Storm Chasing - Varis 05/11/19
Nov 19, 2019 23:50:42 GMT
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Grimes, Sunday, and 4 more like this
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Nov 19, 2019 23:50:42 GMT
The air in the high-vaulted antechamber carries the faint scent of wintergreen and woodsmoke from the fireplaces in the adjoining rooms, though they seem to have stopped short of lending it any heat. Varis pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Indoors, the bitter teeth of the easterly wind that scours the Shield Coast cannot reach him, but it is small comfort in the sepulchral cold of the council building.
Enjoy it while you can. The bitter thought rises unbidden from a brooding darkness at the back of his mind. He shivers, feeling almost naked without his weapons and armour, but he knows too well what some of the townsfolk say of him already. Best not to encourage such notions by entering the council building accoutred for war.
Varis is pulled from his thoughts by the silent movement of the great doors. Neverwinter Oak, according to Sweet. Rather a statement apparently, though he knows little about such things. They certainly look sturdy enough. A visibly nervous young man with the hunched shoulders and ink stained hands of a scribe slips through the open door, bowing awkwardly to the warrior over a sheaf of papers.
“They are ready for you, Master Nailo.”
Varis nods.
“Thank you. It’s Phillip, is it not?”
The young man’s eyes widen and he freezes, momentarily forgetting how to speak.
“Ah, I, um, I mean. Yes. Sir.”
He gives another awkward bow. The soldier’s face splits in a warm smile.
“It’s alright, lad, I’m not a mind reader. Your younger brother comes to the Refuge for lessons sometimes.”
Phillip nods, then stops, a frown creasing his brow.
“Sometimes?”
The smile on the warrior’s face becomes a grin, and he lays a hand on the young scribe’s shoulder as he passes him.
“He has a good hand, and a good heart. A little mischief in the mix can be forgiven.”
As he steps through into the council chamber, the great door slides silently shut behind him. A huge fireplace roars at one end of the room, bathing the assembled faces in orange light.
Samed looks up from a sheaf of papers in front of him, his brow creased in thought, sparing a nod for his erstwhile apprentice before returning to try and decipher the report. Kensington and Auber affect not to have noticed his entrance, Auber wrinkling his nose as though he has smelled something unpleasant. The other representative of the nobility, the recently appointed Lady Saria Underwood, appraises the newcomer with cooly intelligent eyes. There are nods of greeting from the Wardens, Thundercog and Cordelia - the latter even standing as he enters. They were on the Death March together after the Sack of Daring, and her unease at having an independent military organisation in the heart of her city is not enough to outweigh the accord born of their shared suffering. Rholor offers his fellow adventurer a tired smile, and Coll a warm one. From her place at the head of the table, Aurelia rises, quieting the room.
“Master Nailo, thank you for joining us. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
She gestures to a steaming silver pitcher at the centre of the table. It gives off the pungent scent of spiced wine - cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and citrus mingling with the faint woodsmoke from the fireplace to give the room a coziness much at odds with its function.
Varis smiles, pulling the leather gloves from his hands and tucking them into his belt.
“Thank you councillor, some wine would be welcome.”
The tall, statuesque woman waves a hand and the pitcher floats into the air, tilting to fill a silver goblet then settling to the table once again.
“So, you bring word from Kul Goran?”
Varis nods as the delicate goblet floats to his hand. He takes a sip, wincing as the hot liquid burns his tongue.
“Yes. I accompanied some of the youngbloods there recently, ostensibly to assist the Errant Guard in surveilling the architect of this invasion.”
Aurelia nods.
“Yes, I recall. Did you manage to bring them all back in one piece?”
Varis gives a half smile.
“Yes. Despite some concerted efforts to the contrary on their parts.”
The Aasimar smiles, a quiet warmth showing through the beatific mask of her ancestry.
“I am pleased to hear it. So, what news of the war, Grandmaster?”
“Little good, I’m afraid. The soldier charged with guiding us to our target turned out to have been under some form of magical compulsion. The storm giant named Big Boss, theorised to be the leader of the invasion force, was in fact a front for something else. The correspondence I managed to collect from the creature’s private quarters, coupled with my own observations of it’s behaviour leads me to believe it is Fiendish in origin. Your own assistance in deciphering the intelligence gathered councillor-“ Aurelia nods in acknowledgment “-suggests it to be Yugoloth.”
The room fills with murmured conversation, many of the councillors brows furrowing in thought or confusion at the unfamiliar word. Only a few seem to understand the significance of the revelation. Rholor pales slightly, the High Diviner exchanging a worried glance with Aurelia. Lady Saria, the newest addition to the council, briefly closes her eyes. When she opens them, her face is a mask of perfect calm. Aurelia is the first to speak.
“This is deeply concerning news, Master Nailo.”
“Indeed, councillor. It certainly explains some of the inconsistencies in the giants behaviour. But it also raises some disturbing questions. To the best of my knowledge, Yugoloths are mercenaries. They seldom fight unless offered significant remuneration for their services. The question then of who - or what - is directing this invasion, is now even less clear than it was before. There is also the question of how this creature - and whatever allies it may have brought with it from Gehenna - made their way to the material plane. As some of you are aware, myself and some of my closest allies have only just finished dealing with the consequences of a fiendish incursion below the Sunset Spine that occurred nearly a year ago. Taffeta Thistletop has yet to resolve her own similar problem. The Lady of the Sixth shifted an entire region of the western desert into some echo of her realm to punish an ancient cult of Yuan-Ti who seem to have resurfaced. A Kul’Gorani crime lord crossed by some of our citizens sent a Bone Devil to punish the offenders a few months ago, decimating the congregation of a local temple. My own compound was attacked by Devilish bounty hunters not three months ago. The boundaries between our land and the lower planes are weakening, and it may not be long before fiends of all kinds can cross with impunity.”
The room is silent as those assembled ruminate on the horror of this possibility. Taking a sip from the goblet in his hand, Varis continues.
“There are a few more immediate questions this council and the people of Daring must now consider. Firstly, are we prepared to let a peaceable neighbour become a permanent outpost for the forces of Gehenna? If the answer to that question is - as I believe it must be - no, then it may be that the time has come for us to commit some of our regular troops to this conflict. That is not my decision to make, but should the council choose to more directly intervene in this conflict, know that the Order of the Crimson Fist stands ready to assist such an effort, either directly, in the field, or by taking over some of the army’s defensive responsibilities, freeing troops to help the Kul’Gorani. The second question regards the creature itself. It displayed the ability to subvert the minds of trained warriors for protracted periods. We must consider the possibility that portions of the Kul’Gorani military and perhaps even our own adventurers have been compromised.”
A murmur of general dismay passes through the room. Varis clears his throat.
“There is more.”
He thinks he hears Thundercog mutter something indelicate about shooting messengers, but chooses to ignore it.
“A third belligerent seems to have entered the conflict. As we rode into the mountains to find our quarry, we came upon a battlefield strewn with what we later discovered were unconscious Kul’Gorani and giants. They had apparently been subdued and were now being separated by a race of elves unfamiliar to me. Our guide called them Gotresham. They claimed, when questioned, that they had sought only to separate the combatants, though our guide was skeptical and implied Kul’Goran had come into conflict with them in the past. It is unclear what part they might play in this ongoing conflict, but I suspect we ignore them at our peril.”
There is a long silence. Finally, Aurelia stands.
“Thank you, Master Nailo. You have certainly given us much to think on. I suspect we will be speaking again soon about what role you and your order might play in this war. If there is nothing else?”
Varis shakes his head.
“No, thank you councillor.”
“Then I bid you farewell, Master Nailo.”
“May the maimed god guide your hands, councillors.”
Placing his goblet down on the table, he gives a stiff bow before turning and walking from the room. The great slabs of Neverwinter Oak part soundlessly before him. In the foyer, he pauses, pulling his gloves back on and shivering, though not from the cold. There is a storm coming. The Order must be ready.
Enjoy it while you can. The bitter thought rises unbidden from a brooding darkness at the back of his mind. He shivers, feeling almost naked without his weapons and armour, but he knows too well what some of the townsfolk say of him already. Best not to encourage such notions by entering the council building accoutred for war.
Varis is pulled from his thoughts by the silent movement of the great doors. Neverwinter Oak, according to Sweet. Rather a statement apparently, though he knows little about such things. They certainly look sturdy enough. A visibly nervous young man with the hunched shoulders and ink stained hands of a scribe slips through the open door, bowing awkwardly to the warrior over a sheaf of papers.
“They are ready for you, Master Nailo.”
Varis nods.
“Thank you. It’s Phillip, is it not?”
The young man’s eyes widen and he freezes, momentarily forgetting how to speak.
“Ah, I, um, I mean. Yes. Sir.”
He gives another awkward bow. The soldier’s face splits in a warm smile.
“It’s alright, lad, I’m not a mind reader. Your younger brother comes to the Refuge for lessons sometimes.”
Phillip nods, then stops, a frown creasing his brow.
“Sometimes?”
The smile on the warrior’s face becomes a grin, and he lays a hand on the young scribe’s shoulder as he passes him.
“He has a good hand, and a good heart. A little mischief in the mix can be forgiven.”
As he steps through into the council chamber, the great door slides silently shut behind him. A huge fireplace roars at one end of the room, bathing the assembled faces in orange light.
Samed looks up from a sheaf of papers in front of him, his brow creased in thought, sparing a nod for his erstwhile apprentice before returning to try and decipher the report. Kensington and Auber affect not to have noticed his entrance, Auber wrinkling his nose as though he has smelled something unpleasant. The other representative of the nobility, the recently appointed Lady Saria Underwood, appraises the newcomer with cooly intelligent eyes. There are nods of greeting from the Wardens, Thundercog and Cordelia - the latter even standing as he enters. They were on the Death March together after the Sack of Daring, and her unease at having an independent military organisation in the heart of her city is not enough to outweigh the accord born of their shared suffering. Rholor offers his fellow adventurer a tired smile, and Coll a warm one. From her place at the head of the table, Aurelia rises, quieting the room.
“Master Nailo, thank you for joining us. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
She gestures to a steaming silver pitcher at the centre of the table. It gives off the pungent scent of spiced wine - cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and citrus mingling with the faint woodsmoke from the fireplace to give the room a coziness much at odds with its function.
Varis smiles, pulling the leather gloves from his hands and tucking them into his belt.
“Thank you councillor, some wine would be welcome.”
The tall, statuesque woman waves a hand and the pitcher floats into the air, tilting to fill a silver goblet then settling to the table once again.
“So, you bring word from Kul Goran?”
Varis nods as the delicate goblet floats to his hand. He takes a sip, wincing as the hot liquid burns his tongue.
“Yes. I accompanied some of the youngbloods there recently, ostensibly to assist the Errant Guard in surveilling the architect of this invasion.”
Aurelia nods.
“Yes, I recall. Did you manage to bring them all back in one piece?”
Varis gives a half smile.
“Yes. Despite some concerted efforts to the contrary on their parts.”
The Aasimar smiles, a quiet warmth showing through the beatific mask of her ancestry.
“I am pleased to hear it. So, what news of the war, Grandmaster?”
“Little good, I’m afraid. The soldier charged with guiding us to our target turned out to have been under some form of magical compulsion. The storm giant named Big Boss, theorised to be the leader of the invasion force, was in fact a front for something else. The correspondence I managed to collect from the creature’s private quarters, coupled with my own observations of it’s behaviour leads me to believe it is Fiendish in origin. Your own assistance in deciphering the intelligence gathered councillor-“ Aurelia nods in acknowledgment “-suggests it to be Yugoloth.”
The room fills with murmured conversation, many of the councillors brows furrowing in thought or confusion at the unfamiliar word. Only a few seem to understand the significance of the revelation. Rholor pales slightly, the High Diviner exchanging a worried glance with Aurelia. Lady Saria, the newest addition to the council, briefly closes her eyes. When she opens them, her face is a mask of perfect calm. Aurelia is the first to speak.
“This is deeply concerning news, Master Nailo.”
“Indeed, councillor. It certainly explains some of the inconsistencies in the giants behaviour. But it also raises some disturbing questions. To the best of my knowledge, Yugoloths are mercenaries. They seldom fight unless offered significant remuneration for their services. The question then of who - or what - is directing this invasion, is now even less clear than it was before. There is also the question of how this creature - and whatever allies it may have brought with it from Gehenna - made their way to the material plane. As some of you are aware, myself and some of my closest allies have only just finished dealing with the consequences of a fiendish incursion below the Sunset Spine that occurred nearly a year ago. Taffeta Thistletop has yet to resolve her own similar problem. The Lady of the Sixth shifted an entire region of the western desert into some echo of her realm to punish an ancient cult of Yuan-Ti who seem to have resurfaced. A Kul’Gorani crime lord crossed by some of our citizens sent a Bone Devil to punish the offenders a few months ago, decimating the congregation of a local temple. My own compound was attacked by Devilish bounty hunters not three months ago. The boundaries between our land and the lower planes are weakening, and it may not be long before fiends of all kinds can cross with impunity.”
The room is silent as those assembled ruminate on the horror of this possibility. Taking a sip from the goblet in his hand, Varis continues.
“There are a few more immediate questions this council and the people of Daring must now consider. Firstly, are we prepared to let a peaceable neighbour become a permanent outpost for the forces of Gehenna? If the answer to that question is - as I believe it must be - no, then it may be that the time has come for us to commit some of our regular troops to this conflict. That is not my decision to make, but should the council choose to more directly intervene in this conflict, know that the Order of the Crimson Fist stands ready to assist such an effort, either directly, in the field, or by taking over some of the army’s defensive responsibilities, freeing troops to help the Kul’Gorani. The second question regards the creature itself. It displayed the ability to subvert the minds of trained warriors for protracted periods. We must consider the possibility that portions of the Kul’Gorani military and perhaps even our own adventurers have been compromised.”
A murmur of general dismay passes through the room. Varis clears his throat.
“There is more.”
He thinks he hears Thundercog mutter something indelicate about shooting messengers, but chooses to ignore it.
“A third belligerent seems to have entered the conflict. As we rode into the mountains to find our quarry, we came upon a battlefield strewn with what we later discovered were unconscious Kul’Gorani and giants. They had apparently been subdued and were now being separated by a race of elves unfamiliar to me. Our guide called them Gotresham. They claimed, when questioned, that they had sought only to separate the combatants, though our guide was skeptical and implied Kul’Goran had come into conflict with them in the past. It is unclear what part they might play in this ongoing conflict, but I suspect we ignore them at our peril.”
There is a long silence. Finally, Aurelia stands.
“Thank you, Master Nailo. You have certainly given us much to think on. I suspect we will be speaking again soon about what role you and your order might play in this war. If there is nothing else?”
Varis shakes his head.
“No, thank you councillor.”
“Then I bid you farewell, Master Nailo.”
“May the maimed god guide your hands, councillors.”
Placing his goblet down on the table, he gives a stiff bow before turning and walking from the room. The great slabs of Neverwinter Oak part soundlessly before him. In the foyer, he pauses, pulling his gloves back on and shivering, though not from the cold. There is a storm coming. The Order must be ready.
