at events seemingly made right once more, they nevertheless turned to Helen with accusatorial looks, as did Lars who stood there proudly.
Deeper in the camp…
Nodding thoughtfully to the, in Hubert’s opinion, sage paladin’s advice, Hubert smiled at the interest in him, a meek guard. “Well, I have helped out here and there building the barracks, but not that much anymore mind you. Oddly enough, we have a larger need of able bodied men to replenish the ranks than we do to build up our settlement after the…after what happened at Erinsrest…” His solemn regard for what had happened regarding the void dragon and his attack saddening his mood, Hubert’s voice trailed off softly.
Knowing the path well from his daily route back there to stay at the barracks, Hubert still led them true despite his head hanging slightly at his somber reminiscence of the horrific disaster that had occurred. The pair having made decent headway during the dispute between Helen and Gern, they were well past any sound of the outcry having taken place.
At The Cornerstone…
Slipping out of the tavern and back into the depths of Steadfast once more, Lauriel kept a laidback and sober posture to not draw attention as she headed towards the docks to meet up with Melissa, inform her of the bad news, and take a gander at the latest ship manifests coming into port.
Fortunately one in the growing crowd, a young robed man named Lars, stepped forth to undo what had been done. Lars happened to specialize in the fire school of the arcane arts, and he held a standing as a proficient magus. Lars, fiery in spirit as well in talent, rushed forward into the open space the crowd had given the snow leopardess, the frozen guard, and the sobbing young magus.
Coming up to Angela who he remembered from the mage college, he asked her in a hushed tone “What happened here A-…Anne, Angela, whatever your name is. What did you do?” (1d20 for Lars’s intimidation; 13) (1d20 for Angela’s resolve; 16) Angela’s sobbing continuing, but not as severely, and she did not reply. It was the pair of young brothers who had stood their ground in front of Helen, still clearly in their teen years, who stepped forth and spoke up loudly, in a tattletale tone. The slightly taller one spoke up first “It was her there, she made the spell go wrong. Her icy magic weapon reflected the spell.” His shorter brother chiming in, he added “Yeah, we all saw it!” The rest of the crowd having grown silent at the teenage brothers’ outcries, uncertain as to what had happened exactly, but warily watching Helen and Lars. The crowd waited with baited breath as they watched the magus in deep red robes inspect the scene, eagerly awaiting his advice and solution (1d20 for Lars’s perception; 9+5 for expertise and knowledge 14).
Furrowing his brow and looking at the trail of frost along the ground and over at the guard covered in ice, Lars was no buffoon to fall for a boisterous pair of teen’s fibbing. Putting one and one together, he knew that a magical weapon, unless specifically enchanted to do so, would not reflect or redirect a spell, and he also knew that the young girl must have cast some alteration of a frost spell that caused a chilled line of frost to speed towards its target. Stepping forward and approaching Gern while dramatically unfurling his robes, Lars reached out with his hands and silently cast Burning Hands (1d20 for spell success rate; 18+5 for proficiency 23) (1d20 for spell effectiveness; 19+7 for elemental advantage 26)
The heat easily radiating off of Lars’s glowing hands, Gern shivered and breathed a haggard, frosted breath as his body rapidly thawed. Holding his hands out and keeping up the spell, Lars moved from Gern along the path back to Angela, thawing the ground, removing any trace of Angela’s mishap of a spell. Stopping his channeling Lars grimly cleared his throat before he loudly declared. “This misdeed is undone by the ingenuity and might of the college of fire!” Pointing at Gern as the guard weakly breathed, and then at Helen, Lars continued “Get that brave soul medical aid, and look at what happened here today. One of our own was attacked, and in the mayhem this young, inexperienced magus was unable to face magically armed intruders on her own."
Many of the crowd softly smiling at events seemingly made right once more, they nevertheless turned to Helen with accusatorial looks, as did Lars who stood there proudly.
Deeper in the camp…
Nodding thoughtfully to the, in Hubert’s opinion, sage paladin’s advice, Hubert smiled at the interest in him, a meek guard. “Well, I have helped out here and there building the barracks, but not that much anymore mind you. Oddly enough, we have a larger need of able bodied men to replenish the ranks than we do to build up our settlement after the…after what happened at Erinsrest…” His solemn regard for what had happened regarding the void dragon and his attack saddening his mood, Hubert’s voice trailed off softly.
Knowing the path well from his daily route back there to stay at the barracks, Hubert still led them true despite his head hanging slightly at his somber reminiscence of the horrific disaster that had occurred. The pair having made decent headway during the dispute between Helen and Gern, they were well past any sound of the outcry having taken place.
At The Cornerstone…
Slipping out of the tavern and back into the depths of Steadfast once more, Lauriel kept a laidback and sober posture to not draw attention as she headed towards the docks to meet up with Melissa, inform her of the bad news, and take a gander at the latest ship manifests coming into port.
Unwilling to cause or incite further violence, Helen warily halted when her withdrawal was stopped by the two brothers, putting up a brave spectacle whereas others cowered from what they perceived to be a dangerous entity. Besides a scowl, she held on to her weapon but otherwise only took a slow couple steps back, largely remaining at the mouth of the gates where the horrible mishap of a diplomatic mission began.
The snow leopardess had conflicting thoughts on it. Part of her was more than eager to put the blame on Argus. The wretched paladin and his attitude of putting himself in the position of the kind and good benefactor had cast an extremely unfavourable light on her in turn. And whereas they were sent here together to discuss the settlement's lawful relocation, the paladin instead clung to his fantasies of allying with the humans straight away and disregard the King's sentence. That was wrong! She could not stand for it, could she?
Just as readily, she saw her own fault in it. Why did she cling to her King's word so adamantly? Why didn't she take a more amicable stance? Make friends instead of setting herself up as the upright official who arrived to tell other sentient beings that their homes were not meant to be here? And what did she do when she should've taken to reason and approach the matter in a calm and collected manner? She lost her temper. Worse - she assaulted someone who did not move a finger against her.
But the guard had the gall to suggest a lewd act in place on a toll she could not pay! How could she allow such a stain on her honour? How could she, a pure priestess of the Cathedral of Steadfast, smile coyly and turn away to leave when that ruffian made such demands!? She did right to teach him a lesson.
But did she, really?
Helen watched with dismay as more and more people rallied around the scene, including more prominent figures including a fire mage who went and undid the mishap of the previous wizard, then proceeded to assess the scene and declare his condemning statement.
The snow leopardess could only stand helpless as the brothers gave their testimonies which the fire mage later included in his declaration. Helpless as the locals picked up on the words and clearly stood in favour of the guard being the valiant defender, the teenagers being brave heroes, the unlucky frost mage being a kind soul and the snow leopardess being the foul villain. By extension, Helen had made Steadfast appear more like a hostile place. It all would certainly have consequences in the long run.
Could she say anything? Anything at all? Clear her name, perhaps? Or maybe she should simply apologise and leave? Would she be allowed? ((d20 for bravery; 14)) Taking a deeper breath and firming her grip on her weapon, Helen spoke out.
"People... citizens of Solemn Stand, please. I arrived as an emissary to meet with your leadership and discuss political matters as my King requested of me to do." Her voice carried cleanly, crisp as frost, though not without a tinge of hesitation, fear, despite her attempts at hiding those traits from her voice. She considered mentioning Argus then, but realised it could be more of a detriment to her than a boon - inventing another entity no one beside the guard has really seen. "We... I was greeted with a demand of a toll to be able to enter and, upon my inability to follow the demand, was made mock of as the priestess and emissary of Steadfast by the very guard you are hailing a hero now. I realise I acted brashly in my attempt to defend my honour, however, I intended no harm. I had hoped things would've gone differently. But, alas, it was not meant to be so." Somehow managing to stand her ground despite the increasing wariness of the eyes and ears likely primed on her while she spoke, she uttered out a conclusion to her point of view. "I will return now, with news of my failure in my mission. I apologise for the... for the chaos I have caused." ((d20 persuasion; 11 (nat. 13 +1 for charisma, -3 for crowd's disposition) ))
She stood her ground afterwards, looking about the crowd solemnly before judging whether she could turn and leave or whether the people would have further words with her, or consequences in mind.
Argus nodded slowly to Hubert's words, keeping his eyes mostly on the road - keeping the guise of thoughtfulness. The mention of needing more able bodied men than craftsmen and builders as a result of the tragedy at Erinsrest, the draconian furrowed his brows as he sought to recall the details of said event as he's heard and read of it back in Steadfast. ((d20 for insight; 16)) A flicker of recollection shone in his eyes before he spoke.
"Erinsrest. Yes - the dragon. Not Kin, yet equally fearsome. I grieve over what happened to your people there, dear Hubert. Were it not for the fickle nature of magic, none of those would've happened and our relations might've developed at a more steady, natural pace. But..." He deigned a light smile, his large, scaly hand resting on Huber's shoulder reassuringly. "It all happens for a reason. Alas - we would likely not have met otherwise. And the meeting about to happen, that will establish a firm alliance between Steadfast and the Solemn Stand, will set the groundwork for our people cooperating instead of competing. I assure you."
At the port district of Steadfast, standing on one of the piers reaching the farthest out into the bay, was a tall, grey tiger by the name of Tycho Deftpaw. His gaze was peering out onto the serene waters, arms crossed over his chest, while beside him - sat in the lotus flower position on top of one of the crates, was Anya Shiro. The later seemed to be in the midst of meditation, awaiting something to arrive, while the former persistently nagged her with queries and baited her into giving him more attention that he might be deserving to receive.
"You've sat here awfully long already. You sure the ship's coming today?" Tycho asked with a quirk of a brow towards the serene monk dressed in fairly airy garb. Now and again he sought to try and make a grab at her plump-looking thigh, only to have his paw swatted away. Several times he'd complain, saying he was 'Deftpaw' and she was not supposed to be able to notice while her eyes were closed and her face turned skywards. Anya refrained from answering to those complaints.
"I am sure." The leopardess replied calmly.
"What makes you so sure?"
"My superior told me it was so."
Tycho rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Look at you. Such an underling to a 'superior'. Wouldn't you- hyp!" ((d20 dodge roll; 16 +3 dex bonus = 19 against d20 attack roll; 9 +3 dex, +4 wis bonus = 16)) The tiger flinched, leaning out of the way of a blindly lashing out fist from the meditating monk. It missed, but not by much. "What was that about?"
"Disrespect."
Tycho groaned. "Disrespect, she says..." He mocks her tone. "And they respect you? Hmm? Having you sit here for hours?"
"Own choice."
"Yeah? What are you, stupid or som-" (( 12 dodge (9+3) against 10 attack (3+3+4) )) Another strike leaned out of. "Stop that!"
The monk opened her eyes then and looked squarely at Tycho. "Be glad I was not looking."
The snow leopardess had conflicting thoughts on it. Part of her was more than eager to put the blame on Argus. The wretched paladin and his attitude of putting himself in the position of the kind and good benefactor had cast an extremely unfavourable light on her in turn. And whereas they were sent here together to discuss the settlement's lawful relocation, the paladin instead clung to his fantasies of allying with the humans straight away and disregard the King's sentence. That was wrong! She could not stand for it, could she?
Just as readily, she saw her own fault in it. Why did she cling to her King's word so adamantly? Why didn't she take a more amicable stance? Make friends instead of setting herself up as the upright official who arrived to tell other sentient beings that their homes were not meant to be here? And what did she do when she should've taken to reason and approach the matter in a calm and collected manner? She lost her temper. Worse - she assaulted someone who did not move a finger against her.
But the guard had the gall to suggest a lewd act in place on a toll she could not pay! How could she allow such a stain on her honour? How could she, a pure priestess of the Cathedral of Steadfast, smile coyly and turn away to leave when that ruffian made such demands!? She did right to teach him a lesson.
But did she, really?
Helen watched with dismay as more and more people rallied around the scene, including more prominent figures including a fire mage who went and undid the mishap of the previous wizard, then proceeded to assess the scene and declare his condemning statement.
The snow leopardess could only stand helpless as the brothers gave their testimonies which the fire mage later included in his declaration. Helpless as the locals picked up on the words and clearly stood in favour of the guard being the valiant defender, the teenagers being brave heroes, the unlucky frost mage being a kind soul and the snow leopardess being the foul villain. By extension, Helen had made Steadfast appear more like a hostile place. It all would certainly have consequences in the long run.
Could she say anything? Anything at all? Clear her name, perhaps? Or maybe she should simply apologise and leave? Would she be allowed? ((d20 for bravery; 14)) Taking a deeper breath and firming her grip on her weapon, Helen spoke out.
"People... citizens of Solemn Stand, please. I arrived as an emissary to meet with your leadership and discuss political matters as my King requested of me to do." Her voice carried cleanly, crisp as frost, though not without a tinge of hesitation, fear, despite her attempts at hiding those traits from her voice. She considered mentioning Argus then, but realised it could be more of a detriment to her than a boon - inventing another entity no one beside the guard has really seen. "We... I was greeted with a demand of a toll to be able to enter and, upon my inability to follow the demand, was made mock of as the priestess and emissary of Steadfast by the very guard you are hailing a hero now. I realise I acted brashly in my attempt to defend my honour, however, I intended no harm. I had hoped things would've gone differently. But, alas, it was not meant to be so." Somehow managing to stand her ground despite the increasing wariness of the eyes and ears likely primed on her while she spoke, she uttered out a conclusion to her point of view. "I will return now, with news of my failure in my mission. I apologise for the... for the chaos I have caused." ((d20 persuasion; 11 (nat. 13 +1 for charisma, -3 for crowd's disposition) ))
She stood her ground afterwards, looking about the crowd solemnly before judging whether she could turn and leave or whether the people would have further words with her, or consequences in mind.
Deeper in the camp...
Argus nodded slowly to Hubert's words, keeping his eyes mostly on the road - keeping the guise of thoughtfulness. The mention of needing more able bodied men than craftsmen and builders as a result of the tragedy at Erinsrest, the draconian furrowed his brows as he sought to recall the details of said event as he's heard and read of it back in Steadfast. ((d20 for insight; 16)) A flicker of recollection shone in his eyes before he spoke.
"Erinsrest. Yes - the dragon. Not Kin, yet equally fearsome. I grieve over what happened to your people there, dear Hubert. Were it not for the fickle nature of magic, none of those would've happened and our relations might've developed at a more steady, natural pace. But..." He deigned a light smile, his large, scaly hand resting on Huber's shoulder reassuringly. "It all happens for a reason. Alas - we would likely not have met otherwise. And the meeting about to happen, that will establish a firm alliance between Steadfast and the Solemn Stand, will set the groundwork for our people cooperating instead of competing. I assure you."
Steadfast Port
At the port district of Steadfast, standing on one of the piers reaching the farthest out into the bay, was a tall, grey tiger by the name of Tycho Deftpaw. His gaze was peering out onto the serene waters, arms crossed over his chest, while beside him - sat in the lotus flower position on top of one of the crates, was Anya Shiro. The later seemed to be in the midst of meditation, awaiting something to arrive, while the former persistently nagged her with queries and baited her into giving him more attention that he might be deserving to receive.
"You've sat here awfully long already. You sure the ship's coming today?" Tycho asked with a quirk of a brow towards the serene monk dressed in fairly airy garb. Now and again he sought to try and make a grab at her plump-looking thigh, only to have his paw swatted away. Several times he'd complain, saying he was 'Deftpaw' and she was not supposed to be able to notice while her eyes were closed and her face turned skywards. Anya refrained from answering to those complaints.
"I am sure." The leopardess replied calmly.
"What makes you so sure?"
"My superior told me it was so."
Tycho rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Look at you. Such an underling to a 'superior'. Wouldn't you- hyp!" ((d20 dodge roll; 16 +3 dex bonus = 19 against d20 attack roll; 9 +3 dex, +4 wis bonus = 16)) The tiger flinched, leaning out of the way of a blindly lashing out fist from the meditating monk. It missed, but not by much. "What was that about?"
"Disrespect."
Tycho groaned. "Disrespect, she says..." He mocks her tone. "And they respect you? Hmm? Having you sit here for hours?"
"Own choice."
"Yeah? What are you, stupid or som-" (( 12 dodge (9+3) against 10 attack (3+3+4) )) Another strike leaned out of. "Stop that!"
The monk opened her eyes then and looked squarely at Tycho. "Be glad I was not looking."
Petulantly retorting at the snow leopardess, Lars looked out to the crowd and uttered; “Not meant to be so? How does she, a foreigner, expect for things to go when trying to force entry into a sovereign territory, with her weapon born so menacingly? Do you think if we tried to meet with the king with magical weapons in hand that we would be allowed through the gates of Steadfast? Would we be allowed into the throneroom with a magical spear in hand, or paw, as she sought to do with us? Who is to say she is not an assassin seeking to kill Lord Chalsin?!?”
His fiery vitriol not falling on dear ears, as even now the potential invader held her ground confidently and with her weapon at hand. A wolf caught trying to break into the henhouse, or as it seemed to many in the crowd, there was a loud mumbling and ruckus amongst the gathered people as the anthropomorph seemed less diplomat and emissary and more warrior by the second. (1d20 for Lars’s awareness; 11) Picking up on the growing discontent, Lars raised his tone even further and became more of a firebrand than before, with his fiery stature as a magus giving his words credence. “Even more, she affronts us with claims of being a priestess and emissary of Steadfast! Either their priestesses troll the docks with skirts raised and weapons at the ready and their emissaries come from military colleges and not academic ones, or both are just a ruse! She canno-” cutting himself off as a two figures with religious garb, clerics, rushed in and started tending to the guard, Gern.
A wide grin forming on his features as Gern was being helped, Lars melodramatically indicated to the two clerics who were tending to and seeking to heal any damage Gern had received. “Look clearly, our priestesses, our clerics, wear simple garb and come with open hand and open heart! As the gods intended!” Pausing for a dramatic effect, he then pointed accusatorially at the snow leopard. “Look clearly, their so-called priestess, their cleric, wearing armor and coming with weapon in hand and frost in her heart as is on her fur!” (1d20 for persuasion; 7 +1 from charisma, +5 for crowd’s disposition, +7 for mounting evidence, -3 for ill repute 17)
Meeting his vitriol with fiery jeers and demands, the anger and ire of the crowd was stoked. The twin brothers cheering on all the harder as if to raise others further, all but the most reserved and open minded had some reaction, even if it was an icy glare.
The two clerics mending to Gern kept their heads down but shared a look with one another, fearful that more healing would be needed soon if the situation was not quelled…not that they did not somewhat agree with what was said given that as priestesses of sorts they had healing hands and robes and sought to help others, not weapons and armor and violence.
Deeper in the camp...
With a heavy heart and tight-lipped smile, Hubert nodded. “Aye…if the gods had not brought us together so, such a meeting would not have happened…but I fear an alliance might be a bit…” Hesitating for a moment, he shrugged and looking at Argus’s honesty and seeming radiant purity, Hubert continued. “There are those that see the crown’s refusal of aid and acceptance as even more reason for us to not accept…well you being different and all…your city lets in and helps all manner of peoples and species, but us humans…we are the odd ones out here. If we had been…well like you, what ummm…whatever you are exactly…many feel that we would have been welcomed with open arms, and the miss and I feel the same way if you do not mind me being candid…” With a heavy sigh, Hubert shrugged his shoulders and looked ahead of him, and uncertainly and with humility added. “But then who am I? Nobody ever asks a carpenter what they think, and they sure do not have me making the decisions around here…that is up to Shay and Lord Chalsin…well Shay if ye actually want to get something done, as she is the one you best be talkin’ to if ye want to make an alliance.”
Rounding a corner, the pair find themselves near a set of far more proper looking wooden gates and a set of far better equipped guards. Raising a hand in welcome, Hubert led Argus to the wooden defenses set up around the command tent. Past the top of the gates, which stand roughly eleven feet tall, one can see a yellow pennant flapping in the breeze, rising above a multitude of others atop the highest peak of the command tent.
Two blocks away from the Lion's Mane tavern…
Casually walking through Steadfast’s streets as she approached the port, Lauriel casually looked around to make sure none were paying too much attention to her. Content that she was not drawing undue suspicion, she sided up to a building, a tradehouse for Nylar and Co., a local merchant and his company, and slipped around the side and to the back. Approaching the back door of the tradehouse, she reached out and with the back of her knuckles, rapped thrice on the solid wooden doorframe. After a few moments the door opened ajar and a pair of amber eyes looked out at her. The amber orbs going wide wide, the servant, a serpentine female youth named Askar, hastily opened the door. “Welcome back Misss Ssssarina. Misss Carlie issst meeting with the Massster Nylar asss we ssspeak. Ssshall I bring you to them?”
Adopting a kind yet professional, businesslike expression, Lauriel shook her head softly and kindly dipped her head low in greeting. “That will not be necessary, any old room will do while we wait for my associate and your master to do their business.” The snakegirl smiling and flicking her forked tongue out ever so briefly in happiness, she curtseyed even lower and stepped back, allowing ‘Miss Sarina’ into the tradehouse. Leading her upstairs and to a richy appointed library, Askar kept her head down and thought how glad she was that her master had kind guests, as more often than not they made fun of her youthful slithering tongue and speech. It had been a while since they had entertained such kind and pleasant hosts as Miss Sarina and Miss Carlie, and Askar hoped that they would forged a lasting contract with her merchant master, Master Nylar.
His fiery vitriol not falling on dear ears, as even now the potential invader held her ground confidently and with her weapon at hand. A wolf caught trying to break into the henhouse, or as it seemed to many in the crowd, there was a loud mumbling and ruckus amongst the gathered people as the anthropomorph seemed less diplomat and emissary and more warrior by the second. (1d20 for Lars’s awareness; 11) Picking up on the growing discontent, Lars raised his tone even further and became more of a firebrand than before, with his fiery stature as a magus giving his words credence. “Even more, she affronts us with claims of being a priestess and emissary of Steadfast! Either their priestesses troll the docks with skirts raised and weapons at the ready and their emissaries come from military colleges and not academic ones, or both are just a ruse! She canno-” cutting himself off as a two figures with religious garb, clerics, rushed in and started tending to the guard, Gern.
A wide grin forming on his features as Gern was being helped, Lars melodramatically indicated to the two clerics who were tending to and seeking to heal any damage Gern had received. “Look clearly, our priestesses, our clerics, wear simple garb and come with open hand and open heart! As the gods intended!” Pausing for a dramatic effect, he then pointed accusatorially at the snow leopard. “Look clearly, their so-called priestess, their cleric, wearing armor and coming with weapon in hand and frost in her heart as is on her fur!” (1d20 for persuasion; 7 +1 from charisma, +5 for crowd’s disposition, +7 for mounting evidence, -3 for ill repute 17)
Meeting his vitriol with fiery jeers and demands, the anger and ire of the crowd was stoked. The twin brothers cheering on all the harder as if to raise others further, all but the most reserved and open minded had some reaction, even if it was an icy glare.
The two clerics mending to Gern kept their heads down but shared a look with one another, fearful that more healing would be needed soon if the situation was not quelled…not that they did not somewhat agree with what was said given that as priestesses of sorts they had healing hands and robes and sought to help others, not weapons and armor and violence.
Deeper in the camp...
With a heavy heart and tight-lipped smile, Hubert nodded. “Aye…if the gods had not brought us together so, such a meeting would not have happened…but I fear an alliance might be a bit…” Hesitating for a moment, he shrugged and looking at Argus’s honesty and seeming radiant purity, Hubert continued. “There are those that see the crown’s refusal of aid and acceptance as even more reason for us to not accept…well you being different and all…your city lets in and helps all manner of peoples and species, but us humans…we are the odd ones out here. If we had been…well like you, what ummm…whatever you are exactly…many feel that we would have been welcomed with open arms, and the miss and I feel the same way if you do not mind me being candid…” With a heavy sigh, Hubert shrugged his shoulders and looked ahead of him, and uncertainly and with humility added. “But then who am I? Nobody ever asks a carpenter what they think, and they sure do not have me making the decisions around here…that is up to Shay and Lord Chalsin…well Shay if ye actually want to get something done, as she is the one you best be talkin’ to if ye want to make an alliance.”
Rounding a corner, the pair find themselves near a set of far more proper looking wooden gates and a set of far better equipped guards. Raising a hand in welcome, Hubert led Argus to the wooden defenses set up around the command tent. Past the top of the gates, which stand roughly eleven feet tall, one can see a yellow pennant flapping in the breeze, rising above a multitude of others atop the highest peak of the command tent.
Two blocks away from the Lion's Mane tavern…
Casually walking through Steadfast’s streets as she approached the port, Lauriel casually looked around to make sure none were paying too much attention to her. Content that she was not drawing undue suspicion, she sided up to a building, a tradehouse for Nylar and Co., a local merchant and his company, and slipped around the side and to the back. Approaching the back door of the tradehouse, she reached out and with the back of her knuckles, rapped thrice on the solid wooden doorframe. After a few moments the door opened ajar and a pair of amber eyes looked out at her. The amber orbs going wide wide, the servant, a serpentine female youth named Askar, hastily opened the door. “Welcome back Misss Ssssarina. Misss Carlie issst meeting with the Massster Nylar asss we ssspeak. Ssshall I bring you to them?”
Adopting a kind yet professional, businesslike expression, Lauriel shook her head softly and kindly dipped her head low in greeting. “That will not be necessary, any old room will do while we wait for my associate and your master to do their business.” The snakegirl smiling and flicking her forked tongue out ever so briefly in happiness, she curtseyed even lower and stepped back, allowing ‘Miss Sarina’ into the tradehouse. Leading her upstairs and to a richy appointed library, Askar kept her head down and thought how glad she was that her master had kind guests, as more often than not they made fun of her youthful slithering tongue and speech. It had been a while since they had entertained such kind and pleasant hosts as Miss Sarina and Miss Carlie, and Askar hoped that they would forged a lasting contract with her merchant master, Master Nylar.
Helen's eyes roved over the crowd and it's instigator, the fellow in robes, and observed to her horror how they were steadily heated higher and higher to the point of being decidedly against any sort of peaceful mission to happen on her account. Her paw tightened around the grip of her weapon, gritting her teeth at the barbed notion that she, a priestess of Steadfast, was in fact an assassin coming to kill their leader. ((1d20 for Willpower; 1 +2 corruption saving throw against wrath = 3 Preposterous! She!? A murderer in the garb of a priestess!? How dare he assume her weapon is a tool for evil!? How dare he suggest her intentions are foul!? She would not stand idly by this!
The snow leopard's eyes took on an even icier quality while her weapon crackled with the magic contained within it. Her glare was set on the mage who sought to publicly denounce her as a servant of evil. Speaking such horrible accusations under her address that clearly deserved nothing less but retribution! ((1d20 for Initiative; 3 +2 from high dexterity, 5)) And retribution she'd dish out, even if the process of her winding up for the strike was slow and telegraphed. ((1d20 Attack roll; 17 +2 from high dexterity; 19)) However, the attack itself turned out to be of much greater impact and accuracy as, rising her weapon with the blade pointing at the wizard in robes, a lance of chilling frost was thrust straight at his chest! The projectile would start as a coagulation of vapours circling the head of the weapon, but at it reached it's peak it would become a physical, jagged icicle capable of delivering severe harm ((1d12 frost damage and 1d8 piercing damage on successful hit))
The remorse from her act came down like thunder striking the back of her head, her eyes widened at what she allowed herself to do, but at that point it was already too late. ((Helen loses one 💙)) She felt momentarily weak in the knees at the realisation of what she was committing, wanting nothing else but to turn and run back to the Cathedral, to beg Irsia for repentance. How could she fall under the sway of such horrible words!? She was better than this! And yet... this mage had incited her wrath so much she just could not stop herself! Helen gritted her teeth, steeling herself to watch the aftermath of her act - however reluctantly. Despite the frailty she was experiencing, she held on to her weapon, lowering it steadily before long. Part of her held on to her martial training, prepared against a backlash from the crowd. But the majority of her being still wanted to simply flee the scene and leave it far, far behind.
Argus' steps thumped heavily against the paths of Solemn Stand as Hubert led him on deeper and deeper in towards an inner fortified ring that housed the command tent. Impressive forethought, the draconian thought, to not just have an outer wall preventing intruders from entering, but also a secondary one which was staffed by what looked like even more experienced guards. Or perhaps just better equipped ones.
He nodded along to Hubert's words regarding the approach of Steadfast towards humans. ((1d20 for Insight; 18)) His eyes glimmered again with that sign of recollection that prompted him to speak in response.
"Steadfast is a home for all species. This sort of separation and disposition towards your kin stems largely from previous grievances - theft, disrespect, sacrilege. Ones that can and will be corrected, with time. This will be but the first of the many steps needed to be taken to smooth out relations between our kinds, learn about each other and figure out what needs to be done to allow us to mutually benefit. There will be bumps..." He thought, reluctantly, about his co-emissary here. "But ultimately we will come to a point where we will stand as one and work together rather than against each other." His eyes then turned to regards Hubert following his humbling remark. The draconian grinned. "You are witness to the coming of an alliance between our peoples. Never think yourself insignificant."
Argus' eyes then turned towards the second guard point, wondering whether this crossing would be smoother than the first one. Though, frankly, he had better company now to ensure it would occur without hiccups.
The monk and the swashbuckler exchanged jabs and quips for a time before the calmer of the two turned her eyes towards the seas again and grew still. She drew a breath and exhaled slowly before speaking. "They're coming."
Tycho frowned, then looked towards the horizon himself - about to ridicule the leopardess for talking zealot-like nonsense again when he noticed the distant silhouette of a ship approaching the port. He squinted his eyes, tilted his head this way and then, then widened his eyes at the realisation. "No way..." He turned to look at the monk and added in an almost accusatory manner. "You didn't say you were waiting on the Goldendown!"
The monk scarcely flinched at his elevated tone, sitting in the same lotus-stance she was in all this time. "You never asked."
Smoothly, the monk brought herself to her feet and the tiger seemed a little irked to no longer be taller than the thus far seated leopardess. He folded his arms and huffed, looking onwards to the steadily approaching figurehead of the fabled Liveship.
"Unbelievable. So the Goldendown operates under your 'Order' now?"
"I am not obliged to give you any information of the sort."
((1d20 Persuasion roll: 20 + 1 Charisma bonus; 21)) Tycho flashed Anya his best smile and murred at her. "Oh come now. I'm sure you can share a little morsel of information with me. Just how private of an information could that be?"
The monk turned her head to regard the charming tiger for a long moment. And, simply on the basis of lack of familiarity with the swashbuckler and her unwavering resolve and numerous vows of purity, together with a genuine disinterest in the tiger, retorted. "Try that on the ship's captain."
Tycho scoffed. "Curse you."
The grand vessel drew nearer and nearer until - with a draconic roar of the ship's figurehead - the Goldendown announced it's arrival to Steadfast.
"You're buddies with the crew too?"
"Lady Khetrys and I spar sometimes." The tiger was about to ask what kind of relevance that had towards anything, when the monk added. "She'd put you on the floor before you'd manage to say Order of the Golden Dawn."
Tycho scoffed again. "You don't even know who you're talking to, monk."
Walking down the gangplank, the clouded leopardess grinned at Anya, quirked a brow at Tycho, then called to the approaching port workers. "The booty-... I mean, the cargo is in the lower deck. But be careful with it! Many of those crates hold fragile wares!" The workers exchanged glances before nodding and heading on to get to work - also operating special cranes with which to assist the unloading and loading of the Liveship. With the men seemingly already familiar with the job - not expressing the, perhaps healthy, wariness towards the animated vessel, Khetrys turned to regard Anya and smiled.
"Ahoy Anya~ Faring well?"
Hearing the monk's name, Tycho smiled knowingly and made a small gesture suggesting "score!" - grinning to himself at learning this secret without needing to dig too deeply. The monk rolled her eyes at that and at the clouded leopard's perplexed glance. "Don't mind the brute. All's well. I'm here to bring the new recruits to the Academy."
The tiger scowled. "Who're you callin' a brute?"
Disregarding the angered swashbuckler, Khetrys nodded and smiled. "Aye aye~ They're on board." She half-turned and set her paws on her hips. "I may actually need to go and see if they need to be woken up! Though I would hope Goldendown's scream woke them up handily."
"Krosis. I am sorry." The figurehead's feminine voice retorted.
It drew a chuckle from Khetrys. "You're fine, big girl~"
The snow leopard's eyes took on an even icier quality while her weapon crackled with the magic contained within it. Her glare was set on the mage who sought to publicly denounce her as a servant of evil. Speaking such horrible accusations under her address that clearly deserved nothing less but retribution! ((1d20 for Initiative; 3 +2 from high dexterity, 5)) And retribution she'd dish out, even if the process of her winding up for the strike was slow and telegraphed. ((1d20 Attack roll; 17 +2 from high dexterity; 19)) However, the attack itself turned out to be of much greater impact and accuracy as, rising her weapon with the blade pointing at the wizard in robes, a lance of chilling frost was thrust straight at his chest! The projectile would start as a coagulation of vapours circling the head of the weapon, but at it reached it's peak it would become a physical, jagged icicle capable of delivering severe harm ((1d12 frost damage and 1d8 piercing damage on successful hit))
The remorse from her act came down like thunder striking the back of her head, her eyes widened at what she allowed herself to do, but at that point it was already too late. ((Helen loses one 💙)) She felt momentarily weak in the knees at the realisation of what she was committing, wanting nothing else but to turn and run back to the Cathedral, to beg Irsia for repentance. How could she fall under the sway of such horrible words!? She was better than this! And yet... this mage had incited her wrath so much she just could not stop herself! Helen gritted her teeth, steeling herself to watch the aftermath of her act - however reluctantly. Despite the frailty she was experiencing, she held on to her weapon, lowering it steadily before long. Part of her held on to her martial training, prepared against a backlash from the crowd. But the majority of her being still wanted to simply flee the scene and leave it far, far behind.
((This first part was upsetting~))
Deeper in the Solemn Stand
Deeper in the Solemn Stand
Argus' steps thumped heavily against the paths of Solemn Stand as Hubert led him on deeper and deeper in towards an inner fortified ring that housed the command tent. Impressive forethought, the draconian thought, to not just have an outer wall preventing intruders from entering, but also a secondary one which was staffed by what looked like even more experienced guards. Or perhaps just better equipped ones.
He nodded along to Hubert's words regarding the approach of Steadfast towards humans. ((1d20 for Insight; 18)) His eyes glimmered again with that sign of recollection that prompted him to speak in response.
"Steadfast is a home for all species. This sort of separation and disposition towards your kin stems largely from previous grievances - theft, disrespect, sacrilege. Ones that can and will be corrected, with time. This will be but the first of the many steps needed to be taken to smooth out relations between our kinds, learn about each other and figure out what needs to be done to allow us to mutually benefit. There will be bumps..." He thought, reluctantly, about his co-emissary here. "But ultimately we will come to a point where we will stand as one and work together rather than against each other." His eyes then turned to regards Hubert following his humbling remark. The draconian grinned. "You are witness to the coming of an alliance between our peoples. Never think yourself insignificant."
Argus' eyes then turned towards the second guard point, wondering whether this crossing would be smoother than the first one. Though, frankly, he had better company now to ensure it would occur without hiccups.
Steadfast Port
The monk and the swashbuckler exchanged jabs and quips for a time before the calmer of the two turned her eyes towards the seas again and grew still. She drew a breath and exhaled slowly before speaking. "They're coming."
Tycho frowned, then looked towards the horizon himself - about to ridicule the leopardess for talking zealot-like nonsense again when he noticed the distant silhouette of a ship approaching the port. He squinted his eyes, tilted his head this way and then, then widened his eyes at the realisation. "No way..." He turned to look at the monk and added in an almost accusatory manner. "You didn't say you were waiting on the Goldendown!"
The monk scarcely flinched at his elevated tone, sitting in the same lotus-stance she was in all this time. "You never asked."
Smoothly, the monk brought herself to her feet and the tiger seemed a little irked to no longer be taller than the thus far seated leopardess. He folded his arms and huffed, looking onwards to the steadily approaching figurehead of the fabled Liveship.
"Unbelievable. So the Goldendown operates under your 'Order' now?"
"I am not obliged to give you any information of the sort."
((1d20 Persuasion roll: 20 + 1 Charisma bonus; 21)) Tycho flashed Anya his best smile and murred at her. "Oh come now. I'm sure you can share a little morsel of information with me. Just how private of an information could that be?"
The monk turned her head to regard the charming tiger for a long moment. And, simply on the basis of lack of familiarity with the swashbuckler and her unwavering resolve and numerous vows of purity, together with a genuine disinterest in the tiger, retorted. "Try that on the ship's captain."
Tycho scoffed. "Curse you."
The grand vessel drew nearer and nearer until - with a draconic roar of the ship's figurehead - the Goldendown announced it's arrival to Steadfast.
"Drem yol lok, fadon! Mu daal!"
There was a bustle on board, as well as on the port itself, as crew in both places scrambled to get to the handling of cargo. Anya calmly stepped towards the lowered gangplank and smiled lightly up at the first mate, Khetrys. The cats exchanged gestures of friendliness, something Tycho found himself scowling at."You're buddies with the crew too?"
"Lady Khetrys and I spar sometimes." The tiger was about to ask what kind of relevance that had towards anything, when the monk added. "She'd put you on the floor before you'd manage to say Order of the Golden Dawn."
Tycho scoffed again. "You don't even know who you're talking to, monk."
Walking down the gangplank, the clouded leopardess grinned at Anya, quirked a brow at Tycho, then called to the approaching port workers. "The booty-... I mean, the cargo is in the lower deck. But be careful with it! Many of those crates hold fragile wares!" The workers exchanged glances before nodding and heading on to get to work - also operating special cranes with which to assist the unloading and loading of the Liveship. With the men seemingly already familiar with the job - not expressing the, perhaps healthy, wariness towards the animated vessel, Khetrys turned to regard Anya and smiled.
"Ahoy Anya~ Faring well?"
Hearing the monk's name, Tycho smiled knowingly and made a small gesture suggesting "score!" - grinning to himself at learning this secret without needing to dig too deeply. The monk rolled her eyes at that and at the clouded leopard's perplexed glance. "Don't mind the brute. All's well. I'm here to bring the new recruits to the Academy."
The tiger scowled. "Who're you callin' a brute?"
Disregarding the angered swashbuckler, Khetrys nodded and smiled. "Aye aye~ They're on board." She half-turned and set her paws on her hips. "I may actually need to go and see if they need to be woken up! Though I would hope Goldendown's scream woke them up handily."
"Krosis. I am sorry." The figurehead's feminine voice retorted.
It drew a chuckle from Khetrys. "You're fine, big girl~"
Lars, busy basking in the crowd’s fiery outcries, felt more than heard or saw the buildup of energies in Helen’s weapon. Turning to address her with a cocky but threatening glare, Lars noted the buildup of energies. (1d20 for threat perception; 2 +2 for magical awareness, -1 for cockiness, 3) Not taking the threat as anything more than grandstanding, Lars chuckled and raised his right hand, snapping his fingers for his own display of bravado. (1d20 for spell success rate; 9+5 for proficiency 14) At his command, a small orb of fire flared to life above his hand. (1d20 for crowd’s awareness; 6 +4 for prominent displays 10) With his display the crowd became more aware of the situation at hand, and many noted that some sort of magical energies were at play between both contrasting parties. The foreign, icy and furred figure’s crackling chills paired against the familiar, fiery and human figure’s searing blaze, a few sounds of awe and applause spread through the crowd as they, along with Lars, mistook the actions as a display of prowess, not an impending assault.
(1d20 for Lars’ Initiative; 8 + 2 for keen mind 10) Noting the weapon starting to wind up and carry out a strike, his eyes went wide with shock as the buildup of power he had felt was not a threat after all, but an attack. Wondering whether or not his display of magic had pushed the snow leopard over the edge, or her rage had done it, he nevertheless moved to take action. Known for his fiery disposition as well as talents and spirit, Lars sought to react- dramatically and bombastically at that. Holding up his hand, fireball and in front of his face, he took in a deep breath and blew fiercely. (1d20 for spell success rate; 14 +5 for proficiency 19) A pillar of flames issuing out from the erstwhile fireball above his hand, the flames rush out to meet the icy spear aimed at his chest. (1d20 for spellpower; 11 +5 for proficiency 16)
For all of his prowess in the fiery arts, Lars’s counteractive attack seared through the vapors and the tongues of the farthest reaching flames licked the blade of Helen’s raised weapon. However, whether a byproduct of a magical weapon in addition to Helen’s prowess, or merely a manifestation of Helen’s rage, the flames were not strong enough to entirely defeat the icy assault. Melting the icicle, turning it from a jagged spear of ice to a solid oval icy projectile, Lars was spared the gruesome piercing hit, but was hit nonetheless. (1d12 blunt damage; 6 6) Crying out in pain, Lars is knocked onto his back following a hearty thump as the solid oval of melted ice struck him squarely center mass. Gasping sharply for breath as his breastbone was deeply bruised but not broken, the two clerics tending to Gern quickly rushed over to the fallen magus as he writhed in pain.
Amid outcries of terror, outrage, and shock at the rapid escalation of events which the crowd had not the talent or mindset to expect, the sight of an attack and one of their own race bested in a trial of combat was jarring and upsetting to say the least. Out of the now tumultuous crowd, a sharp, strict tone rang out clearly. “SILENCE!” Whether by magic or by sheer force of will, the crowd died down to a still silence. Going from a raucous forum of outrage and drama and turning to one where a coin dropping on the ground could be heard, the starkness of the silence became all the more apparent. Out of the crowd a frail figure in robes of solid, sateen gold stepped out sagely and in measured, calming steps.
Saryn, Chosen of Isti, the Dawnsworn, calmly strode out from the now stunned and silenced crowd. Her robes of gold forming a pool around her feet and dragging dirt in her path, creating a path in her wake, the frail young human woman approached Lars and the two clerics. With eyes glinting as if infused with molten gold, Saryn surveyed the scene with a wisened eye. (1d20 for Saryn’s perception; 13 +8 for divine insight 21) Noting the seared path of ground leading from behind a fallen but tended to guard and tracing to a snow leopard, then a magus laid low with a cracked projectile of ice laying nearby, and then taking in Helen herself, Saryn sighed deeply and relaxing visibly, became all the more frail and weak. The golden glimmer fading from her eyes and revealing a pair of soft baby blues instead, the girl, despite her youth, appeared almost too frail and weak to walk, let alone have the windpipes to speak with such power and authority.
Approaching Lars as he squirmed and whimpered while the two clerics worked on him, Saryn looked down at him with a warming smile and walking alongside the clerics, laid on her delicately on their shoulders. “May Isti be with you both, and may your faith tend to his wounds as rapidly and splendidly as you did to the guard.” Both clerics brightening and increasing their soft chanting and the warm glow of their healing hands at a goddess’s chosen praising them and bolstering their efforts, Lars gasped and coughed wetly for a few moments before his chest rose heavily and freely. Trying to sit up and speak, both clerics gingerly pushed him back down, to which Lars begrudgingly consented to.
Her lips curling up in joy at his speedy recovery, Saryn took a deep breath and look up at the clearly conflicted and remorseful snow leopardess. (1d20 for Saryn’s calming demeanor; 16 +6 for wisdom and being touched by the divine 22) “Fear not, daughter of winter’s might, you need not raise your weapon again while here.” (1d20 for Saryn’s persuasion; 8 +6 for wisdom and being touched by the divine 14)
Calmly striding over to Helen, her frailty not hindering her steps, and if anything granting aid to her coming off as a soothing presence, Saryn soothingly raise her right hand and reached out at Helen. “Come, my dear, walk with me and tell me your tale. The fears of a people struggling to survive and a populace on edge provide not a calming environment nor a proper atmosphere for the truth to come to light.”
With a warm and radiant expression on her features, Saryn, barely 20 yet still touched by Isti, the lesser human deity of Morning’s First Light, offered a helping hand and a bent ear for the conflicted and clearly distraught fellow being.
Near the center of the Solemn Stand
Hubert slows his walk for a moment and looks at Argus with a bit of awe at the way the emissary handled the situation and aptly and diplomatically evaluated the cultural and political climate. “With calm and clear heads like yours, we may very well have an alliance soon enough, m’lord”
Resuming his walking speed, Hubert more properly hails the guards at the inner gate. A female and a male, both were of heavy tanned skin and wore more appropriate armor and weaponry for desert riders than city dwellers. Noting the non-human’s approach more so than Hubert’s, their attention had been drawn long before they got into speaking-distance. Both guards, Harriet and Lathor, respectively, did not change their posture, and both kept a relaxed but well-trained demeanor. Giving her partner a quick look, the female guard, Harriet, looked to Hubert and raised her left hand in greeting. “Hail, Hubert. What brings you and your new friend to the command area?”
Smiling and duplicating the gesture, Hubert glady, and with some dramatic awe in his voice, gestures at Argus. “Hail, Harriet, and this is Steadfast’s appointed representative and chief emissary to mankind. He has come to help talk terms of peace with Shay and help us progress together, both better for each other’s assistance.”
Sharing a look with each other Harriet and Lathor sighed and looked back at the two visitors. Piping back up, Harriet countered with a bit of steel behind her tone which was thinly veiled by political politeness; “Well, then as our humble and honored guest, Steadfast’s esteemed emissary will have to turn over all weapons and gladly accept our protection while in our…keep.”
Inside Nylar and Co.
Lounging on a purple velvet-covered divan, Lauriel patiently waited and leafed through one of the logbooks Nylar and Co. kept. ‘I wonder how daft the dock crew and the harbormaster are to keep believing that Nylar and his associates keep shipping in lamp oil without any bribes to look the other way. Lamp oil is barely profitable, and sure Nylar keeps somewhat modest residence despite his true income…but ship guards for lamp oil shipments? The guards surely cost as much as if not more than the oil…’ Smiling wryly she shook her head at the little scheme they are uncovered- the shipment of gemstones and sometimes contraband weaponry hidden within barrels of lamp oil.
Broken from her reverie, Lauriel looked up at the sound of soft footfalls behind the door, followed by a soft rapping knock. “Yes?”
“I am sssoo sssorry to bother you, Misss Sssarina, but Misss Carlie informed me to inform you that Massster Nylar isss too tired after hisss meeting, and ssshall be retiring early tonight. Misss Carlie will be accompanying him to his chambersss and helping provide his medicationsss, unless you require her presence.”
A knowing look crossing her features, Lauriel chuckled softly to herself. “No, that should be fine dear Askar. In fact, why do you not come in and keep me company? This room is rather stark without another’s presence” There being a moment’s hesitation behind the door, it quietly opened and the snakegirl stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Lauriel, indicating to the divan opposite hers, offered the scaled servant a warm smile. “So tell me Askar, how long as you served your master, Nylar?”
Sitting down, a bit awkwardly as she was not accustomed to reclining on such furniture, Askar smiled timidly before replying. “I waz bought by Nylar almossst eight yearsss ago, when I wasss nine.” Not unused to such questions by guests, Askar had long gotten used to her ‘status’, and such was often the fate of people where she came from. Having been picked up by a slaver vessel when she was young, she was taken from market to market until Nylar picked her up in Steadfast, albeit at a less…public auction. Fortunate and thankful that she had remained untouched and chosen for her careful and cautious demeanor instead of her body, Askar knew that her lot in life, while unfortunate, was better off than many others sold at such auctions.
Having known such from Melissa, who had provided profiles on Nylar, Askar, as well as his business partners and significant associates, Lauriel’s features were those of a shocked and concerned party all the same. “I am very sorry to hear that my dear…it seems that Nylar is good to you, at least considering your…position. Am I right?” Nodding softly, but out of shyness rather than reluctance, Askar replied without pause. “Oh, yesss, he hasss been kind to me. One would not think that a canine would want a sssnake for a ssservant…but he hasss never laid a hand on me out of anger or…lussst.”
“I see, I see. And you, what do you do in what free time your station allows, lovely?” Askar’s eyes flickering down shyly at the affectionate term, but shrugs her small, scaled shoulders. “I urm…I do like making sssmall thingsss, thisss and that with sssome sssalvage”
"Oh? Is that so Askar? What sort of things? Do you mind showing me?” Her surprise being authentic, Lauriel quirked her head slightly at the girl’s hobby. Perhaps she showed some promising talents beyond her role here at Nylar and Co. “I ummm…well artsss and craftsss primarily, madam Sssarina.” Reaching into a small satchel she kept various keys and other things in, Asker pulled out a small amber wrapped up in fine wire in a very carefully and perfectly spaced swirling pattern. Sheepishly, if a reptile could manage such a gesture, Asker reached over and offered it to ‘Miss Sarina’.
Gratefully taking it and examining it, Lauriel smiled warmly and set it on the cushion of her divan. “That is very fine work Asker, even though I doubt that Nylar would appreciate you taking a stray amber, now would he?” Giving the younger woman a soft look, Lauriel smiled at Askar looking down shyly, and before the girl could respond, Lauriel continued. “You know Askar…I would like to buy this from you, if it is for sale that is. It would be our little secret.”
Perking up and her tongue flicking out briefly in happiness, Askar looked up at Lauriel tentatively. “A-are you sssssure, Misss Sssarina? It isss not great, jussst a little thing…”
Wryly smiling, Lauriel reached into her coinpurse and pulled out eight gold scales. Handing them to Askar, Lauriel quietly offered “Five now, for the trinket, and three more for exclusivity on any future works I decide to purchase and the right to commission works from you exclusively, my dear.” Knowing that even for the price of five ambers that such was far too much, the girl had some natural talent, and perhaps her skills could be of use in the future. More so than that though, Lauriel knew that earning the girl’s admiration was worth more than its weight in gold, and loyalty, especially from those with a personality such as Askar’s, was lasting and would bear fruits in the future.
Besides herself with joy at having money of any sort, especially such an amount as such, Askar was unable to reply, merely to take the offered payment in extreme exuberance, hissing happily and giddily laughing. Fidgeting with the golden scales, never having held one in her hand before, and not one accustomed to money given her status as a slave, her mind raced as the numerous possibilities of what she could do with such funds.
(1d20 for Lars’ Initiative; 8 + 2 for keen mind 10) Noting the weapon starting to wind up and carry out a strike, his eyes went wide with shock as the buildup of power he had felt was not a threat after all, but an attack. Wondering whether or not his display of magic had pushed the snow leopard over the edge, or her rage had done it, he nevertheless moved to take action. Known for his fiery disposition as well as talents and spirit, Lars sought to react- dramatically and bombastically at that. Holding up his hand, fireball and in front of his face, he took in a deep breath and blew fiercely. (1d20 for spell success rate; 14 +5 for proficiency 19) A pillar of flames issuing out from the erstwhile fireball above his hand, the flames rush out to meet the icy spear aimed at his chest. (1d20 for spellpower; 11 +5 for proficiency 16)
For all of his prowess in the fiery arts, Lars’s counteractive attack seared through the vapors and the tongues of the farthest reaching flames licked the blade of Helen’s raised weapon. However, whether a byproduct of a magical weapon in addition to Helen’s prowess, or merely a manifestation of Helen’s rage, the flames were not strong enough to entirely defeat the icy assault. Melting the icicle, turning it from a jagged spear of ice to a solid oval icy projectile, Lars was spared the gruesome piercing hit, but was hit nonetheless. (1d12 blunt damage; 6 6) Crying out in pain, Lars is knocked onto his back following a hearty thump as the solid oval of melted ice struck him squarely center mass. Gasping sharply for breath as his breastbone was deeply bruised but not broken, the two clerics tending to Gern quickly rushed over to the fallen magus as he writhed in pain.
Amid outcries of terror, outrage, and shock at the rapid escalation of events which the crowd had not the talent or mindset to expect, the sight of an attack and one of their own race bested in a trial of combat was jarring and upsetting to say the least. Out of the now tumultuous crowd, a sharp, strict tone rang out clearly. “SILENCE!” Whether by magic or by sheer force of will, the crowd died down to a still silence. Going from a raucous forum of outrage and drama and turning to one where a coin dropping on the ground could be heard, the starkness of the silence became all the more apparent. Out of the crowd a frail figure in robes of solid, sateen gold stepped out sagely and in measured, calming steps.
Saryn, Chosen of Isti, the Dawnsworn, calmly strode out from the now stunned and silenced crowd. Her robes of gold forming a pool around her feet and dragging dirt in her path, creating a path in her wake, the frail young human woman approached Lars and the two clerics. With eyes glinting as if infused with molten gold, Saryn surveyed the scene with a wisened eye. (1d20 for Saryn’s perception; 13 +8 for divine insight 21) Noting the seared path of ground leading from behind a fallen but tended to guard and tracing to a snow leopard, then a magus laid low with a cracked projectile of ice laying nearby, and then taking in Helen herself, Saryn sighed deeply and relaxing visibly, became all the more frail and weak. The golden glimmer fading from her eyes and revealing a pair of soft baby blues instead, the girl, despite her youth, appeared almost too frail and weak to walk, let alone have the windpipes to speak with such power and authority.
Approaching Lars as he squirmed and whimpered while the two clerics worked on him, Saryn looked down at him with a warming smile and walking alongside the clerics, laid on her delicately on their shoulders. “May Isti be with you both, and may your faith tend to his wounds as rapidly and splendidly as you did to the guard.” Both clerics brightening and increasing their soft chanting and the warm glow of their healing hands at a goddess’s chosen praising them and bolstering their efforts, Lars gasped and coughed wetly for a few moments before his chest rose heavily and freely. Trying to sit up and speak, both clerics gingerly pushed him back down, to which Lars begrudgingly consented to.
Her lips curling up in joy at his speedy recovery, Saryn took a deep breath and look up at the clearly conflicted and remorseful snow leopardess. (1d20 for Saryn’s calming demeanor; 16 +6 for wisdom and being touched by the divine 22) “Fear not, daughter of winter’s might, you need not raise your weapon again while here.” (1d20 for Saryn’s persuasion; 8 +6 for wisdom and being touched by the divine 14)
Calmly striding over to Helen, her frailty not hindering her steps, and if anything granting aid to her coming off as a soothing presence, Saryn soothingly raise her right hand and reached out at Helen. “Come, my dear, walk with me and tell me your tale. The fears of a people struggling to survive and a populace on edge provide not a calming environment nor a proper atmosphere for the truth to come to light.”
With a warm and radiant expression on her features, Saryn, barely 20 yet still touched by Isti, the lesser human deity of Morning’s First Light, offered a helping hand and a bent ear for the conflicted and clearly distraught fellow being.
Near the center of the Solemn Stand
Hubert slows his walk for a moment and looks at Argus with a bit of awe at the way the emissary handled the situation and aptly and diplomatically evaluated the cultural and political climate. “With calm and clear heads like yours, we may very well have an alliance soon enough, m’lord”
Resuming his walking speed, Hubert more properly hails the guards at the inner gate. A female and a male, both were of heavy tanned skin and wore more appropriate armor and weaponry for desert riders than city dwellers. Noting the non-human’s approach more so than Hubert’s, their attention had been drawn long before they got into speaking-distance. Both guards, Harriet and Lathor, respectively, did not change their posture, and both kept a relaxed but well-trained demeanor. Giving her partner a quick look, the female guard, Harriet, looked to Hubert and raised her left hand in greeting. “Hail, Hubert. What brings you and your new friend to the command area?”
Smiling and duplicating the gesture, Hubert glady, and with some dramatic awe in his voice, gestures at Argus. “Hail, Harriet, and this is Steadfast’s appointed representative and chief emissary to mankind. He has come to help talk terms of peace with Shay and help us progress together, both better for each other’s assistance.”
Sharing a look with each other Harriet and Lathor sighed and looked back at the two visitors. Piping back up, Harriet countered with a bit of steel behind her tone which was thinly veiled by political politeness; “Well, then as our humble and honored guest, Steadfast’s esteemed emissary will have to turn over all weapons and gladly accept our protection while in our…keep.”
Inside Nylar and Co.
Lounging on a purple velvet-covered divan, Lauriel patiently waited and leafed through one of the logbooks Nylar and Co. kept. ‘I wonder how daft the dock crew and the harbormaster are to keep believing that Nylar and his associates keep shipping in lamp oil without any bribes to look the other way. Lamp oil is barely profitable, and sure Nylar keeps somewhat modest residence despite his true income…but ship guards for lamp oil shipments? The guards surely cost as much as if not more than the oil…’ Smiling wryly she shook her head at the little scheme they are uncovered- the shipment of gemstones and sometimes contraband weaponry hidden within barrels of lamp oil.
Broken from her reverie, Lauriel looked up at the sound of soft footfalls behind the door, followed by a soft rapping knock. “Yes?”
“I am sssoo sssorry to bother you, Misss Sssarina, but Misss Carlie informed me to inform you that Massster Nylar isss too tired after hisss meeting, and ssshall be retiring early tonight. Misss Carlie will be accompanying him to his chambersss and helping provide his medicationsss, unless you require her presence.”
A knowing look crossing her features, Lauriel chuckled softly to herself. “No, that should be fine dear Askar. In fact, why do you not come in and keep me company? This room is rather stark without another’s presence” There being a moment’s hesitation behind the door, it quietly opened and the snakegirl stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Lauriel, indicating to the divan opposite hers, offered the scaled servant a warm smile. “So tell me Askar, how long as you served your master, Nylar?”
Sitting down, a bit awkwardly as she was not accustomed to reclining on such furniture, Askar smiled timidly before replying. “I waz bought by Nylar almossst eight yearsss ago, when I wasss nine.” Not unused to such questions by guests, Askar had long gotten used to her ‘status’, and such was often the fate of people where she came from. Having been picked up by a slaver vessel when she was young, she was taken from market to market until Nylar picked her up in Steadfast, albeit at a less…public auction. Fortunate and thankful that she had remained untouched and chosen for her careful and cautious demeanor instead of her body, Askar knew that her lot in life, while unfortunate, was better off than many others sold at such auctions.
Having known such from Melissa, who had provided profiles on Nylar, Askar, as well as his business partners and significant associates, Lauriel’s features were those of a shocked and concerned party all the same. “I am very sorry to hear that my dear…it seems that Nylar is good to you, at least considering your…position. Am I right?” Nodding softly, but out of shyness rather than reluctance, Askar replied without pause. “Oh, yesss, he hasss been kind to me. One would not think that a canine would want a sssnake for a ssservant…but he hasss never laid a hand on me out of anger or…lussst.”
“I see, I see. And you, what do you do in what free time your station allows, lovely?” Askar’s eyes flickering down shyly at the affectionate term, but shrugs her small, scaled shoulders. “I urm…I do like making sssmall thingsss, thisss and that with sssome sssalvage”
"Oh? Is that so Askar? What sort of things? Do you mind showing me?” Her surprise being authentic, Lauriel quirked her head slightly at the girl’s hobby. Perhaps she showed some promising talents beyond her role here at Nylar and Co. “I ummm…well artsss and craftsss primarily, madam Sssarina.” Reaching into a small satchel she kept various keys and other things in, Asker pulled out a small amber wrapped up in fine wire in a very carefully and perfectly spaced swirling pattern. Sheepishly, if a reptile could manage such a gesture, Asker reached over and offered it to ‘Miss Sarina’.
Gratefully taking it and examining it, Lauriel smiled warmly and set it on the cushion of her divan. “That is very fine work Asker, even though I doubt that Nylar would appreciate you taking a stray amber, now would he?” Giving the younger woman a soft look, Lauriel smiled at Askar looking down shyly, and before the girl could respond, Lauriel continued. “You know Askar…I would like to buy this from you, if it is for sale that is. It would be our little secret.”
Perking up and her tongue flicking out briefly in happiness, Askar looked up at Lauriel tentatively. “A-are you sssssure, Misss Sssarina? It isss not great, jussst a little thing…”
Wryly smiling, Lauriel reached into her coinpurse and pulled out eight gold scales. Handing them to Askar, Lauriel quietly offered “Five now, for the trinket, and three more for exclusivity on any future works I decide to purchase and the right to commission works from you exclusively, my dear.” Knowing that even for the price of five ambers that such was far too much, the girl had some natural talent, and perhaps her skills could be of use in the future. More so than that though, Lauriel knew that earning the girl’s admiration was worth more than its weight in gold, and loyalty, especially from those with a personality such as Askar’s, was lasting and would bear fruits in the future.
Besides herself with joy at having money of any sort, especially such an amount as such, Askar was unable to reply, merely to take the offered payment in extreme exuberance, hissing happily and giddily laughing. Fidgeting with the golden scales, never having held one in her hand before, and not one accustomed to money given her status as a slave, her mind raced as the numerous possibilities of what she could do with such funds.
A clash of two opposing elements. Ice conjured by Helen's cryomancy and fire brought forth by Lars' pyromancy. Cold ire with burning brazenness. It seemed inevitable that this sort of clash was going to escalate before long. Granted, Helen's resolve ought to have been stronger - her training and discipline meaning to prevail over the impetuous actions of short-sighted rage and retribution. In her leading of an attack rather than defending herself, she stood up against one of the tenets of her order as a priestess, as a druidess, as Irsia's favoured acolyte. How could she have allowed herself to be brought to this point? And then, where did she find the sheer amount of wrath to imbue her strike so strongly? Even with the wavering on the priestess' side, her attack pierced true and endured the mage's fiery retaliation, though altered considerably from it's original purpose. No longer a piercing projectile, the shard became dulled and morphed into more of a blunt sphere that knocked Lars back.
In a sense, after a rudimentary guarded stance against the fire magus' magically conjured fire - the tongues of which scarcely reached the snow leopardess herself and merely lapped at the magical frost covering the blue blade of Helen's naginata, she was glad her attack was thwarted so. Or altered, at the very least. Made into a much less harmful attack compared to what it was originally. It still held her in silent astonishment that she'd allow herself to be brought to this point - leading the attack. Perhaps Lars' taunts and verbal jabs simply overcame her to the point of coaxing an attack out of her, or perhaps the perception of being pressed against a wall stirred the predator in her to lash out. As a means of defending herself against what she instinctively perceived as a threat.
She watched the scene she caused in powerless horror. She arrived as an emissary of Steadfast, representing the wisdom and good-will of the Benevolent... instead to show herself as an aggressor, an assassin, showing fangs more attributive to the bestial deities. Ones she still adhered to on account of being a druidess. And, in a way, that side of her sought to justify her actions. She struck the one who'd badmouth her in public and display her might. A crude yet effective argument that could win disputes, but one that stood so starkly at odds with the Benevolent's arts of persuasion. Helen acted brashly and thus, with her eyes turned skywards, begged the Light of Dawn for forgiveness.
And then, as though answering her silent prayers, she heard a voice among the rising squalor of a deeply agitated crowd. More and more was the crowd convinced that she was the aggressor and needed to be chased away. She held on to her weapon guardedly, eyes darting around for the source of the booming voice she had heard. The impeccable command that immediately put the rabble to silence.
In an instant, Helen thought she was seeing the avatar of the Benevolent emerging - her hold on her weapon wavering and the tension leaving her muscles almost instantly. She watched, in stunned silence, as the radiant figure moved among the humans, soothing and calming them in ways she, too, should've been able to calm them. But, alas, she was the enemy here and wondered whether the avatar would be smitten for her misdeed...
But, as she was warily clutching onto her weapon, she took a half-step back when the avatar eventually began to advance in her direction. ((1d20 fortitude throw; 12 +1 (good constitution) = 13 vs. 22 - failed)) But this presence. This overwhelmingly calming presence - she could not stand against it. ((1d20 willpower throw; 5 -2 (wavering) = 3 vs. 14 - failed)) Further, the avatar's soothing words promptly had her lowering her weapon, the magical frost that imbued it dispersing and returning the steely look to the blade. "Are you... forgive me-..." The snow leopardess uttered, eyes downcast. Given her state of extreme remorse and being shaken by all that has happened, Helen scarcely noticed details about Saryn - certainly not noticing her frailty on account of believing she was a divine figure, an avatar.
It didn't take much persuading for Helen to defeatedly follow Saryn - all fight gone out of her, replaced solely by anguish on account of what she's committed. After a little while of walking, following Saryn's invitation for the snow leopardess to talk of her woes and share her story, Helen replied;
"I was sent here on a diplomatic mission, as an emissary to discuss terms under which these people would peacefully agree to respect the borders of my home city - Steadfast. But I was... treated like an average visitor of whom a toll is expected. My friend..." She hesitated there a little. "... a taller draconian, talked his way past but... in making himself the good emissary, painted me as the angry and impulsive one - leaving me to deal with the demands of a toll and disarming myself on entry. I tried to explain I was an emissary... that my intentions were peaceful... but... I-... I wavered..."
Helen was looking towards her unshod feet, helping herself along with the use of her naginata. "I allowed myself to be swept up by foolish pride that led to anger and wrath... I-... I'm a priestess of Steadfast Cathedral... I should not let such feelings cloud my mind..."
She did not know whether it was her guilt and the deep desire for a kindred soul to hear her out that she opened up so easily, or the genuine belief she was almost confessing to the Avatar of the Benevolent, but since she could not immediately find herself in Irsia's company, she poured her heart out here and now instead. With very little coaxing.
Argus nodded silently to Huber's hopeful retort, smiling to hear there were some - at the very least - who enjoyed the idea of unification. Little by little this stone could be weathered until the humans and Anthros could genuinely work together without anybody in Steadfast worrying there would be strife, vandalism and unrest happening on account of sharing the same living space. There were humans who visited Steadfast for trade and business - they were accepted. Why shouldn't craftsmen? Why not mercenaries and plain visitors? Everyone would benefit from this. Surely the Crown would see the benefits. Even Benevolent's angel would see it as good without dispute. Or, at the very least, the head priestess and the Master of his Order.
Upon approaching the second pair of guards closer to the command tent, Argus shifted idly from one foot to the other while listening to the exchange between Hubert and the guards. A secondary post that requested him to put his weapon away. This close to his goal, he felt he had no reason to try to force or sneak his way in. Instead, he reached for his mace - a symbol of station based on how elaborately crafted the weapon was - and presented it to the female guard to hold. He considered, however, then turned to offer it to the male instead. The weapon would turn out to be surprisingly heavy ((Strength check of 17+)) and might not be comfortably wielded by anyone without sufficient strength. It certainly wasn't a sword. It was a bludgeoning weapon meant to crush armour and break bone.
"If that is the ultimate condition I must abide in order to see with your leadership, I will comply." Indeed, he felt he was too close already to take it any other way. Unless Herbert spoke up in his favour, perhaps...?
The company by the Goldendown chatted and exchanged news for a time, Khetrys always keeping at least half of her attention on the proceedings regarding the loading and unloading of the ship. The usual groups of gawkers came and went, pointing and expressing awe at the mighty, sentient figurehead of the magnificent vessel. Before long, indeed, the two squires Anya was awaiting made their way out of the ship's quarters and down the gangplank to meet the others. One of them was a male fox, the other a female cat. The male looked considerably worse off in terms of how he handled the travel compared to his feline friend who, though definitely lacking sea-legs, seemed more collected and capable of finding her bearings pretty easily.
Anya's glance alerted Khetrys to their emergence, and subsequently had Tycho ogling over the female and earning quick jab to the ribs for it.
"I'm not doin' nothin'!" He complained.
But the monk, instead, addressed the squires. "Welcome to Steadfast, young squires of the Order. I am glad you have answered the summons of the Academy to further your education in the ways of the Golden Dawn and further find your way within it's ranks." Anya stated, formally. Beside her, the tiger rolled his eyes elaborately and shook his head.
The cat smiled warmly at that and opened her mouth to respond, but the fox interjected. "Can we pleeease find a bed that doesn't constantly sway from side to-" He paused, then quickly turned towards the waters of the bay to promptly return whatever contents of his belly he still had. Much to his friend's deep disgruntlement and disapproval.
"We stand before a representative of the Order and this is what you do?"
The fox retorted, coughing. "Oh lay off me."
Khetrys chuckled at the jovial banter, then turned to regard Anya and quirked a brow. "Sounds like you'll have your paws full."
"Not I. The officer will. But she has her ways." The monk replied.
"Ugh... I've about had enough. I'll head over to see if anything's happening at the arena." He turned towards the rookie cat then and winked tellingly before adding. "Can come watch me beat some poor contenders if you'd like~"
"He literally cannot take on anything grander - it's not worth the time." Anya remarked, earning a heavy scowl from Tycho. "I'll have you know I'm an arena master!"
"What? An arena? Heck - I'm in!" The fox exclaimed.
"A-ha! A lad after my own blood! How about you, kitty?" Tycho turned his attention to the Khajiit.
"Uhm... we really should be going to the Academy first..."
"Yes - that would be wiser."
"Eh... they can wait. Where's the arena?"
There was a clear conflict of interests, or simply a difference in priorities, between the two squires - one adhering to her duties while the other sought to have a little more fun. And Tycho seemed more than eager to take the fox along... even if he'd prefer the cat. "Well! In any case - I'm sure your friend will be able to show you the way should you ever change your mind and-"
"Tycho? That you I hear? Get your scrawny ass back to your duels and leave the younguns alone." The captain of the Goldendown said in her commanding tone, leaning against the port-side railing and looking down at the commotion.
The tiger looked momentarily perplexed, most eyes turning to regard captain Edarrah, followed by a brief, respectful salute from Khetrys. "Cap'n!"
"All as planned?" The Kitsune responded, tipping her head towards he first mate to ensure her she could stand at ease.
"No hiccups, cap'n!" Khetrys relaxed. Slightly.
While Anya did not condone the tone Edarrah had taken with Tycho, she nonetheless appreciated her input in deterring him away from the Squires.A little bit at least.
"D'oh! But I want to see the arena!"
"Once you check into the Academy, you may do what you please." The monk suggested.
The fox grudgingly agreed, whereas the cat smiled and simply nodded eagerly - ready to set out for the Temple Hill.
In a sense, after a rudimentary guarded stance against the fire magus' magically conjured fire - the tongues of which scarcely reached the snow leopardess herself and merely lapped at the magical frost covering the blue blade of Helen's naginata, she was glad her attack was thwarted so. Or altered, at the very least. Made into a much less harmful attack compared to what it was originally. It still held her in silent astonishment that she'd allow herself to be brought to this point - leading the attack. Perhaps Lars' taunts and verbal jabs simply overcame her to the point of coaxing an attack out of her, or perhaps the perception of being pressed against a wall stirred the predator in her to lash out. As a means of defending herself against what she instinctively perceived as a threat.
She watched the scene she caused in powerless horror. She arrived as an emissary of Steadfast, representing the wisdom and good-will of the Benevolent... instead to show herself as an aggressor, an assassin, showing fangs more attributive to the bestial deities. Ones she still adhered to on account of being a druidess. And, in a way, that side of her sought to justify her actions. She struck the one who'd badmouth her in public and display her might. A crude yet effective argument that could win disputes, but one that stood so starkly at odds with the Benevolent's arts of persuasion. Helen acted brashly and thus, with her eyes turned skywards, begged the Light of Dawn for forgiveness.
And then, as though answering her silent prayers, she heard a voice among the rising squalor of a deeply agitated crowd. More and more was the crowd convinced that she was the aggressor and needed to be chased away. She held on to her weapon guardedly, eyes darting around for the source of the booming voice she had heard. The impeccable command that immediately put the rabble to silence.
In an instant, Helen thought she was seeing the avatar of the Benevolent emerging - her hold on her weapon wavering and the tension leaving her muscles almost instantly. She watched, in stunned silence, as the radiant figure moved among the humans, soothing and calming them in ways she, too, should've been able to calm them. But, alas, she was the enemy here and wondered whether the avatar would be smitten for her misdeed...
But, as she was warily clutching onto her weapon, she took a half-step back when the avatar eventually began to advance in her direction. ((1d20 fortitude throw; 12 +1 (good constitution) = 13 vs. 22 - failed)) But this presence. This overwhelmingly calming presence - she could not stand against it. ((1d20 willpower throw; 5 -2 (wavering) = 3 vs. 14 - failed)) Further, the avatar's soothing words promptly had her lowering her weapon, the magical frost that imbued it dispersing and returning the steely look to the blade. "Are you... forgive me-..." The snow leopardess uttered, eyes downcast. Given her state of extreme remorse and being shaken by all that has happened, Helen scarcely noticed details about Saryn - certainly not noticing her frailty on account of believing she was a divine figure, an avatar.
It didn't take much persuading for Helen to defeatedly follow Saryn - all fight gone out of her, replaced solely by anguish on account of what she's committed. After a little while of walking, following Saryn's invitation for the snow leopardess to talk of her woes and share her story, Helen replied;
"I was sent here on a diplomatic mission, as an emissary to discuss terms under which these people would peacefully agree to respect the borders of my home city - Steadfast. But I was... treated like an average visitor of whom a toll is expected. My friend..." She hesitated there a little. "... a taller draconian, talked his way past but... in making himself the good emissary, painted me as the angry and impulsive one - leaving me to deal with the demands of a toll and disarming myself on entry. I tried to explain I was an emissary... that my intentions were peaceful... but... I-... I wavered..."
Helen was looking towards her unshod feet, helping herself along with the use of her naginata. "I allowed myself to be swept up by foolish pride that led to anger and wrath... I-... I'm a priestess of Steadfast Cathedral... I should not let such feelings cloud my mind..."
She did not know whether it was her guilt and the deep desire for a kindred soul to hear her out that she opened up so easily, or the genuine belief she was almost confessing to the Avatar of the Benevolent, but since she could not immediately find herself in Irsia's company, she poured her heart out here and now instead. With very little coaxing.
* * * * *
Towards the Command Tent within the Solemn Stand
Towards the Command Tent within the Solemn Stand
Argus nodded silently to Huber's hopeful retort, smiling to hear there were some - at the very least - who enjoyed the idea of unification. Little by little this stone could be weathered until the humans and Anthros could genuinely work together without anybody in Steadfast worrying there would be strife, vandalism and unrest happening on account of sharing the same living space. There were humans who visited Steadfast for trade and business - they were accepted. Why shouldn't craftsmen? Why not mercenaries and plain visitors? Everyone would benefit from this. Surely the Crown would see the benefits. Even Benevolent's angel would see it as good without dispute. Or, at the very least, the head priestess and the Master of his Order.
Upon approaching the second pair of guards closer to the command tent, Argus shifted idly from one foot to the other while listening to the exchange between Hubert and the guards. A secondary post that requested him to put his weapon away. This close to his goal, he felt he had no reason to try to force or sneak his way in. Instead, he reached for his mace - a symbol of station based on how elaborately crafted the weapon was - and presented it to the female guard to hold. He considered, however, then turned to offer it to the male instead. The weapon would turn out to be surprisingly heavy ((Strength check of 17+)) and might not be comfortably wielded by anyone without sufficient strength. It certainly wasn't a sword. It was a bludgeoning weapon meant to crush armour and break bone.
"If that is the ultimate condition I must abide in order to see with your leadership, I will comply." Indeed, he felt he was too close already to take it any other way. Unless Herbert spoke up in his favour, perhaps...?
* * * * *
At the Steadfast Port
At the Steadfast Port
The company by the Goldendown chatted and exchanged news for a time, Khetrys always keeping at least half of her attention on the proceedings regarding the loading and unloading of the ship. The usual groups of gawkers came and went, pointing and expressing awe at the mighty, sentient figurehead of the magnificent vessel. Before long, indeed, the two squires Anya was awaiting made their way out of the ship's quarters and down the gangplank to meet the others. One of them was a male fox, the other a female cat. The male looked considerably worse off in terms of how he handled the travel compared to his feline friend who, though definitely lacking sea-legs, seemed more collected and capable of finding her bearings pretty easily.
Anya's glance alerted Khetrys to their emergence, and subsequently had Tycho ogling over the female and earning quick jab to the ribs for it.
"I'm not doin' nothin'!" He complained.
But the monk, instead, addressed the squires. "Welcome to Steadfast, young squires of the Order. I am glad you have answered the summons of the Academy to further your education in the ways of the Golden Dawn and further find your way within it's ranks." Anya stated, formally. Beside her, the tiger rolled his eyes elaborately and shook his head.
The cat smiled warmly at that and opened her mouth to respond, but the fox interjected. "Can we pleeease find a bed that doesn't constantly sway from side to-" He paused, then quickly turned towards the waters of the bay to promptly return whatever contents of his belly he still had. Much to his friend's deep disgruntlement and disapproval.
"We stand before a representative of the Order and this is what you do?"
The fox retorted, coughing. "Oh lay off me."
Khetrys chuckled at the jovial banter, then turned to regard Anya and quirked a brow. "Sounds like you'll have your paws full."
"Not I. The officer will. But she has her ways." The monk replied.
"Ugh... I've about had enough. I'll head over to see if anything's happening at the arena." He turned towards the rookie cat then and winked tellingly before adding. "Can come watch me beat some poor contenders if you'd like~"
"He literally cannot take on anything grander - it's not worth the time." Anya remarked, earning a heavy scowl from Tycho. "I'll have you know I'm an arena master!"
"What? An arena? Heck - I'm in!" The fox exclaimed.
"A-ha! A lad after my own blood! How about you, kitty?" Tycho turned his attention to the Khajiit.
"Uhm... we really should be going to the Academy first..."
"Yes - that would be wiser."
"Eh... they can wait. Where's the arena?"
There was a clear conflict of interests, or simply a difference in priorities, between the two squires - one adhering to her duties while the other sought to have a little more fun. And Tycho seemed more than eager to take the fox along... even if he'd prefer the cat. "Well! In any case - I'm sure your friend will be able to show you the way should you ever change your mind and-"
"Tycho? That you I hear? Get your scrawny ass back to your duels and leave the younguns alone." The captain of the Goldendown said in her commanding tone, leaning against the port-side railing and looking down at the commotion.
The tiger looked momentarily perplexed, most eyes turning to regard captain Edarrah, followed by a brief, respectful salute from Khetrys. "Cap'n!"
"All as planned?" The Kitsune responded, tipping her head towards he first mate to ensure her she could stand at ease.
"No hiccups, cap'n!" Khetrys relaxed. Slightly.
While Anya did not condone the tone Edarrah had taken with Tycho, she nonetheless appreciated her input in deterring him away from the Squires.A little bit at least.
"D'oh! But I want to see the arena!"
"Once you check into the Academy, you may do what you please." The monk suggested.
The fox grudgingly agreed, whereas the cat smiled and simply nodded eagerly - ready to set out for the Temple Hill.
Leaving the scene as the pair slowly walked through a parting crowd, Saryn tred on at a metered pace to keep in line with Helen, but not striving forth to guide their walk, allowing the pair to walk where their feet took them. With wisdom which stretched far beyond her years as a byproduct of her being touched by the divine, she gently watched the snow leopard as she told her tale, and in her own way, confessed to a misdeed.
Heading past the crowd and in the vague direction of Steadfast’s walls, when the snow leopard seemed to be done, or at least done talking for the moment given how her voice as thoughts trailed off, Saryn nodded softly. A knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips, Saryn let out a small sigh- not out of exasperation or dismissal, but at the woes the other woman had experienced. In a soothing tone, Saryn sought to offer what aid and wisdom she could to the situation at hand. (1d20 for Saryn’s soothing aura; Natural 20 + 6 (wisdom and being touched by the divine) 26) “I might have guessed as such from your spirit- that you were a devoted servant of the Benevolent that is. Having a strong-willed being who is devoted to their faith serving as part of a delegation shows wisdom on Steadfast’s part, and if only all delegates had the wisdom and benevolence that the members of the Cathedral possess…But that is neither here nor there…Why not tell me more of your ‘friend’ as you put it. Have you known him long? Is there a past between you two which would lead him to abandoning you so? Surely he was chosen for his moral fortitude and knowledge of diplomatic matters or else he would not have accompanied you, no? Or was it you who were accompanying him? Isti, praise be unto him, is who I serve and have had the divine honor of bearing his touch, his grace. He, not so different from your Benevolent, teaches tolerance and perhaps more importantly, introspection. We should not judge others hastily lest we forgo judging ourselves…”
Slightly slowing her stride and coming to a halt leaving the pair out of earshot of others but still near the main path from Steadfast to Solemn Stand, Saryn, with her gaze warmly centered in Helen, gently pointed at the snow leopard’s weapon and continued. “While on that matter however, such raises a further question, and one which is perhaps so obvious that you have missed it thus far: Was your delegation announced and expected? You obviously came prepared, and prepared for anything, which leads me to believe that your diplomatic mission was not exactly a matter of statecraft by the crown. Lord Chalsin may be many things, but if there is one thing he adores, it is pomp and circumstance, and I believe that if your visit had been coordinated and official, that he would have…savored the chance to honor such.” Pausing for a moment, Saryn looked back at Solemn Stand before turning back to Helen. “Regardless, however the situation came to be tensions are running high, and there are many, some of which I believe might be in positions of power, wish anything but good relations between our two peoples and ways of life….” (1d20 for Saryn’s persuasion; 4 + 6 (wisdom and being touched by the divine) 10)
Outside of the Command Tent
Argus’s offer of his weapon to Lathor instead of Harriet caused her already tense features to turn into a scowl, and she promptly crossed her arms. Lathor meanwhile flashed a small smile at the show of respect to him and not his partner, Harriet. Reaching forth with both hands to grab the proffered weapon for safekeeping, Hubert nodded his head faintly in thanks. (1d20 for Lathor’s strength; 9 + 1 (guard training) +1 (preparedness) 11) With a heavy ‘umph’, Lathor dropped the blunt end of the weapon with a dull ‘thud’ on the dirt and kicked up a small dust cloud as the head hit the ground.
Hubert, watching Argus hand over his weapon, had his misgivings over such, but did not want to cause a ruckus and figured that such was only fair given it was a diplomatic mission. Feelings of friendship or not, Argus was showing his true colors as a diplomat, and far better Hubert reckoned, than his snow leopard counterpart had. However, at the dropping of the adorned head of Argus’s mace into the dirt, Hubert stepped forward and spoke up in a hasty and appeasing tone. “Lathor, be more careful with that! Can’t you see it is a fine weapon and a symbol of our guest’s power and station? Why not let him bring it inside and he can set it…set it down in the foyer. The ground there is stonework and carpeting, and at least there it will not get dirty or scuffed by you dropping it about.” (1d20 for Hubert’s persuasion; 16 – 1 (unorthodox request) 15)
Clumsily looking up at the pair and then back at Harriet, Lathor offered a meager smile at Argus. (1d20 for Lathor’s persuasion check; 3 – 1 (awkwardness) 2 vs 15- failed) (1d20 for Harriet’s persuasion check; 8 + 1 (unorthodox request) + 2 (feeling insulted by Argus’s act) 11 vs 15- failed) Lathor, opening his mouth to speak up as he tilted the handle at Argus, was met with a smack to the back of his head by Harriet. With an irritated grumble, Harriet scowled at Lathor and grabbed the handle of the mace and tugged it away from him. Abjectly looking down, Lathor sighed and took a step back as Harriet looked up at the pair seeking entrance. Putting her free hand on her hip, she huffed and looked Argus in the eye. Asserting her dominance, or at least seeking to, Harriet grumpily spoke as she tilted the handle in Argus’s direction to offer him his weapon back. “I so much as hear that you carried this into the meet Shay you will be lucky if we do not have a nice blue lizardhide throwrug for the foyer by day’s end, am I clear?” (1d20 for Harriet’s intimidation; 14 14)
Down the street from Argus and Hubert
Having kept his distance, Alkar peered out from underneath his heavy hood and watched with a wry wolfish grin as one of the inner guard’s dropped the Lizardman’s mace unceremoniously. Holding back a chuckle, Alkar reached up and scratched the underside of his snout, only to let out a slight wince as his claws ran over a covered scar. The memory of the scar souring his mood, not the inconvenience of it, Alkar let out a small barely audible growl. ‘That oaf is given finery and fine weapons for what? Reciting a few prayers as a part of his order? I struggled, my people gave everything for Steadfast, the true Steadfast, and what do I have to show for it? A handful of scars, a broken keep and the scattered remnants of my people…I should take that symbol of power and deliver his head on a platter back to the pretender on the throne as a symbol of MY power…’ (1d20 for Alkar’s resolve; 13 13)
With an angry snarl, Alkar slipped away, looping around the city center and the command tent and heading towards a side entrance to Solemn Stand’s ‘keep’. Bloodshed might have to wait for the self-righteous defender of ‘the Benevolent’ to have his words with the human leadership, but Alkar did not see a problem in letting his anger simmer while he watched over the two. ‘A little reconnaissance, a little looking into what he is doing here, and I am sure Lauriel will have me begging me to paint the streets red with that forked-tongued fool’s innards…’
Elsewhere in Steadfast
Sleeping away the day in the complete darkness of her richly adorned chambers, the one only known as ‘The Mask’ by Lauriel and her followers stirred. Opening her eyes and rolling over onto her side, she gazed at her namesake’s ornate headgear situated on top of a polished human skull that rested on her nightstand. With a crooked smile slipping across her noble features, she let out a content sigh. Tonight there would be fun abound…tonight she would whet her appetite once more…
Heading past the crowd and in the vague direction of Steadfast’s walls, when the snow leopard seemed to be done, or at least done talking for the moment given how her voice as thoughts trailed off, Saryn nodded softly. A knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips, Saryn let out a small sigh- not out of exasperation or dismissal, but at the woes the other woman had experienced. In a soothing tone, Saryn sought to offer what aid and wisdom she could to the situation at hand. (1d20 for Saryn’s soothing aura; Natural 20 + 6 (wisdom and being touched by the divine) 26) “I might have guessed as such from your spirit- that you were a devoted servant of the Benevolent that is. Having a strong-willed being who is devoted to their faith serving as part of a delegation shows wisdom on Steadfast’s part, and if only all delegates had the wisdom and benevolence that the members of the Cathedral possess…But that is neither here nor there…Why not tell me more of your ‘friend’ as you put it. Have you known him long? Is there a past between you two which would lead him to abandoning you so? Surely he was chosen for his moral fortitude and knowledge of diplomatic matters or else he would not have accompanied you, no? Or was it you who were accompanying him? Isti, praise be unto him, is who I serve and have had the divine honor of bearing his touch, his grace. He, not so different from your Benevolent, teaches tolerance and perhaps more importantly, introspection. We should not judge others hastily lest we forgo judging ourselves…”
Slightly slowing her stride and coming to a halt leaving the pair out of earshot of others but still near the main path from Steadfast to Solemn Stand, Saryn, with her gaze warmly centered in Helen, gently pointed at the snow leopard’s weapon and continued. “While on that matter however, such raises a further question, and one which is perhaps so obvious that you have missed it thus far: Was your delegation announced and expected? You obviously came prepared, and prepared for anything, which leads me to believe that your diplomatic mission was not exactly a matter of statecraft by the crown. Lord Chalsin may be many things, but if there is one thing he adores, it is pomp and circumstance, and I believe that if your visit had been coordinated and official, that he would have…savored the chance to honor such.” Pausing for a moment, Saryn looked back at Solemn Stand before turning back to Helen. “Regardless, however the situation came to be tensions are running high, and there are many, some of which I believe might be in positions of power, wish anything but good relations between our two peoples and ways of life….” (1d20 for Saryn’s persuasion; 4 + 6 (wisdom and being touched by the divine) 10)
Outside of the Command Tent
Argus’s offer of his weapon to Lathor instead of Harriet caused her already tense features to turn into a scowl, and she promptly crossed her arms. Lathor meanwhile flashed a small smile at the show of respect to him and not his partner, Harriet. Reaching forth with both hands to grab the proffered weapon for safekeeping, Hubert nodded his head faintly in thanks. (1d20 for Lathor’s strength; 9 + 1 (guard training) +1 (preparedness) 11) With a heavy ‘umph’, Lathor dropped the blunt end of the weapon with a dull ‘thud’ on the dirt and kicked up a small dust cloud as the head hit the ground.
Hubert, watching Argus hand over his weapon, had his misgivings over such, but did not want to cause a ruckus and figured that such was only fair given it was a diplomatic mission. Feelings of friendship or not, Argus was showing his true colors as a diplomat, and far better Hubert reckoned, than his snow leopard counterpart had. However, at the dropping of the adorned head of Argus’s mace into the dirt, Hubert stepped forward and spoke up in a hasty and appeasing tone. “Lathor, be more careful with that! Can’t you see it is a fine weapon and a symbol of our guest’s power and station? Why not let him bring it inside and he can set it…set it down in the foyer. The ground there is stonework and carpeting, and at least there it will not get dirty or scuffed by you dropping it about.” (1d20 for Hubert’s persuasion; 16 – 1 (unorthodox request) 15)
Clumsily looking up at the pair and then back at Harriet, Lathor offered a meager smile at Argus. (1d20 for Lathor’s persuasion check; 3 – 1 (awkwardness) 2 vs 15- failed) (1d20 for Harriet’s persuasion check; 8 + 1 (unorthodox request) + 2 (feeling insulted by Argus’s act) 11 vs 15- failed) Lathor, opening his mouth to speak up as he tilted the handle at Argus, was met with a smack to the back of his head by Harriet. With an irritated grumble, Harriet scowled at Lathor and grabbed the handle of the mace and tugged it away from him. Abjectly looking down, Lathor sighed and took a step back as Harriet looked up at the pair seeking entrance. Putting her free hand on her hip, she huffed and looked Argus in the eye. Asserting her dominance, or at least seeking to, Harriet grumpily spoke as she tilted the handle in Argus’s direction to offer him his weapon back. “I so much as hear that you carried this into the meet Shay you will be lucky if we do not have a nice blue lizardhide throwrug for the foyer by day’s end, am I clear?” (1d20 for Harriet’s intimidation; 14 14)
Down the street from Argus and Hubert
Having kept his distance, Alkar peered out from underneath his heavy hood and watched with a wry wolfish grin as one of the inner guard’s dropped the Lizardman’s mace unceremoniously. Holding back a chuckle, Alkar reached up and scratched the underside of his snout, only to let out a slight wince as his claws ran over a covered scar. The memory of the scar souring his mood, not the inconvenience of it, Alkar let out a small barely audible growl. ‘That oaf is given finery and fine weapons for what? Reciting a few prayers as a part of his order? I struggled, my people gave everything for Steadfast, the true Steadfast, and what do I have to show for it? A handful of scars, a broken keep and the scattered remnants of my people…I should take that symbol of power and deliver his head on a platter back to the pretender on the throne as a symbol of MY power…’ (1d20 for Alkar’s resolve; 13 13)
With an angry snarl, Alkar slipped away, looping around the city center and the command tent and heading towards a side entrance to Solemn Stand’s ‘keep’. Bloodshed might have to wait for the self-righteous defender of ‘the Benevolent’ to have his words with the human leadership, but Alkar did not see a problem in letting his anger simmer while he watched over the two. ‘A little reconnaissance, a little looking into what he is doing here, and I am sure Lauriel will have me begging me to paint the streets red with that forked-tongued fool’s innards…’
Elsewhere in Steadfast
Sleeping away the day in the complete darkness of her richly adorned chambers, the one only known as ‘The Mask’ by Lauriel and her followers stirred. Opening her eyes and rolling over onto her side, she gazed at her namesake’s ornate headgear situated on top of a polished human skull that rested on her nightstand. With a crooked smile slipping across her noble features, she let out a content sigh. Tonight there would be fun abound…tonight she would whet her appetite once more…