|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on May 29, 2019 22:42:25 GMT
It isn’t much to look at, but the long stone warehouse seems to have largely survived the depredations of the rest of the area. The frontage takes up roughly seventy feet, nearly a quarter of the length of Tallow Street, and the tall stone edifice stands bluff and windowless amid the squalor and refuse of the mostly abandoned neighbourhood.
“She’s not pretty, but she has good bones. The roof needs work in the south west corner, but the beams are solid, and that’s Grey Tree granite in those walls – it’ll last a thousand years if it lasts a day.”
The man stood next to Varis seems to echo his own thoughts, his clipped, energetic voice belying his nearly seven decades of life. Dressed in simple grey tunic and trousers, his black riding boots gleaming even in the dull spring light, Frederick Allenby carries his years well, his only concession to age a thin, black lacquered cane topped with a silver wolf head.
“It won’t take long for the lads to put in the internal walls, build some bunks, get the place habitable.”
Varis nods his head, eyes ranging along the eaves, absorbing every detail as Allenby’s labourers swarm over the structure, erecting scaffolds and clearing debris. He catches himself idly noting choke points and possible defensive positions, shaking his head to clear it. It’s hard sometimes to switch off the soldier in him.
“Good. We’ll need to make sure the kitchen is up and running quickly too. They eat like dragons at that age.”
He turns to look at the older man, smiling warmly, excitement making his green eyes shine. Allenby’s clear blue gaze sparkles back from beneath thick silver eyebrows.
“You’re a good man, Freddy. I can see why she puts so much faith in you. But let’s remember, this is not a barracks we’re building. It needs to feel like home. Gods know they’ve been through enough.”
Allenby gives a single nod of silent agreement, wisps of white hair stirring in the breeze.
“What about the plot in the back? How much can we clear, do you think?”
The former soldier frowns at a speck of dust as he brushes it from an otherwise spotless tunic.
“The old wagon yard can be cleared – maybe half an acre? Should be plenty for now. If we need more later, we can make offers to the owners of the surrounding lots. We’d need to invest a little more capital to make that happen but it shouldn’t be a problem. Have you spoken to your druid yet?”
Varis winces, a ruefull smile spreading over his face at the thought of how Daisy would react if she heard herself described as ‘his druid’.
“No, not yet, but I’m sure she’ll be able to help. This is the kind of undertaking she would whole-heartedly support.”
Allenby nods, looking round to meet the younger man's eyes.
“Good. Get them working with their hands, learning to grow food and tend the soil. Honest work. What about the name? Have you decided?”
Varis is silent a moment, looking up to where the sun is just breaking through the clouds, golden rays making the granite glitter like spring frost. He hopes this will be a place of joy, of comfort. Of safety. Gods know the world could use a little more of that. Turning back to Frederick he nods, a deep calm filling him for the first time in what feels like years.
“Yes. We’ll call it Thia’s Refuge.” |
|
|
|
Post by Sunday on May 30, 2019 10:40:19 GMT
(Aka “The one where Varis tries to stay relevant.....”)
|
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on May 30, 2019 11:13:18 GMT
(Aka “The one where Varis tries to stay relevant.....”) Savage. |
|
|
|
Post by Nuno (Rholor) on May 31, 2019 9:36:14 GMT
(Aka “The one where Varis tries to stay relevant.....”) oof. |
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on May 31, 2019 13:59:40 GMT
(Aka “The one where Varis tries to stay relevant.....”) oof. All those flavours and he had to be salty... |
|
|
|
Post by theduchess on Jun 2, 2019 18:57:25 GMT
Frederick stood motionless as the workers buzzed around him. His keen eyes surveying their every move. His hands gripping his cane firmly. "We need more water Master Colvin. These are hot days. Exhaustion can kill a man."
"Right away sir!" replied the barrel chested worker. The building was far from ready but there was an optimism in the air. "Don't address me as sir Master Colvin. Mr Allenby will do just fine."
He'd been in Daring for over a year and a half since being summoned from the Dales. He'd left his lonely retirement cottage to get back to the hustle and bustle of working life. "There's no one else I can trust...." The letter had said. "It'll be a new beginning..." Though sceptical, Frederick had done his duty, as he always had done. It took a few weeks but he was soon enjoying his work in Daring. He'd seen a city grow rapidly, surrounded by an untamed land. A new purpose brought new energy.
There'd been highs and lows, but the Duchess had endured, and so had the project. Despite pushing 70, Frederick had at times gotten his own hands dirty. What impressed him the most was the Duchess's single mindedness and determination to succeed. He had seen this before in his life, and was more impressive than any magic spell or swing of an axe. The Duchess of Daring wasn't what he envisioned at first, but he was fully behind it all.
The orphanage was the natural next step and something close to Frederick's heart. "I need that roof sorted by dark" barked the old soldier as he paced around the perimeter of the old warehouse. "Yes Mr Allenby" responded the pair who were busy up above. The workforce were a well drilled machine. There were no slackers here. The pay was good, and if you weren't up to it, there were plenty of others who were. "Update the foreman before you leave, I'm speaking to her later." The pair nodded firmly and carried on.
Walking through the busy streets, as the sun began to set, Frederick's mind wandered. The building would be relatively easy compared to the hardest task. Raising young boys and girls. This was an area however which Frederick was familiar with. He had started by raising his own son as he had been raised, with 'The belt and the book'. Though, through trial and error, he learnt this wasn't for every child, especially his own. The choice of those educating these youngsters was already on his mind. It was something to raise with Varis, though he had a few ideas.
Just like me, they need a purpose, he thought. Something to work towards, something to cherish and something to protect. Looking at the faces of Daring's citizens as he strode home, he gave a faint smile. He knew the answer.
|
|
|
|
Post by Malri 'Taffeta' Thistletop on Jun 5, 2019 10:27:46 GMT
😮 Mystery! Intrigue!
|
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 1, 2019 15:25:15 GMT
The ancient denizens of the Angelbark Woods stretch toward the sky, great pillars of green and brown, as dim sunlight trickles between their boughs like sand to pool among the lesser plants that clothe the forest floor. Soft mulch muffles the sound of Tuevel’s hooves as the great Silver Stag picks his way between the verdant giants, the ornate saddle rocking silently Varis in time with his friend’s gait.
Tuevel stops, nosing the air. His great head turns slowly, mossy eyes settling on a small roe deer that has stopped to watch the strange procession. Varis feels a slight shift in his companion, tastes the faintest hint of something in the air, then the smaller animal lopes away and Tuevel alters their course, heading north east into the green gloom.
“I have found her, Arael’Tan”
His companion’s words do not disturb the cool quiet of the deep forest, rather sliding into his mind like pebbles into a mountain pool. He does not respond, instead crouching low in the saddle and squeezing gently with his heels. With an audible snort, the great stag lopes forward, lengthening his stride and abandoning all notions of subtlety. As Tuevel swiftly builds to a full gallop, Varis feels a burst of hot joy, though whether it is his or his friends he cannot tell. The trunks of trees older than empires blur around them, all sound lost to the rush of wind past their ears and the fierce delight of the hunt. He cannot tell if it is minutes or hours before Tuevel pulls up short in a cloud of dead leaves and forest debris, his head lifting to a branch perhaps forty feet up in the canopy.
Perched regally on the bough is an eagle of extraordinary size, looking as though it could probably carry off a man if it had a mind to. Almost lazily, it drops from it’s perch, deftly navigating the trunks and branches to settle on the forest floor. As it does, it’s form begins to shift, great wings thinning and shrinking, beak retracting as the feather’s soften into skin and a strange, dark hide armour.
With a smile, Varis slides from his saddle, soft black boots giving a gentle thump as he hits the ground and stumbles a little. Unusually, he is without either armour or weapons today, clad instead in a simple black tunic and breeches, though tellingly he still walks as though carrying seventy pounds of steel on his back.
“Daisy. It’s good to see you my friend. I am sorry I could not join you in Mechanus. I was with our allies in Vorsthold, seeing some of my soldiers settled there and speaking with the council. By the time I returned, you had already been and gone. Sunday says you were successful. Though she did seem perturbed by that place…”
Varis’s eyes take on a faraway look as he loses himself in thoughts of Sunday’s warnings. Shaking himself gently as though clearing his head, he turns his gaze upon the dwarven woman once more.
“I am afraid I have not come for the pleasure of your company alone.”
Behind him, Tuevel snorts loudly, and Varis throws his friend an amused look, before turning back to Daisy with a boyish grin.
“I have a favour to ask.” |
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 6, 2019 16:39:40 GMT
The difference a few weeks honest work can make is truly astonishing. Where once stood a blank stone facing ten feet or so back from the mud and turned cobbles of Tallow Street, now an elegant wall, half masonry and topped with delicate wrought iron bars encloses a small pocket of paradise. In the short space between street and door, thick grass and flowering bushes carpet the ground. Granite flagstones trace a path from the gate to a large, oaken double door painted a bright, friendly yellow. Against the bars of the low outer wall, young fruit trees spread heavy boughs and fill the air with the buzzing of bees and the smells of springtime. The building itself has been fitted with small pitons and wires, around which curl the first tentative vines of wisteria and jasmine, orange blossom and clematis, reaching from raised beds toward the carved wooden eaves of the old warehouse.
Smiling, Varis pushes open the front door and passes out of the bright spring sunshine into the cool shade of the hallway. His boots click on the smooth stone floor as he passes by open doors to simple but comfortable looking bunk rooms, an infirmary, a classroom - even a small library. Toward the back of the building, the hallway opens into a large dining room, where two long tables sit surrounded by wooden stools of varying heights. Everything looks new, oil still gleaming on the table tops and filling the broad room with a faint tang of linseed. There is no trace of luxury, but everything is well made, sturdy and comfortable, the kind of furniture you might find in the home of a prosperous farmer. Turning back out into the hall, Varis climbs the stairs, finding at last the door he is looking for, which stands ajar just beyond the landing. The young man knocks once, and at a brisk invitation from the room’s occupant, enters the cosy space Allenby has set aside as his office.
The man himself looks up from behind a walnut desk where he is making notes on a document in a clipped, efficient hand. His pale blue eyes twinkle as they light on the young half elf, and he gives one of his rare smiles.
“Ah, just the man. One moment.”
With careful precision he blots the parchment and cleans the nib of his pen, placing both into a drawer in the desk and locking it with a small silver key from a chain around his neck. Then he stands, striding briskly towards the door.
“Come with me. Someone I want you to meet.”
Frederick leads the way back down the stairs and through the mess, to a simple wooden door set into the back of building. Turning the handle, the older gentleman passes out of the cool, airy dining hall and into a riot of colour and sound that almost takes Varis’s breath away.
Where once a dusty wagon yard sat clogged with debris, a combination of Allenby’s workmen and Daisy’s magic have created a rural idyll much at odds with the surrounding urban landscape. High stone walls block much of the sound and dust from the city, and within them trees and flowering vines create a haven of colour and fragrance. The space nearest the house consists of several large squares of freshly turned earth, from which small green sprouts push towards the spring sunshine. Further back, fruit trees stand in orderly rows, many already in full bloom. Fat honeybees hum between blossoms before buzzing lazily back to a row of hives against the eastern wall, and everywhere birds sing and flit among branches.
The final third of the great garden is wilder, less planned. Oak, ash and birch sit among tangles of blackberry and other low shrubs, young now but already impressive in size. A small, red pelted squirrel jumps from branch to branch, eyes wide as it searches for food. At the foot of the largest tree in the grove – a silver birch that almost tops the south wall – stands a small group of figures.
The first is as familiar as his own reflection; long, pearlescent haunches pushing his silver antlers level with the top of the birch. Tuevel turns as Varis and Allenby approach, green eyes catching the morning sun as it slips between the boughs of the surrounding foliage. The young half elf feels a familiar contact at the back of his mind, an acknowledgement from his friend, and sends the same in return.
The other three cluster together, dwarfed by the great Silver Stag, though as Varis approaches, he realises that one of them is perhaps not as small as he might have expected. Two children – a Halfling girl who can’t be more than five years old and a blue-skinned boy with the stubby horns and yellow cat’s eyes of a Phlegethan Tiefling – stand pressed against the legs of a much taller girl. A rough, dun tunic covers broad shoulders, and the hands placed protectively over the two smaller children are a murky grey-blue colour, like an evening sky in storm. High cheekbones and wideset brown eyes flecked with gold sit beneath a widows-peak of pitch-black hair in a face that is youthful, but bears the weariness and suspicion of one used to struggle. The young Goliath casts her eyes quickly over the shoulder of the approaching half elf, seeming to dismiss Allenby, before returning to give Varis a practiced appraisal.
“Varis, this is Vaalea, Nym and Little Rilla - the first of the children to come to the Refuge. Children, this is Master Nailo.” |
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 28, 2019 17:19:12 GMT
The houses and shops along the broad street throw deep shadows as the afternoon sun begins to sink towards the western mountains. Varis, clad in his usual black tunic and breeches, follows his nose as much as Sunday’s directions, drawing up just beneath a carved wooden sign showing a steaming pie. He smiles as his stomach makes its feelings audible, pushing through the door into the warm, fragrant shop where Nerry Shortcrust practises his trade. A small bell announces his arrival, but he raises his voice to reach through the opening behind the counter into what he imagines must be the kitchen.
“Mr Shortcrust? Might I have a moment of your time, sir?”
The curtain moves aside and the three-foot baker emerges from the back room.
"Hello there! Now, what can – Oh, I believe I know you! Mister Varis, isn't it?"
The younger man gives a respectful nod, smiling gently at his diminutive host.
“It is. I have fought beside your wife several times. She is a truly singular warrior and a…a good woman.”
Varis seems to appreciate for a brief moment the awkwardness of describing a person’s battle prowess to their spouse as he dusts flour from his hands. He moves on with only slightly telling alacrity.
“I’ve heard you’re a fine baker Mr Shortcrust, and more than that, a decent man. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’ve recently completed construction of an orphanage for the children of Daring. I know you were here for the Green Tide, and the Lassitude. There are many young people in this city with no one left to care for them, no path to walk that leads anywhere worth going. I’m doing what I can to give them a roof over their heads, full bellies and as much safety as this world can offer. But they can’t stay at the refuge forever. They’ll need people to help them make their way in this world, teach them a trade or a profession, give them a sense of purpose.”
He draws breath, taking a moment to let what he has said sink in, and to steady himself. He’s used to battlefields and barracks, the deep wilds and alien worlds. The simple peace of a place like this, the kind of life a man like Nerry Shortcrust lives makes him feel awkward, out of place, like a hammer in a box of spoons.
“I wondered if you might be able to use some help around here, and more than that, if you might be able to help a child find their way? I…”
He trails off, briefly lost for words.
“Well, I would count it a great personal favour, sir. I hope you and your family never need favours from a man like me, but all the same. I would be in your debt.”
During this, Nerry has ascended the steps behind his multi-storey counter to the third level placing him slightly above his visitor. He frowns in thought.
"Mmm, well, it sounds like a good thing you're doing, Mister Varis," he ventures. "I'll surely think on it. You understand I can't say yes nor no right away – got to think how I'd manage the thing. How old're we talking about, these youngsters?"
Varis grins, nodding his head enthusiastically before managing to claw back some of his composure.
“Of course, I completely understand. There’s no rush – the Refuge is only just getting started. I’m not sure what age the children will be yet – I imagine all sorts. What kind of age is right for an apprentice? When did you start to learn your craft?”
"Oh, you've no actual orphans yet? I see you're a man who likes to be prepared; good, good."
Nerry uses the sides of his palms to shuffle some scattered crumbs into a little pile on the counter-top and then pushes the pile off the counter into his other hand.
"I s'pose I was learning since I was a nipper, one way or another. But it's a bit different when your dad's a pie-maker and you practically live in the shop!"
Varis smiles at the obvious good humour of his host, feeling a small flash of pride in being vindicated in his choice.
“Well, I do have a few orphans. Three, to be precise. Two are very young – five or six years old, they’re not quite sure themselves. The other is older, maybe twelve? But they’re a little rough around the edges at the moment. Hunger and fear do that to a person. I’m hoping warm beds and full stomachs will do a lot, but we’ll have to see.”
The genuine concern in the young man’s face is plain.
“Anyway, when we have a few of them settled, maybe you’d like to come and visit the Refuge? See what we’re trying to do. Then you could meet some of the children. See if any of them have what it takes.”
Nerry listens, frowning slightly - probably just from concentration.
"Well," he replies, "twelve... That's human years, is it? Could be about right for learning a trade. Yes, drop by when you've got the place all set up and I'll come and have a talk to 'em. Can't promise anything, mind."
He pauses a moment, thinking.
"How d'you plan to find these children, if you don't mind my asking? Or do they find you, so to speak?"
“So far, we’ve found them. Begging on corners, sleeping in alleyways, stealing from market stalls. My hope is that eventually word will get around that the Refuge is a safe place to find a bed and a meal, and then they will come to us.”
Varis reaches out to shake the piemaker’s hand.
“I’ll pay you a visit when the children are a bit more settled, and we can take it from there.”
The earnestness in his eyes makes him look disarmingly youthful.
“Thank you, Mr Shortcrust. I know you can’t promise anything now, but I appreciate your willingness to listen, and I trust you’ll help if you can.”
With that, he nods once to the baker, turns and walks out through the door and into the warmth of a Kantas evening.
|
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 29, 2019 12:50:11 GMT
The streets of Daring are already bustling as Varis makes his way across town in the pale morning sunlight. Reaching his destination, he pauses a moment beneath a handsome mahogany sign bearing the symbol of an anvil capped with a flaming hammer. Taking a single deep breath, he pushes through the heavy door and into the warm darkness of the Hammerfell Smithy.
The building is not large – nothing compared to the bustling operation Samed runs a few streets away, and not much bigger than the Order’s own utilitarian forge. Nevertheless, the care and diligence of the owner is clear. Tools hang neatly racked, the floor is swept and though several pieces of work in progress cover the surfaces, it’s obvious that the shop is as tidy as one could reasonably expect a working smithy to be. Looking round for some kind of bell or even a counter to knock on, Varis eventually gives up, calling out instead.
“Master Brightmane? Might I have a moment of your time?”
There is a clank and clang from a doorway to one side, and a muffled curse.
"Gwy mollacht! Tindul sod céard..."
A ruddy face surrounded and covered by a mass of red-orange hair appears, appraises the visitor, and is followed by the rest of his stocky frame.
"Apologies for the language, friend! I was just startled. I wasn't expecting anyone so early. How can I help?"
Milo looks appreciatively at the elaborate armour Varis wears.
"You obviously don't need me to make you any plate...If you don't mind me asking, who created your armour? They're clearly a master of the craft."
Varis’s eyes widen momentarily at the cursing, his face going suspiciously blank, though he can’t suppress a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Forgive me for startling you, master smith. And thank you for your kind words, though I can assure you, I am no master.”
"You made it? Well, colour me impressed, it's a fine piece of work."
Varis looks down at the sinuous overlapping plates of black and red steel, almost a second skin to him now. A faraway smile creeps onto his face. He shakes his head, looking up to meet the smith's eyes.
“You’re new to town, aren’t you Milo? You arrived after the Sack of Daring?”
"Yes, I've only been here... a half-year, I suppose. I heard about the Sack though, terrible business."
Varis nods.
“It was. The war with the Twilight before it, the Lassitude and the battle with Granny Longtooth more recently – Daring has had more than its share of trouble.”
The young half-elf stares into the dull coals of last night’s fire, still banked and ready for feeding in the middle of the forge.
“You could say those troubles made me who I am. They’re certainly why I created the Order. But a leader must be more than just a shield against the darkness. He must be a builder too.”
He looks up at Milo, smiling warmly.
“The troubles have left many children without parents, without prospects. So, I have made a place for them. A refuge from the darkness of this world, somewhere they can be safe. Somewhere they can be children.”
He scratches the back of his head ruefully, seeming at least a little embarrassed by the grandiosity of the sentiment.
“But they cannot be children forever. Some, those who wish it and are suited to it, may find their way into the ranks of the Order. But some - indeed, my hope is most – will learn trades, start families, live ordinary lives. I find myself in need of people who can teach them, who might be willing to take on an assistant, or an apprentice, show them the craft and pass on their knowledge. It will likely be some time before any are ready for such work, but your friends speak well of you Milo, and I have seen your work. You are no workaday craftsman. You are an artisan, a true master. So I ask you – will you help me to give a child a future?”
Milo hasn't taken his eyes away from Varis's face while he explains his request. As his meaning becomes clear Milo nods a little to himself, but doesn't answer the question at first. Instead he scratches at a cheek before attempting to smooth his beard back down, and then begins to build up the fire before the day's work. As he works, he talks.
"That's an honourable mission you've set yourself there Varis. Difficult though. You're a barakor, a protector, a defender through and through. You saw the need these children had and you built a shield for them against the world. You already carry the weight of your Order, and now you carry the lives of... I don't know how many children. Maybe not many right now, but this isn't the kindest place to live, and that number will grow."
The fledgling fire begins to crackle as Milo gently feeds it with fuel and air, and in a matter of minutes a healthy blaze lights up the smithy. Turning back towards Varis he slaps his hands up and down to dislodge a little coal dust.
"So you'll need help. Yes, I'll prentice one of your children."
The years seem to drop away from Varis as his face splits into a boyish grin. It is only as he relaxes that Milo sees how tense he was. He claps an exuberant hand on the smith’s shoulder, black and red steel lobstered plates clicking as he does.
“Thank you, Milo. Espekkan en hveg utdanne. You will not regret this.” His eyes glitter with mischief, making him look even more boyish. “Well, probably not.”
His face turns serious again.
“I will send to you when we have a suitable student for you. And Milo-“
The flicker of forge fire makes the young half elf’s face seem carved of marble, shadow picking out the thin, curved scar that runs beneath his left eye.
“I am in your debt. If ever you have need of my help, you have only to ask.”
With one last nod to the blacksmith, Varis turns and walks briskly to the door, and out into the busy streets of Daring. |
|
|
|
Post by Sunday on Jul 29, 2019 13:41:45 GMT
So what Sunday is getting from this (and TOTALLY not WILFULLY misunderstanding the situation), is that Varis is going round town asking people to enter into opposite/same/unknown-sex adoption with him..?
YAASSS VARIS!!!
|
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 29, 2019 15:07:10 GMT
That seems like a perfectly valid interpretation of the data
|
|
|
|
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jul 30, 2019 13:19:30 GMT
The headquarters of the Daring Heights City Watch is a blunt, utilitarian building. Behind a thick, iron studded door is a maze of corridors leading to holding cells, offices and armouries. It is in one of the small, cramped rooms toward the back of the building that Varis finds Sergeant Grimes, his lean frame crammed in behind a desk as he pores over a report on a burglary on Silver Street. Stepping into the doorway, the half elf knocks sharply on the frame, smiling as Grimes looks up, green eyes a peculiar mix of frustration and boredom. Varis nods to his erstwhile companion.
“Sergeant. Do you have a moment to talk? I have an…interesting proposition for you.”
Grimes give Varis one of his 'thousand-yard stares' for a second, eyes narrowed.
"Varis. Don't usually see you around here - slumming it are we?"
A faint wry smile crosses Grimes' lips for a fleeting moment.
"Come in - 'Interesting' would be a bonus right now - even the rookies could figure this one out" he says, waving a folder in the air. "The thieves may as well have left a note saying 'I was here'. Coffee?"
Varis smiles and gives a polite shake of his head as he steps through the door.
“No, thank you. I wanted to talk to you about the orphanage I’ve been building. Has Freddy spoken to you yet?”
"Yes - he suggested I might like to be involved in the running of the place - maybe to do with supervising or training the children. Maybe just oversight. I said I was interested in making sure the children were treated right and not manipulated - they've suffered enough already. Obviously I haven't spoken to him recently - I think he needs some time to get over the recent 'saga' with Dorian.”
Grimes pauses, green eyes appraising Varis for what feels like an hour.
"You're a good one in a fight, Varis, and I would risk my life for you and with you because I think your heart is in the right place even though I question your approach but I have to know - why the Orphanage - why you? Be honest."
Varis nods a concession.
“A fair question. I may not have as much faith in bureaucracy as you do, but I think we want the same things. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to Allenby’s suggestion that you help run Thia’s Refuge. The other is that you’re not alone in your suspicion of my motives, or of my methods. Your involvement will help allay any fears that the orphanage is some kind of recruiting ground for the Order.”
He gestures to the only other chair in the cramped office, waiting for Grimes nod of permission before sitting.
“I built the Refuge because I wanted to put some good back into the world. I am not a man of peace. I have seen enough blood and fire for ten lifetimes, and I will see as much again before I die. But every battle has a cost, and it is the people of Daring who pay it. With lives, and homes, and families. I wanted to do something for those of our city who are most vulnerable. The Refuge will be a place of safety, and comfort, where children can learn and grow. Where they can be children. I’ve spoken to several local business people, to arrange apprenticeships and mentoring. More will follow. We will give these children a second chance in life. Will you help us?”
Grimes looks at Varis, and the younger man sees his expression soften very slightly - as if some tension has been released, at least partially.
"Yes, I'll help you - assuming the Council has no objections to my involvement. Like you, I have blood on my hands - not just of those I have killed or been responsible for killing but those I couldn't save. You're right - it's always the innocents that truly suffer and none more so than the children. If we can't keep the most vulnerable children safe and give them a future then Daring is no better than any other city. We have to be better than that."
Grimes stands and comes around the desk, holding out his hand.
"I'll be part of this Varis. Obviously we'd be naïve to think that there won't be other parties looking at how they can profit from it or manipulate it, but between us maybe we really can build something worthwhile."
Varis returns the handshake, looking the other man in the eye.
“Good to have you onboard, sergeant. If you need to speak with the Council or Thundercog, you should do that. When you’re happy there’s no conflict of interest, come and see me at the Order barracks and we’ll talk through the particulars - whether you’ll want a room at the Refuge, how much time you can give us. Maybe we could look at placing some of the older children here in time. The Watch is an honourable profession - thankless, but honest.”
He turns to go, but pauses in the doorway, looking back to the older man.
“Thank you, Grimes. I cannot do this alone. I am in your debt.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Grimes on Aug 2, 2019 11:42:50 GMT
In collaboration with Varis.
Grimes sits back at his desk and spends a minute scribbling a note before striding purposefully down the corridor to the front desk carrying the note and a folder. A large but cheery-looking female Dwarf in Watch uniform with a noticeably fresh set of Corporal stripes looks up as "the Sarge" approaches.
"Mornin' boss, you look like you're on a mission today?" She follows her half-question with a smile and raising of fulsome eyebrows.
"Morning Heria, you could say that. Is Captain Thundercog in his office?"
Heria nods "Sure is."
"Good." He slides the folder and note across to her. "Give this to Senior Corporal Rasseroth please - she's to take a squad down to the west side asap to detain Jago Bowden and search his premises regarding the Silver Street burglary. Jago might bolt and his 'muscle' have previous so she's to take no chances - they go in hard and fast OK?"
"Understood boss." Heria's face expression is now 100 percent professional. "Sylvara won't take any chances."
"Good. Ask her to give me an update tonight please." Grimes nods and heads off to Thundercog's office not noticing how Heria watches him go with an odd, almost wistful, expression on her face.
2 hours later, following a long conversation with Captain Thundercog, Grimes walks into the compound of the Order of the Crimson Fists.
He pauses for a minute or two to watch a group of soldiers drilling under the supervision of a stern female Dwarf. One or two faces are familiar from the dark times of the Orc invasion and subsequent rescue mission and a pained expression fleets across Grimes' face as he remembers days he'd rather forget.
Gretcha pauses for a second as she notices the lean figure in a black Watch uniform quietly observing the training then walks over to Grimes and greets him with a wary expression but her tone is not unfriendly.
"Sergeant Grimes, don't usually see you here. Not come to arrest the Order I hope?"
Grimes recognises someone like him with "no time for BS" and the corner of his mouth twitches into a wry smile.
"Not today Gretcha - this is an unofficial visit. Is Varis around?"
The Dwarf nods "Aye - you'll find him inside. On you go." Grimes nods respectfully and heads into the building. Gretcha frowns briefly before turning back to the soldiers who had paused to watch the exchange. "What are you sorry lot looking at? No one told you to stop. Get on with it!" she bellows.
Inside Grimes spies Varis immediately, greets him and gets straight to the point.
"Hello Varis. Good news...
I've had a discussion with Captain Thundercog and there are no objections to my formal involvement with the Orphanage. As we've got the Watch up to full strength now with decent specialist teams led by experienced officers I can devote at least one full day per week plus my off duty time to the Orphanage. Obviously, if we have a major incident or issue, I'll have to respond but we have good people now who can be trusted to deal with most issues. The Watch has changed a lot from the early days of Daring.
So - where do we start?
Something that I can help with immediately is to have the Watch report all sightings of waifs and strays they might observe plus pull out details of any believed orphans we've encountered recently. Then we can have teams try and bring them in 'out of the cold'. Obviously non-uniform teams - I expect you already have thoughts on this?"
"Something else - regarding giving these kids a purpose and opportunities - if we find some youngsters that seem stable and mature once they are settled - the Watch could use some 'Runners' to take messages between the Watch Houses quickly. We would give them something to identify them as being on official Watch business and I would personally put the word out that anyone who interfered with them in any way would incur my displeasure."
|
|
