Zap and Eldest do Patria! IC

[Wyntonian]

*Rattata rat tat tat rrrrrratatat* (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGrxHO-B2TY&feature=related)

The drummers lead the procession, marching smartly as a trio of fifes follow, tooting cheerily. The rest of the regiment marches behind in formation, their armor gleaming and their pikes held high. Behind them, more troops follow in ranks carrying spiked warhammers. Last, two lines of crossbowmen, their weapons held at port arms. The soldiers generally have a bored or sternly held military lack of expression - it's hard to tell which - but a couple wink at the Torei lining the streets of the little town. The lieutenant, riding at the front, leans skillfully out of his saddle to muss a child's hair. The boy ducks behind his mother's skirt, but keeps watching the shining people march by.

The parade reaches the dingy, uncobbled town square, and assembles in front of a statue of the local noble, Lord Imisuru. He waits there, surrounded by his glaring bodyguards and given a wide berth by the Torei. The mercenary commander is there, with his own bodyguards. The two nod to each other, businessmen conducting a deal.

The lieutenant salutes sharply and steps aside for the commander to speak, standing atop the small platform before the statue. He speaks in rather fluent Kotoba, though with a distinct accent of the Dotze Affariata, his plate mail shining in the morning light.

"Men and women of the town, thank you for gracing us with your attendance! I, by the grace of your kind Lord Imisuru, have been given the great gift of your audience! I am honored to see so many brave souls, so much potential for heroism, arrayed before me today!

I understand with all my heart all the difficulties of life here, how we must toil against the earth, sky and sun to bring forth crops and life. That is why, to the young and strong among you, I bring the promise of a better life!

South, in the lands of richness, trade and bounty, a war will soon begin. The great States of the Dotze Affariata are poised at the brink of war, the good and wicked among them both! It is a time for the weak and strong to be separated in the furnace of heroism! Naturally, when I learned of this, I came to the land of the strongest young men in Patria! I offer, to all you brave young souls, a chance for your names to be written on the pages of history! A poet said once to me, 'But the magic is that the play of life goes on, and you have your chance to contribute a verse.'

Ask yourselves now, what will your verse be? Will you stay here, toiling under the hot sun and in the cold of winter for whatever meager crops you can wrestle forth from the grudging earth? Or will you shine, shine like stars in the night sky, and give your family and all those who come after you a reason to remember your name long after your death?

I cannot promise that all those who come with me shall return. I cannot pretend that many a mother and lover will weep for her missing boy in the years to come. I cannot promise that you will always have three meals a day, soft beds and all the good beer you can drink. But I can promise riches, fine arms and armor and best of all glory, in accordance with your discipline and bravery. Imagine your lovers face as you ride back into this town, covered in gold and glory! Is that not worth missing a couple years of backbreaking toil on this farm?

Those brave men among you, meet me in the fields to the south this evening. And enjoy they day of rest your lord has generously given you!"

The crowd applauds politely, though a group of young, brawny plowboys in the front and center cheer enthusiastically. All around, though, old men who served in the army, mothers and young women are shaking their heads. The crowds disperse slowly, the drums start back up, and the flutes toot their way back out of town, to the fallow southern fields where the mercenary band, two thousand strong, is camped. The one regiment marches out as crisply as they came in. A bustle of conversation erupts, as the crowd shuffles around to head home, to meet friends or to find family.

Assuming they're not sneaking around elsewhere... Moon and Vail find themselves close-ish to each other, pushed around by the crowd, seemingly made up of equal parts cynics and naysayers, excited young men (and the odd young woman), and people simply in awe of the shininess of the soldiers' armor.

Some men are making their way south, following the troops.

[Zap Dynamic]

The words reverberate throughout Moon as the mercenary commander makes his way off the stoop. Warfare and plunder in the South, she thought. When Moon had left the monastery, the trees were in full blossom, turning the stark simplicity of Winter into a riot of growth, color, and warmth. She had taken it as a good omen to begin her journey, armed with the training she had received and free to blow like a leaf on the wind. The days grow hotter with each new sunrise, and it seems more and more birds are heard by branch and stream. Even the Torei seem to forget their toils for a moment in the light of such a birth as Spring. And now it may lead me down a road toward death.

Once the crowd disperses a little more, Moon has a clear view of the Vallheimer she met not long ago in this very village. She remembers him to be a kind man, of an age with her, who always seems to be haunted by a ghost from his past.

By way of greeting, she gives him a slight nod of her head and a warm, small smile. "Hello again." She stands easily, a full pack slung over one shoulder and a long spear in her hand. Beneath her vest, one can barely see the glint of fine mail.

[Eldest]

Pah. Heroism and glory, my... Vail cuts off as Moon greets him. The irrate mood seems to slip off his face like water, although it is only a seeming. Hello again, yourself. What do you think of these fine gentlemen? Only a small twitch on the word 'fine' reveals his true feelings for the warriors.

[Zap Dynamic]

Frowning slightly, Moon looks at the company of fighters marching out of town. "They seem like fearsome warriors. You do not approve of them?"

[Eldest]

Vail looks out over the mercenaries marching out and the milling farmboys following. I have no problem with the mercenaries. Their trade is close enough to what my own was, that I can hardly fault it and be true to myself. But this talk of glory. There is no glory in war.
War... war never changes.
I JUST HAD TO!
A cookie to anybody who knows what that's from. You better.

[Wyntonian]

As Vail and Moon talk, a little off to the side from the steadily dispersing crowd, a steady trickle of young men, having said goodbye to their mothers or friends, go to learn more from the mercenary recruiters. One loud, boisterous trio struts past, laughing. One staggers towards the pair, perhaps a little bit drunk. "Oy, North-Man? Going to go prove you've not burnt your manhood off in your forge? Or perhaps your spear-bearing friend there will try out? Surely the Southerners will recognize his skill in their tournament tomorrow, eh?" He feigns respect towards Moon, with an elaborate bow. He then, does a double take, and throws his eyes wide with false surprise. "Oh! Sorry, miss! I didn't recognize a woman outside of the kitchen! Did you steal your husbands spear? Or are you trying to be a man yourself?" He laughs at his own attempt at a joke and returns to his sniggering friends.

[Eldest]

Vail snarls a word, and a spirit of fire flies out of his tattoos and explodes, carefully aimed so that while it doesn't hurt anybody, it cuts off the speaker from his friends. I'm sorry, I must have heard you wrong. I could have sworn I'd heard you say that "I didn't recognize a woman outside of the kitchen". But I couldn't have heard that, because nobody would be that rude. Would they? His eyes harden, as he glares at the drunks.
The blast of flame is from the reserve feat.
[roll0] Intimidation. Perhaps a +2 for having just thrown fire around like it's nothing?

[Wyntonian]

The young man hiccups violently at the burst of flame and takes a half-step back. "Um... I'm sorry, sir. I like to joke, me. Right guys?" His companions both nod reluctantly, though they look like they'd rather melt into the dirt beneath their feet. "I guess we'll be going, then." He turns and stalks away with as much composure as he can manage, which is rather respectable for a person in his situation, and he and his friends depart.

If Moon posts a response, I'll delete/edit this. Otherwise, this.

[Zap Dynamic]

Growing up, Moon's spear instructor counseled her countless times to wait and judge a situation before acting. It has been one of her more difficult lessons, but she has made significant progress. After startling her, the burst of flame promises to be an ideal moment to strike at the dullards, but Moon restrains herself instead, unmoving and placid as the pond in the monastery gardens.

After the boys go on their way, Moon turns to Vail. "My thanks to you, Vail." She can't help but grin as her eyes follow the boys down the street. Her fingers absently trace the grain on her spear's shaft. "If this is the kind of stock the mercenary companies attract, such a path may not prove to be worth the walking. But did they say something about a tournament?"

[Eldest]

To be honest, that was probably the worst introduction to possible mercenaries you could get. Most of them are better. None the less, we should try to avoid that man in the future. Bad memories tend to cloud the mind. Vail realizes he is rambling slightly and stops. They did mention a tournement, yes, but no details. Why? Do you wish to compete?

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon regards Vail with all the innocence of a child. "Fighting is what I know. The world is a strange place to me, but I must learn. It would seem that my path leads at least as far as this tournament ground."

[Eldest]

Vail seems to pause a bit to think, and then suddenly speaks. I will accompany you. That is, if you want me. To accompany you. To the tournement. He finally stops his halting speech.

[Zap Dynamic]

Vail's awkwardness is almost completely lost on Moon. "Shall we head that way?"

[Eldest]

Yes. He breaths in, and walks forward a short ways, then stops. Do you know what direction the tournament is?

[Zap Dynamic]

"I believe it is at the mercenary camp." Moon takes a step herself, then stops, considering. "However, I believe that it will not be until tomorrow. Perhaps there is something that could keep us occupied in the meantime?"

[Eldest]

I have nothing pressing. Just smithing to be done.

[Wyntonian]

As Moon moves off to hear the local gossip, Vail heads back towards his smithy. He is soon stopped, however, by a youngish man, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. The teenager is a little shy-looking, and one of his arms ends at the elbow. "Um... Excuse me, sir. I heard you and Moon talking a moment ago, and I know that she's thinking to enlist with those men... If I could ask you one thing, it would be that you go with her, look after her? She's... important to me, and a one-armed man can't be much of a warrior, or I'd follow her myself." He pauses for a moment, apparently unwilling to share so much. "I'd pay you if I had anything to give, but I'm afraid I - I don't. Please, just try to keep her safe?" Before Vail can easily respond, he runs off in embarrassment.

[Wyntonian]

The next morning, a good double handful of nails completed, Vail and Moon meet by the little dirt road that leads south into the fallow, unsown fields that will next year be covered with wheat, oats and tobacco.

They approach the ordered tents of the mercenary bands, following the crowd towards a cleared space with rings of chalk marked on the dirt and racks of weapons with protective coverings nearby. The lieutenant you saw yesterday is arranging things at a frantic pace, sending pairs off to distant rings under the eyes of sergeants.

A young man, possibly an aide-de-camp, bounds up with a fire of efficiency burning under him. He asks names, makes a mark on a board in his hand, and sends the two of you down the line, with barely a glance at either of you.

A quarter-mile down the way, a sergeant ushers the pair over into an unoccupied chalk ring. A medic is attending to a unconscious man there, a little ways out of the circle. The sergeant is a burly man, built like a plowhorse. Through a translator, a local Sunshani boy, the man explains the rules.

"Take a weapon. Don't do any serious or deliberate injury. If you use any magical talents, you will be separated after this fight for more specific testing. We need to know you can hold your own hand to hand, though, so you'll stay here for this."

He gestures you over to the racks of weapons, each perfectly deadly but covered in a variety of ways, the blunt edges padded, the points blunt, the blades sheathed. When your choices are made, he points you into the ring.

[Eldest]

I am a mage first and formost, do not expect overmuch out of me for this. Vail steps forward and takes a spear, then steps back.

[Zap Dynamic]

Frowning that she cannot use her own weapon, Moon picks over the weapons on the rack until she finds a spear of good quality. This done, it seems as though all of her attention shifts to the general area around her. Without looking at anything in particular, it seems as though she is taking the measure of each of her potential opponents.

Sense Motive to gauge the relative strength of my opponents?
Check: [roll0]

[Wyntonian]

After a couple minutes of waiting, another pair walks up and selects gear, and joins you in the circle.

One is a young man, with a broad, smiling face and callused hands. He has the look of a plowboy, and selects a heavy staff. He twirls it a couple times and looks satisfied. "Good luck!" He says with a smile.

The other is a slightly older man, with dirty, disheveled clothing, long ragged fingernails and a slightly wild look in his eyes. His eyes are constantly darting, as he pulls a flask out from his jacket and takes a drink. He makes no move to select a weapon, though he rolls back his sleeves.

They stand somewhat close to each other as the sergeant steps out of the chalk ring. He raises a hand and casts it downwards. The boy next to him shouts out in Torei. "Fight!"

Please roll initiative OoC. I'll get a map of sorts up soonest.

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#||1||2|||#||
4||||#||||||||#||
5||||#||||||||#||
6||||#||||||||#||
7||||#|||V|M|||#|||
8|||||#|||||#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

1 is the nice guy with the staff, 2 is the unarmed shifty guy. I'll leave it to your brilliant investigative minds to determine the meaning of V and M. The # is the boundary of the circle.

[Eldest]

I... I don't get it. M is obviously Moon, but what could the V mean?
Vail hastily backpedels from the two people who look like they know what they're doing in a brawl, scrambling for the edge of the circle. Hey, how good's your healings? I really don't want to kill you guys, and my fire isn't padded.
I need to wait until later to remember what spells he has active anyway, my school has Mythweavers blocked. But not this site. Odd, isn't it?

[Zap Dynamic]

Patience. Moon can almost hear the words of her spear master, Brother Goro. Your enemies will not expect a woman to be such a potent fighter. You must have patience. Wear them down.

Moon knows next to nothing about her opponents. The large boy seems cocky and is certainly strong, but perhaps untrained. The old man is either bold or foolish enough to wander into the ring unarmed. Either way, he could prove to be a formidable opponent.

Readying her spear and taking a step in front of Vail, Moon assumes a defensive posture and waits for a strike. She is ready to leapt through the narrowest of gaps in her opponents' defenses.

My turn. (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=12849654&postcount=59)

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#|||||||#||
4||||#||||1||||#||
5||||#||||||||#||
6||||#||||M||||#||
7||||#|||2||||#|||
8|||||#||V|||#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

Moon steps to protect Vail, his spear coming up in a defensive stance, ready to counterattack. The young, strong boy with the staff comes on strong, striking with both ends of his staff. Both his powerful strikes miss, one going over Moon's head and the other cracking against her staff.

Moon attempts to counterattack his legs with a sweeping blow, but he leaps over and bodychecks her, using his advantage of half a hundred pounds and a heavy staff to knock her off her feet. He looks almost sheepish as he does so, as if throwing a woman, even a warrior, to the ground is something he ought to be afraid of.

Even as he glances apology at Moon, Vail's hand comes up and tenses, binding the flow of energy through his body. He tenses for a moment, utterly still, glaring daggers at the mage, before staggering back, apparently freed of the effects.

The other man, though he spent half a second pondering the child whose shout started the match, leaps into action. He takes half a dozen steps and leaps over Moons form as she hits the ground, rolling to his feet before Vail. He then strikes, an unrefined roundhouse punch of the sort generally seen in barhouse brawls. He misses, however, as he apparently rolled further away then he had intended to. He blinks repeatedly, apparently confused.

Actions! Please keep it neat, you can fluff it up here and name your actions in a spoiler below.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon's head makes a steady turn, her olive eyes taking in the situation. If you must face two enemies at once, she remembers the words of her master, better to stack them one upon the other than to stand in their midst. She rises to her feet as quickly as she can, lashing out at the drunkard with her spear. It will not do to keep her enemies on both sides.

Attack vs. Drunk: 16 to hit for 7 damage.

[Eldest]

Vail shies away from the man who just ran up to him, cursing his luck freely. He releases another bound spirit from his tattoos, forming a brilliant light to blind the man, but not before another opening appears in his defense. Really! How good's the healing? I don't want to cut loose and kill people!
5 Foot Step to H8
Cast Flare on 2
Can take an AoO from 2

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#|||||||#||
4||||#||||||||#||
5||||#||||1||||#||
6||||#||||M||||#||
7||||#|||2||||#|||
8|||||#|||V||#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

As Moon tries to get up, the plowboy shakes off the spell and steps forward enough to catch Moon across the shoulder with a two-handed blow from the padded end of his staff. It's possibly that he cringes a little in sympathy as his powerful blow connects. She staggers a little as she gets to her feet, but whirls dextrously and solidly plants her "spear" in the drunk's back.

As he's off-balance, Vail releases a small, glowing spirit of light from one of his tattoos, which flies at the man's unshaven, dusty face and bursts in a magnesium glow, illuminating his silhouette and that of Vail for the people standing behind them. The man lashes out with a foot at chest level in retaliation, but Vail successfully ducks.

The man follows up with a boxer's one-two punch, his stink of booze and the road heavy in Vail's nose, but he blocks one with his borrowed spear and the other is too glancing to hurt.

Moon takes 7 subdual damage. Apparently Vail is too lucky to be hit. Also, actions, please!

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon curses her foolishness a thousand times over in her head. Like the ripple in a pond, such is the first blow in combat, Brother Goro used to say, It can change everything.

Only something drastic could amend such a poor stroke of the brush as her attempt to trip that hulking plowboy. Spinning in a tight circle, the earth's hold on Moon seems to fall slack for a moment as she vaults over the plowboy's shoulders. In an attempt to sow confusion, Moon doesn't even wait until she's hit the ground before slamming the shaft of her spear into the plowboy's shoulders; exactly the same way she herself had been struck just moments before.

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 27/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d8+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None
Maneuvers Remaining this Encounter: Buffeting Wave, Jade Barrier

Move: to H4 (Tumble to avoid AoOs: 26)
Standard: Attack Plowboy with Crawling Ivy Strike (25 to hit for 7 damage)
If the attack hits, then I have +2 AC vs. the Plowboy for the next round.

[Eldest]

Vail backs further away, outside of the drunk's reach, and mutters I really hope he has a spare set of cloths. Then he releases a flame wraith from his tattoos, small enough never to hurt somebody, but still able to start a fire. Which it promptly tries to do, in the drunk's clothing.
5 foot step to I8
Standard action to cast Spark
If I misunderstood, and Red Mages don't get spark as an at-will power, I will use the reserve feat to try to set his cloths on fire.

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#|||||||#||
4||||#||||M||||#||
5||||#||||1||||#||
6||||#||||||||#||
7||||#|||2||||#|||
8|||||#||||V|#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

Apparently feeling cocky, the plowboy forgets his gentlemanly proclivities long enough to fire of an impressively fast series of blows. They come from all directions, and end with a straight-on kick towards Moon's stomach. Too late, though, as she flips over his head even as his foot comes up to strike. Before landing behind him, her spearhead slashes across his shoulder with a strike that would have laid him open to the bone if it was not padded.

Vail moves out of the range of the drunk's flailing fists as the man tries to regain his balance. With a murmured word, a miniscule spirit of flame darts out towards the man's greasy and travel-stained clothes.

Through some chance it lands in a spot of the man's jacket recently stained with some rotgut booze and quickly ignites. The traveler screams, high and shrill, and rips off his ragged and thin jacket to protect himself, but not before burning himself in the process.

A good chunk of the stubble on his face floats to the ground as ash, and an angry red welt is spreading across his bare arms as he stands in his sleeveless undershirt.

Nobody takes damage. Also, Vail, you're holding a spear. You have that as an option if you need it. Actions! You know the drill.

[Eldest]

Vail pulls another wright out of his tattoos, crying out Close your eyes! He then releases towards the drunk's burning jacket, shutting his eyes as it is pulled into the flames there and combusts in a brilliant flare that stabs at his eyes, even through the eyelids.
Standard Action: Cast Pyrotechnics (Bright Light version) on that drunk's jacket.

[Zap Dynamic]

Heat and light wash over Moon as Vail's tattoos seem to be releasing half-visible spirits upon his drunken assailant. For all her years, magic is something she has seen little of; if Vail's skills are any indication, it's a powerful and intriguing tool.

The Plowboy is certainly strong and quick enough, but his skill is difficult to gauge. Purely out of curiosity, Moon shifts into an almost defensive attitude, testing the plowboy here and there with a few strikes, but making little effort to press any advantage.

Stance: Overwhelming Wave
Full Action: Attack Plowboy (16 to hit for 7 damage)
Other: Readying Jade Barrier maneuver (14 on Sense Motive vs. Plowboy's next attack for a chance to block attack)

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 27/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d8+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None
Manuevers: Whirlwind Gyre, Crawling Ivy Strike, Buffeting Wave, Jade Barrier

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#|||||||#||
4||||#||||M||||#||
5||||#||||1||||#||
6||||#||||||||#||
7||||#|||||2||#|||
8|||||#||||V|#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

Moon and the plowboy feint and dodge back and forth, their poles cracking and slapping against each other. Neither appear to be able to gain the upper hand, until the young man attempts a lightning-quick series of strikes. Moon blocks these with some ease, and as the plowboy fumbles with his staff for a moment, her spear takes him in the pit of the stomach, causing him to bend over at the waist with a pained puff.

Meanwhile, the drunk is hefting his flaming jacket to throw at Vail. Before he can, though, the mage supplicates the spirits of the burning jacket to arise. The jacket, and the nearly-full flask of crude distillates in an inside pocket, shoot twenty feet into the air and explode with a blinding flash of blue and yellow that makes every shadow within forty yards visible. The sergeant swears and shouts something in Fiatara while clutching his eyes and about a half-dozen footsteps start approaching at a run.

The drunk, who watched his jacket fly out of his own hands, drops to his knees and holds his face, unable to see. He screams like he did when his clothes caught fire, a high, helpless noise.

Moon is likewise hurt, her eyes seared and useless. Blink and shake her head as she might, her sight does not immediately return.

Still screaming, the blind drunk launches himself towards Vail with his arms outstretched. He misses grabbing onto Vail's arm by a fraction of an inch and flails around trying to reach him.

Moon is currently Blinded. No HP damage for either of you.

[Zap Dynamic]

The last thing Moon saw was like staring at the sun. This blindness was a world of white light and tears. Fear is the path to defeat. The victorious learn to control their fear. Moon has no time to wonder how her master seems to have an anecdote for every situation. With as much control as she can muster, she backpedals away from the Plowboy, moving her spear in the tightest defensive posture she can manage. Whether or not the Plowboy can see is irrelevant. Focus, Moon.

Stance: None
Move: 5-foot back to H3
Other: Total Defense (+4 to AC for 1 round. Cannot make AoOs.)

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 34/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d6+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None
Maneuvers: Whirlwind Gyre, Crawling Ivy Strike, Buffeting Wave, Jade Barrier

[Eldest]

That is it! I'm tired of this crap! Vail steps around the drunk and brings the spear down with all his force on the man's chest. Yield or I start with the real fire!
5 foot step to H8
Standard action to attack the drunk with the shortspear.
Attack- [roll0]
Crit Confirm- [roll1]
Damage- [roll2]
Crit Damage- [roll3]

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_|I_|J_|K_|L_|M_|N_
1|||||||#|#|#|#||||
2||||||#|||||#|||
3|||||#|||M||||#||
4||||#||||||||#||
5||||#||||1||||#||
6||||#||||||||#||
7||||#|||||2||#|||
8|||||#||||V|#||||
9||||||#|#|#|#|||||
[/table]

Straightening up, the Plowboy smiles to see that Moon is apparently unable to see. He lashes out at her with the stick at hip level and connects solidly. She shuffles back, her stick held defensively, trying to ward off an unseen blow.

Vail's spear just barely misses the blind man, who uses the noise to determine where to launch himself like an angry ram. He performs what would be a near-perfect single-leg takedown if he had been anywhere near the mage. To his dismay, he tackles only air.

Moon takes 5 damage.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon's bright, blinding world fades to dim, watery grey as her eyes try to wash out whatever hurt has been done to them, but it doesn't help her see any better. Just as she begins to get confident about her defenses, a stab of pain rattles up her thigh and through her body.

There is no honor to be found in this fight. Perhaps there is no honor to found in any fight outside a monastery wall. Taking a chance, Moon halts her retreat and slashes viciously toward the last known position of the hulking plowboy. Time seems to drag in the instant that her spear is careening through the air, eager to find purchase.

Stance: None
Move: None
Attack: 21 to hit Plowboy for 10 damage. I have a 50% miss chance due to the Blinded condition, which Wyntonian is free to roll.

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 22/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d8+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None
Maneuvers: Whirlwind Gyre, Crawling Ivy Strike, Buffeting Wave, Jade Barrier

[Eldest]

This is idiotic. Vail steps away once more, pulling another wright from his tattoo. This one looks far more dangorous than the others, although all the onlookers can tell is the edges are sharper and it looks... "harder". He throws it down on the ground under the drunk, where it explodes into vicious flame. It is obvious I can win. Do. You. Yield?
5 foot step to H8
Use Fiery Burst on I7
[roll0] Reflex for half.

[NeoSeraphi]

The monk staggered, barely avoiding the blast of flame, but dropping to both knees and shaking his head. He bowed his head, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I know when I am beat. I yield, just please stand down."

Meanwhile, the plowboy quickly lashed out with another pair of attacks at Moon.


Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Attack: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[Wyntonian]

Moon lets her eyes relax as the young man advances again. Just as he moves to strike with his curious two-ended staff style, her eyes become clear enough she can parry both strikes with ease and a sharp clacking noise.

She ends her one fluid motion with the "blade" of her spear held at the youngster's throat, a killing blow if there ever was one. He freezes, his face going pale and drops his staff with a muffled clatter of padded hardwood on hard-packed dirt. His chest rises and falls with exertion, his thick, padded tunic stuck to his chest with sweat. His eyes, as they meet Moon's down the length of the spear that would have emptied his lifeblood on the thirsty ground show nothing but the utmost warrior's respect.

Vail likewise earns a submission, though his is barked and teary-faced, earned through flame rather than a spearpoint. His attacker, blind, scorched and half-naked, looks like he would be willing to kill if he weren't scared for his life.

The sergeant who organized the bout makes an applauding motion, even as he waves off a small squad of armored soldiers and one robed woman, apparently the footsteps you heard coming moments ago. He calls to them in the Fiatara-based trader's pidgin most multinational groups like this use. "It's fine, the mage had better control than I expected. Yeah, I know, you saw that flash, it was mostly harmless. You're free to go." He turns to Vail, respect clear in his eyes. "Lemme tell you, though, son. Last time a man died in my ring he was a wizardy type who damn near killed a spectator. I took him out myself. You keep your fire on a leash and we'll get along just fine."

To Moon, he offers similar praise. The losers are lead off by one of the armored warriors, back towards town.

[Eldest]

I have never killed a man that I didn't want dead, although this one was trying my patience enough that it was close. Now, did you say something about a further test, or can we proceed?

[Zap Dynamic]

Though it was genuinely given, Moon couldn't help but resent the mercenary's praise. Foolish mistakes and shoddy defense are all I demonstrated today.

Moving closer to Vail, she echoes his question. "Is there more you would have of us?"

[Wyntonian]

The sergeant claps you both on the shoulders, his chainmail rustling.

"Honestly, I'm impressed. I saw that look on your face, girl, and I know what you're thinking, but that boy was an exceptional fighter. I sent him off with a note, he's to be in another bout. And even though he outweighed you by a good fifty pounds and fought like a mad bastard, you would have made his breathing a little hoarse, shall we say, and didn't let him get a hit in even when you couldn't see. You're in." He smiles like a tinker handing out candy to a child.

"In fact, I'll give you a recommendation for the Officer's Guard division. There'll be an interview process, see if you're loyal, but you'll make twice as much as a grunt, better food and you'll see more interesting things. Are you interested?" His bushy eyebrow, flecked the same gray as his moustache, rises with his question.

"And you, Northerner. I can tell that if you'd cut loose, that man would be a scorch mark on the ground. We lost half a dozen of our magical types a couple months back, and we're hurting. I'll send you over to the wizardy folks, see what they can make of you."

He goes over to a small box sitting on top of the barrel that served as his seat and plucks out two small painted wood pendants out of a mess of plain wood and string tags, fumbling a bit until he removes a gauntlet and shoves it through his belt. He hands one to Vail with an eye on the face. "This'll let folks know you're a mage, and that I sent you. Head south through the camp, towards that big pavillion. That's Commander Giovanni's tent, and you have no business there, yet. Yours is the circle of wagons East of that, ask for Lady Misuto. Best if you greet her in Kotoba, if you speak it. Understand, soldier?"


He turns to Moon. The wood circle in his hand bears the mark of a shield. "This here marks you as a potential bodyguard. Head South with your friend to the big pavillion, then turn West. There's a smaller pavillion just a little ways past it. Find Captain Bartomelo, he's the guard coordinator. He'll interview you and such."

He salutes you both. "Any questions before you go?"

[Eldest]

Alright. Circle of Wagons, Lady Misuto, Kotoba. Got it. He walks off, losing a lot of his anger as he leaves the drunk and the fighting ring, lost in thoughts. It had been a long time since he took coin for fighting, although in this case it'd be different than guarding. Perhaps going along was just what he needed. And Moon would doubtless appreciate the company. Perhaps...
He arrives at the wagons, asks directions to the Lady, and approches her. My lady, my name is Vail. I was told to report to you. Vail speaks in nearly flawless Kotoba, much better than anybody expects from a tall Northerner.

[Zap Dynamic]

"...yes." Moon can't quite manage to keep up with the mercenary's rapid-fire barrage of Trader's Pidgin, but catches the gist of things. Accidentally at odds with her response, Moon walks away without asking any questions. Reclaiming her spear from the rack of blunted weapons, Moon makes her way to the pavilion to the south. Looking around, she spots a mercenary who doesn't seem to be busy with anything in particular. "I find Captain... Bar-to-melo?"

[Wyntonian]

To the east of the grand pavillion, Vail finds a circle of a dozen or so covered wagons. Stones mark campfire hearths, with logs and rough-hewn blocks of them forming seats, and a motely assortment of a dozen or so people of varied description lounges around them.

One is a young, slender, intelligent-looking man with a short goatee, round glasses and a well-tailored, elegant suit in the style of the Dotze Affariata. He looks up from a small table covered in gears, small vials and what appear to be mathematical diagrams to smile and wave cheerily. His eyes are remarkably bright, and his ears have the slightest hint of a point.

Behind him, a tall, shaven-headed man leans against a wagon. His eyes are weathered, and his arms tanned, a tattoo on his forehead of a radiant sun marks him as a Dawnbringer of the Church of Tuhan in Soleh, a high-ranking official, though one whose talents are geared towards piercing men's minds and destroying armies with flame rather than, say, administration. He wears the yellow and red robes of his station, with a sun-headed mace stuck through his heavy leather belt. He stares at Vail as he approaches, his face utterly impassive.

A youngish man with the same shield insignia as was on the token given to Moon points to a tall woman facing away from Vail as Lady Misuto. She wears a elegant, sweeping silk dress of the style work by a Sunshani noble lady, a rare indulgence in a mercenary band meant for war.

As Vail approaches her, she wheels around. Despite his height, she looks down on him. You address her in Kotoba and her glare drops down one notch as she hears his voice, and another as she sees the token the sergeant gave you. Now it looks like she's only planning to take off a limb, rather than your head. "Ah, someone around here can speak a civilized tongue. Excellent. You were told to find me? Well, considering what I have to work work with, that means that you're probably an incompetent fiend who killed someone with an application of the fine and noble arts you can barely understand. You may also have issues with authority. Look around, you'll fit right in with these fools and filthy Torei." She spits out the last word like it leaves a foul taste in her mouth.

The young man tinkering at the table perks up with a grin. "Love you too, Mom!" He calls with an accent of the upper classes and affection, an odd contrast to his single-finger salute. Lady Misuto glares daggers at his impish twinkling grin until he bends back over his work. Even the intimidating Dawnbringer, tattooed, armed and deadly, looks to her with respect.

"Join me for tea, boy, and we'll discuss your future with us. We lost six good spellweavers a while back, and it's been hard to keep our work done. We need someone who can help ease our burdens." She gestures impatiently to you and towards a servant who rushes forward with a pot and cups.


And I'll give you a chance to respond. It's hard to balance being descriptive and being long-winded, so let me know if you'd prefer it more or less so.

[Wyntonian]

"...yes." Moon can't quite manage to keep up with the mercenary's rapid-fire barrage of Trader's Pidgin, but catches the gist of things. Accidentally at odds with her response, Moon walks away without asking any questions. Reclaiming her spear from the rack of blunted weapons, Moon makes her way to the pavilion to the south. Looking around, she spots a mercenary who doesn't seem to be busy with anything in particular. "I find Captain... Bar-to-melo?"


Having turned away from Vail at the intersection, Moon approaches the large tent that houses the leadership of the bodyguard unit, pointed by a man carrying sacks of flour as big as he is. Rows of individual pup tents line the small lane towards the larger pavilion.

A man in a breastplate marked with a shield insignia with a sword at his hip and a horn slung across his chest stands before one, panting slightly. Around him is a small squad of soldiers, perhaps half a dozen, wearing chainmail and carrying mostly batons and clubs. One carries length of rope, another manacles.

The leader, a tall man with a flowing blond mane of shoulder-length hair and piercing blue eyes, levels his halberd at the low tent's flap. "Soldier!" He shouts in a commanding voice trained to pierce the din of battle. "Surrender yourself immediately! Your treason has been discovered!"

There is a stirring in the tent, a shuffling, but nobody exits. Two men reach in to pull the accused out, but from her vantage point thirty or so feet away, Moon can see that their efforts are in vain. A slit appears in the side of the tent, made by the tip of a knife, and a man wriggles through, kicks his tent over on those inside, leaps over his neighbor's, and sprints down the narrow lane directly towards Moon, the knife still held in his hand.

The men sent to arrest him shout something indeterminate, but all Moon is truly aware of is the face of the man fleeing towards her, hunted, frightened and familiar.

Actions! I'll give you a name in a little bit.

[Zap Dynamic]

There is a beautiful economy to the art of calligraphy. Clean lines are created with the most minimal effort, and the appeal of the whole is the result of the most dedicated restraint and ease. Extravagance has no place in calligraphy, though even deft loops and flourishes might be appropriate at certain times. The spear can be beautiful as well as deadly, Brother Goro used to say.

In a move that would have made both Brother Goro and her calligraphy instructor proud, Moon allowed her spear to slide through her hands, arcing toward the ground in the blink of an eye. Without thought, he grip tensed at the last moment, and six feet of hardwood lashed out to tangle the escaped soldier's legs beneath him.

Unfortunately, her thigh was still in a blaze of pain from the bout earlier, and as she shifted into what would have been the perfect stance, Moon faltered and her spear went wild.

Trip attempt vs. Escaped Soldier
17 to hit target's Touch AC. 4 on a Strength check to successfully trip the target.
If I unsuccessfully trip the target, then he has an opportunity to trip me.

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 22/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d6+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None
Maneuvers: Crawling Ivy Strike, Buffeting Wave, Whirlwind Gyre, Jade Barrier

[Eldest]

Well then, let us have tea. Vail mentally grumbles about the absence of ale, but his heart isn't in it. I was once a guard for a caravan, and so I have had some experience with this general line of work. What sort of spellweavers, as you put it, did you lose, and what role do you need filled?

[Wyntonian]

Moon

Despite her foot twisting beneath her, her spear still catches the man in the ankle as he tries to leap over it. He crashes into the ground in a tangled heap, his nose bloodied. As he moves to get up, the spear continues its fluid, graceful motion and ends pointed at his nose. His face, shocked and reddened, seems all the more familiar as blood drips down it. The mercenary leader barks and order and the man is disarmed, bound and manacled. He spits at your feet as he's hauled away.

The blond-haired man claps you on the shoulder. "Well done, miss. I'm Captain Bartomelo." He nods to the little painted pendant on your chest. "And I think we were supposed to meet anyway. Come with me."

Vail is coming up. Sorry for the wait!

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon moves off with the captain, but not without glancing back at the soldier. Where have I seen him before?

As she walks, Moon surveys the other mercenaries. Some carry swords, others crossbows and crude clubs, and still others carry spears like her. Their ability with these weapons is hard to judge, but few enough seem to move with the grace of a true warrior.

[Wyntonian]

Vail

A boy places a teapot and a pair of cups on a convenient stump. Lady Misuto places a hand on it and narrows her eyes, and it immediately screams to a boil. She waits a moment before pouring the tea.

"Well, it was about three weeks ago, while we were coming over the passes to Sunshan. The forward column - we were broken up into three groups, maybe half a mile apart - sent a rider to us saying they were under attack, a goliath raid, and that they needed some support. I contributed six spellcasters, a couple of which were rather talented, to the reinforcements."

She pauses to sip at her tea. Yours is still obscenely hot.

"They never made it. A group of goliaths hit them, hard. They didn't leave a single survivor. My men, the spellcasters, all had holes drilled into the top of their scalps. Dirty savages."

She shakes her head, as if clearing away the memory.

"Now, tell me about what you're capable of? What do you do? I saw the flash from your duel all the way over here, but I've got a sneaking suspicion you're not a Solerian priest, am I correct? Also, who - if anyone - did you train under, and have you regularly fought with magic before?"


I thought I posted this two days ago. I've been out of town and was using a hotel connection for a Model United Nations Conference (reppin Tunisia erryday) and it must have ate my post. Zap, you're up tomorrow.

[Eldest]

I am what you would call a flamedancer. I won't bother you with the details of how my magic works; you'll just brush it off as barbarian superstition. As I said, I have been a guard for my clan's caravan for many years. While I've only had training in my homeland, the practice is good for something. Vail drinks down his tea. He's had hotter drinks up north, and two could play at that game.
You're in MUN as well? Yay for obscure points of parlimentry procedure and little-know buerocreatic bodies! (AU and a moderated caucus moderated by myself, respectively)

[Wyntonian]

Moon

The blond-haired man leads you off towards the command pavilion for the Guardsmen. "I'd like to thank you for your help with that incident earlier. I wish you didn't have to see it. That trooper, Lo, was discovered to have contacted a goliath tribe and sold them our marching plans for which pass we were to take over the mountains. I'll be honest, I'd like to see him hang."

The interior of the pavilion is lined with racks of weapons, mostly long, narrow swords and polearms. Charts with pictures of important figures complete the decorations. Captain Bartomelo passes you a folding chair and sits.

I'd continue, but I figured you'd want to respond.

[Wyntonian]

Vail

Lady Misuto comes as close to an unladylike snort as a true lady can at the mention of "barbarian superstition". She ponders the mention of the caravan for a moment, though. "I could smell the fire in you half a mile off, boy. And your time riding guard may be just as well. We do tend to move around a lot. Have you ever had to take orders? Or will I have to break you like a wild horse? I had to do it with that little boy-child over there" She gestures to the man fiddling with a diagram and parts of a dissembled crossbow at the table. He glances up again for a moment. "He's still scared of me. Will I have to do that to keep you in line?"

[Eldest]

What, you think I was the captain of the caravan guard? I'm flattered, but no. I've taken orders, and so long as I don't find them against what little of my religion I still follow, I'll obey them. But that doesn't mean you get to hold sway over me. In a battle, I'll follow you. Outside of that, I'll not follow petty orders. Make sense, or do I need to try explaining it again?

[Zap Dynamic]

Lo.

Moon had all but forgotten about the boy, but everything came rushing back at the mention of his name. She hadn't felt threatened by the boy at the time, even though she was all but useless without her spear. The monastery wasn't that large a place, and it had been easy enough for her to avoid him while she yelled for help. All the same, the ease with which she had managed to trip him this time around made more sense. He had never been Moon's equal, and that may have been why he seemed to gravitate around her so.

"You will kill him?" It isn't easy for Moon to understand Trader's Pidgin, but the word "hang" rings clearly enough. She takes a seat as she waits for the soldier's response.

[Wyntonian]

Vail

The silk-draped woman glares at your words. "Perhaps you barbarians don't understand order. We are a military unit, here. That means discipline. If you want your pay, you listen to your commander. That commander is me. If I say my servant is tired and it's up to you to dig our latrine, you do it. If you're willing to accept me as your leader and put your life in my hands, trust me not to sell it cheaply."

She leans back and drains her small porcelain cup, her manner changing from someone ready to punch a bear to a slightly condescending leader.

"By the way, what would constitute offending your religion? You find some remarkably strange ways in the backwoods, and I've heard that the traveling folks up north are odder than usual."

[Wyntonian]

Moon

Captain Bartomelo starts to take off his armor, clanking and rattling as he unstraps the vambraces from his arms, but he pauses at the question. "Well... Yes, that's the general idea. He betrayed us, cost us the lives of a good thirty men." He resumes his clanking. "Lady Misuto - she commands our spellcasters - lost six men herself. He'll get a trial, the commander will pass judgement, but he's guilty, and he'll hang for it."

He passes the gleaming steel plates to an attendant who puts them on a rack. "I don't like seeing men hang, but I like seeing my men without their heads even less." He pauses, perceptive. "You know him, don't you?"

[Eldest]

Twasn't my meaning. I only spoke so because one of the worse commanders I had decided that we needed to run his personal errands and fend off his bookie. I never expect to meet a commander of similar lows, but I always try to warn them off in advance. Vail drains the last of his tea and continued. As for my religion, there are two things I will not do. I will not bind a wraith; only form a contract. I will not kill an innocent; only the guilty.

[Wyntonian]

Misuto looks like she'd like to ask a question, but apparently thinks better of it.

"Well then. I suppose you're in. You're the only halfway competent spellcaster in this ancestor-forgotten slum, and we can't do any better. Go greet your new family. I'll see about getting you a guard, we all have one. If you need anything, bother someone else. I have work to do."

She sweeps her silks up in an elegant bow and strides off purposefully. A hauberked man, previously so still as to be almost invisible, moves off with her.

The circle of wagons contains a couple people. The Solerian priest is still watching you intensely, the young Affariatan man is still fiddling with the parts of a crossbow.

A woman of perhaps your age is cleaning some polished steel tools, tweezers, scalpels and other such things with a bottle of clear liquid. Behind her, in the bed of a wagon, a young man with large eyes and slightly pointed ears is tuning a violin. Lastly, a man with a broad-brimmed hat and a slight beard peers at you with the one eye not covered by a leather patch.

[Eldest]

Vail addressees the others gathered around. She always like this? Or did I just tick her off?

[Wyntonian]

The men and women in the circle look around at each other for a moment. Eventually the youngish one tinkering at the table speaks up. "Well, you're not sobbing and you still have all your limbs. Not all of us could say that after our first conversation with her." He stands up and leans over his diagrams and schema to offer a scholarly-looking hand. "Olivero Emilio. Please to meet you. My job is to make cool things. Some of them explode." His smile is friendly and seems to come easy.

He gestures towards the tattooed Solerian. "Here we have Constantine. He's not actually a priest, despite the robes and tattoos and such. He doesn't talk much, so we don't know the story, but he's good at things involving light and heat."

He points at the woman intent on her gleaming equipment. She looks up from a haemostat long enough to wave and grin, her curly brown hair swaying. "This is Iona, she's a medical doctor. I'm not sure if it's magic or what, but she's very skilled. Be nice to her, she'll probably save your life at some point or another."

The young man with the violin is Evangelos, and is an illusionist. As that is mentioned a swarm of sparkling butterflies flutter from his strings as he plays an enchantingly beautiful song that portends springtime, youth, and a kick-up-the-heels joy.

"And last we have Sigurd Ravensong. He's a Vallheimer, like you. Not sure what he does, exactly, but he's a hell of a storyteller."

The man nods gravely and speaks in Tala "I tell stories so old they forgot they're just stories. I cast runes, as well. Good to have you, fox-lad."

[Eldest]

And I have contracts so simple they forgot they are binding. Of the Fox I am, but of what are you? Vail's Tala has a trace of accent from having not spoken it in years, but the accent fades away within seconds.

[Zap Dynamic]

Hints and lessons at every turn, Moon thinks as she learns the fate of the boy. "I knew him once. His story is..." she pauses, searching for the words, "small and angry."

After a moment of quiet reflection, Moon produces the token she was given at the duel. "What does 'officer guard' do?"

[Wyntonian]

Vail

"I am of Owl Clan. He tips his hat forward to show a small spray of feathers at the band. "I came south to study at a university, but sitting in a classroom with a bunch of noble's sons who think runes and offerings to the Wights are barbarian superstition... Well, I didn't leave on good terms. Now I'm just trying to scrape together enough cash to make it home." His last words are wistful and speak of a great loneliness.

Moon

Captain Bartomelo smiles at the description of Lo, but sobers as his work is mentioned. "Well, in short, we keep people safe. Some people, like officers, mages, whatever, are both important to keeping other people alive, so they get targeted. We keep them safe, so they can save others. You'll be assigned an officer or mage, and you'll guard them. Simple as that. Are you up for it?"

[Eldest]

Money? There is a simpler way home. Walk north.

[Zap Dynamic]

Without hesitation, Moon looked at the captain. "I will guard Vail of Vallheim, yes?"

[Wyntonian]

Vail

The man shakes his head under his broad-brimmed hat. "Not so simple, wanderer. I'm not really well-recieved in Sunshan, and the Solerian Church put out a full warrant for my arrest. No, I'm saving for passage on a vessel of some sort, but it costs a pretty penny.

What brings you to this life of romance, adventure, being bossed around and the occasional case of dysentery, though?"

Moon

The Captain looks puzzled. "Who? Is he a new recruit? I can't say I know that name..."

[Eldest]

Vail switches back into Trader's Pidgen. Yes, the lovely life of a wandering warrior, where the bandits we carve out of caves live better than us. He pauses as a thought occurs to him. Hm. Usually I start complaining after I get drunk, not far before. Odd. To answer your question, I am looking after a woman who decided to enlist. I had a wife in that village, but she died, and so there is nothing holding me there anymore. He visibly gets sadder as he utters this last sentence. Now, about those drinks...

[Wyntonian]

Vail

Sigurd points towards a small cask on the back of a wagon. "Affariatan wine. Being so important to the functioning of the army means we get a couple privileges, decent wine being one of them."

The Solerian, robed in red and yellow, leans on the wagon. He continues to stare, his eyes unblinking.

[Eldest]

Vail grunts, an affirming noise, then grabs a bottle and uncorks it. He finds a few mugs lying around, pours for everyone, and takes a deep swig. Then he returns the Solerian's stare mutely.

[Zap Dynamic]

"He is my... battle... friend?" In Sunshan, there are half a dozen words to describe the person who stands next to you in combat. There may be one in Trader's Pidgin, but Moon doesn't know it.

[Wyntonian]

Moon

Captain Bartomelo makes a comprehending noise. "Ah, a companion? Someone you know personally? Well, assuming he's to be assigned a guard, I'll be sure to pair you up."

He stands up, his leather underarmor trailing the little ties and thongs that help the steel plates in place. "Well, I see you have a spear, but you're welcome to anything from our armories. You way want to go take a look, it's the next tent over. Oh, and you won't need to interview for loyalty, I've determined that to my own satisfaction. You're dismissed." He turns to a chart of names nearby and marks you down, along with Vail.

[Wyntonian]

Vail

Constantine eventually takes the mug of wine. He nods slowly, then turns his eyes back to the sun and stays still. If you're still there a minute or two later, he says slowly "You don't seem at peace. Why?"

[Eldest]

My wife. Died. Vail glares at Constantine, then at the mug, as if he can't decide who he's angry at. Loved her. Still do. He looks up and meets Constantine's gaze again. Any other questions, or can I get on with drinking?

[Wyntonian]

Vail

Constantine gesture towards your mug. "Go ahead. Drink." He then returns to staring directly at the sun, apparently unblinking. Minutes go by, in which Olivero, the young man with the crossbow makes a delighted noise as something fits into place and Evangelos the violinist seems to get his instrument tuned to his satisfaction.

"You left home for love. Admirable."

Sip.

"Be careful. Tonight. Tuhan's eye is ominous."

With that, he turns and walks out of the wagon circle.

[Zap Dynamic]

Though she doesn't expect to find anything worth taking, Moon makes her way to the armory tent, to see if she might be surprised.

[Wyntonian]

Moon

In the armory tent, a long canvas affair with one wall, people move quickly and purposefully, gathering weapons to be distributed to the new recruits. Racks of weapons of all varieties, but mostly crossbows, long spears spears and long, narrow swords line the back wall, while stacks of armor plates take up the rest.

A official-looking man comes up to Moon. "Hello. New guardsma- guardswoman? I see you have a spear. What else do you need?"

[Eldest]

ThoughtIhadalreadypostedbutno...
Vail takes another drink of wine. Is he always that verbose? His speech drips irony on the last word.

[Wyntonian]

Vail

Sigurd Ravensong, the Vallheimer, nods. "He was in training to be a Solerian dawnbringer. That's why he has the tattoos, the weaponry, robes. Didn't complete it, though, and he left on poor terms. Well, pursued by a troop of knights is a better way to put it. Anyway, whatever they do to them leaves them... quiet. Honestly, considering what they do through, it's best he doesn't say too much about it."

He looks up. "Looks like your gear is here." A runner drops off a pack with a bedroll and other assorted gear.

[Eldest]

So, we sleep here then? Vail sets up a bedroll and prepares to sleep for the night.
We can skip ahead to the next event, or I can go wherever's next in the story.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon bows courteously to the attendant, offering a small smile. "I need nothing, thank you." She was relieved to see that the weapons and armor were in good condition, though there wasn't anything she couldn't live without. With a last, appraising look at the spears, Moon turns out her heels and starts heading in no direction in particular. Perhaps she doesn't speak the language, but at least she can get a feel for the atmosphere of the camp.

[Wyntonian]

Moon

A private with the shield of a bodyguard finds you after a couple minutes of wandering about, appreciating the sights and smells of a temporary encampment, from the slit latrines to the unwashed bodies. Overall, the men and occasional woman seem relatively content, either going about their duties or doing soldier-y things, eating, playing dice, singing boisterously, repairing bits of geat or just talking. He salutes crisply. "Ma'am? Captain Bartomelo has an assignment for you. You're to report to the mages' circle, you have your first mark." He hands you a parchment scroll and salutes again, apparently waiting to be dismissed.

[Wyntonian]

Moon

The messenger leans forward a little bit and points. "Oh, and the Mages' Circle is that way. Can't miss it. Ask anyone for directions if you need them. They'll want you there shortly."

[Zap Dynamic]

Lost in thought, Moon didn't even hear the messenger the first time. "Forgive me," she stammers in Kotoba, forgetting that she is surrounded by mercenaries from the Dotze Affariata.

She hastily grabs the parchment and heads in the direction of the Mages' Circle. As she walks, she opens the scroll to see what her assignment is.

AGH! SO SORRY! :smalleek:

[Wyntonian]

The scroll is helpfully written in Kotoba. It outlines your attachment to the Mage's Circle unit, and your duties protecting Vail of the Vallheim, both in and out of combat. Shortly after you finish it, you reach the wagon circle.

[Zap Dynamic]

Making her way over to her erstwhile companion, Moon takes in the new faces around her. Things appear to be much less uniform amongst the mages than the rest of the troops.

"Vail," she said, offering him a polite smile. "I am assigned to guard you."

[Eldest]

Thassa grate thang. Wundurfel. Imma slep now... It's obvious that Vail has drunk a fair bit more wine than he should have, or in fact that has has drunk in a long time.

[Zap Dynamic]

Bracing Vail so he doesn't fall, Moon gives him a concerned look. "Have you been drinking?" Her tone suggests that a mere yes or no shouldn't be sufficient.

[Eldest]

Yesh. I shet up for shleep, and then theshe guys had more wine. So I drank shome more. He doesn't look as drunk as before, possibly because he was falling asleep beforehand.

[Zap Dynamic]

Growing up in a monastery, Moon has very little experience with alcohol. Though she has seen men and women from the village carousing on some evenings, she's never partaken of it herself, and that alienation makes her a rather poor friend in this situation. "Will you be all right?," she says, placing a comforting hand on Vail's shoulder. Moon seems much more worried than she should; for all she knows, such intoxication could kill him.

[Eldest]

Gotta shleep it off, thash all. Shleep is nishe. Don't wanna remember. I forgot to forget. Sho I drank some. And them shome more.

[Zap Dynamic]

"Forget what?" Moon asks, furrowing her brow.

[Eldest]

My wife. With that, Vail rolls over and visibly tries to sleep.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon leaves Vail to his memories, and instead moves off to find the commander of this group of magic users. Vail was little help, but hopefully whoever is in charge will be able to tell her more about her position.

[Wyntonian]

At the direction of a young, happy-looking man bent proudly over a crossbow, Moon heads towards the main command tent, a tall canvas pavilion big enough to hold a couple dozen people, or in this case a dozen or so people around a large table. A guard blocks you from going in, but with a hand rather than his halberd.

He shakes his head, making the chainmail aventail on his kettle-style helmet clink and jingle against his breastplate. "Espera un minut. Els nois grans parlen." At your look of incomprehension, he repeats. "Hold on. The big folks are talking."

From inside, you hear a man's voice, powerfully accented with something clipped and gurgling, "We should leave soon. We have all the new troops we need, and that bastard Imisuru has his money. We'll need to get over the passes soon, to meet our deadline. Also, we'll want to get out before the Sunshani's know where we're really headed."

Another voice, again male but without the accent. "Good God's balls, man. Why not just tell the Empress herself? Jester witness, there could be a Sunshani agent outside right now! Let's move on to the matter of tonight's trial..."

The guard pauses awkwardly for a moment before reaching for you, "Captain Bartomelo? About that agent?"

[Zap Dynamic]

It has been a singular afternoon for Moon. Years of training amounted to being manhandled by a farmboy in an arena, a ghost from her past was condemned to death, and now her ears catch wind of the intrigue of an exotic mercenary band. Moon expected the outside world to be full of surprises, but perhaps not so many at once.

Trying not to seem flustered by the implications she overhears, Moon instinctively kowtows to the watchman. "I am Moon. New guard. Here for orders."

[Wyntonian]

The guard looks confused at your sudden supination, but before he can say anything, Captain Bartomelo strides out, throwing the tent flap aside with a hand on his sword. "What's going... Oh hell. Get up, girl."

He lifts you bodily to your feet with gentle roughness and claps his palm to the side of your head. For a dozen heartbeats that feel like an eternity, you're unable to move. His eyes, remarkably blue, seem to pierce your soul as he stares at you. It is as if you can feel him rifling through your mind. After an age, he releases you and you stagger back,

He ducks his head back into the tent. "It's ok, just a new recruit. Wanted to talk to you, Misuto. Shall we adjourn?"

People file out, returning to their duties. Last is a tall woman in a long red robe that moves like a storm front, with the smell of smoke around her and a crackle of menace across her face. "Well? What's so important you had to interrupt a commander's meeting?

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon isn't expecting a fellow Sunshani, but her surprise is no impediment to years of experience in her highly-ritualized culture. She immediately folds into a deep kowtow. "My apologies, madame," she says in flawless Kotoba, "I have the honor to address you as Moon, a spearwoman from a nearby monastery. I have recently been assigned to protect Vail, a new recruit in your band. If it please you, I had hoped to learn the details of my assignment, madame." Her eyes are trained on the floor for a split second longer--exactly as long as custom dictates for a member of a monastic order--then she stands upright as regards the Sunshani deferentially.

[Wyntonian]

Lady Misuto almost smiles at the formality. Almost. She bows herself, with a shade more elegance. "I understand, Guardswoman. You will, in brief, be responsible for protecting Vail, who I believe you know personally, in battle and on the march. Spellcasters are frequently targeted, so you may very well see combat. When we are camped, our screen of scouts should provide sufficient cover that you won't need to stay up and guard him. The Circle has our own defenses as well. Can you do that?"

[Zap Dynamic]

Bowing again, Moon ponders her words for a moment. "I will defend Vail with my spear and my life, madame."

[Wyntonian]

Misuto's face relaxes from face-chewing rage to "get out of my house". "Very well, then. We march tomorrow. Now, go fetch the Circle here. The traitor's trial and execution begins soon." With that, she turns crisply and departs. Already, a small crowd is gathering.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon bows one last time. In the monastery, the brothers are always highly formal with each other, but all the bowing and signifying comes with an almost ever-present sense of warmth and camaraderie. Even when new recruits speak with the most senior of the monks, there is never a moment hostility, arrogance, or the pride of nobility. Certainly, Moon has heard the stories of social hierarchy and its consequences, but until now she hasn't seen them for herself.

Making her way back to the common area for the Mages' Circle, Moon approaches the nearest mage. "Madame Misuto...calls the circle... together" she says in her heavily-accented Trader's Pidgin. "The...essecushun...is soon."

[Wyntonian]

The Solerian looks up from the candle he was studying. He gestures at the others, and they, with minor resistance, get up and wander in the general direction of the pavilion. Vail remains asleep. Constantine, the Solerian you spoke to, stays where he is. A young lady with curly brown hair who frowns at the invitation and remains seated where she is, reading a book by the fire.

[Zap Dynamic]

Watching the mages file out, Moon notices that one of them hangs behind. She considers this, then moves to find Vail, still asleep.

"Vail," she says, nudging him a few times with her hand. "Lady Misuto has requested the presence of all mages for the trial of Lo. There is a woman who hasn't responded. I'm worried that she doesn't understand my Trader's Pidgin." Moon lets the unspoken question hang in the air.

[Eldest]

Vail rolls over and grunts. How much time I got? I'll translate for you if need be, don't worry.

[Zap Dynamic]

"I'm not certain. Lady Misuto seemed impatient, so the trial may begin shortly." Moon holds out a hand to help Vail to this feet. "I'm glad you'll speak to the other mage," she says, a look of mild discomfort on her face. "I think I will need to practice my pidgin."

[Eldest]

Great. So the quickie way of waking. Vail wanders off, grousing, until a sudden roar of "COLD" comes from near the water bucket. Vail reappears right after, dripping water from his hair onto his overshirt. He is shivering a little, and gestures for Moon to lead the way to the Circle meeting.

[Wyntonian]

Leaving the curly-haired doctor to her book, you follow the growing crowd to a conveniently open area before the commander's pavilion. Lo stands there, his arms tied behind his back and his eyes downcast. Bartomelo stands behind him, with a sadness in his eyes but a firm hand on the accused's shoulder.

Misuto gestures you both over to the cluster of mages, near the front. It seems like the entire company is there, in a disorganized crowd that keeps a respectful distance from the accused and the commanders.

Once a reasonably large crowd gathers, the flap of the tent flies open and the commander strides out in his parade gear, all gleaming steel and burnished silver. He wears no helmet, letting his black ponytail fall across his shoulders.

"Hello, warriors of the Rose Company. It is with great sadness and great anger that I call you here to witness the judgement of one of your fellows. This man, Lo, is one of you. He fought with you, marched with you, shared fire, food and, I presume, friendship.

"His repayment? He sold the marching plans of our unit to a group of savage and barbaric Urgal for.... this.

He drops a sack the size of two fists to the ground where it clinks softly. He turns to Lo, who makes no response, "About two hundred gold florins and a piece of string. Tell me, son. Was it worth the death of twenty-seven of your comrades? Six of the mages who help keep our troops safe? One man whose wife had just given birth to a son?"

Lo turns his head away slightly and inhales sharply. The commander continues, "Because our former comrade has nothing to say in his defense, is there no one here who would speak in his defense?"

Urgal is the colloquial name for Goliaths, what they call their warriors (thinking vikings being called vikings). Florins are the Dotze Affariata's money.

[Eldest]

Vail calls out rather loudly. For those of us late to arrive, what proof have you that he sold your plans? Beyond the gold.

[Wyntonian]

The commander turns his angular face towards you and raises an eyebrow. "His hawk, trained to fly to a certain Urgal clan, was followed. That's how he relayed the information. Is that satisfactory, spellcaster?"

[Eldest]

Oh, yes, he's quite guilty. But have you considered giving the Urgals false information, perhaps leading them into a trap, now that you can give them information they know is coming from a good source?

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon sits with the attention of a hawk. She hoped for a somewhat gentler introduction to the finer points of living in the world, but this would have to do. Even though she has a little difficultly understanding the Pidgin spoken at the trial, she has every intention of learning as much as possible.

That a shadow from her past sits awaiting condemnation, she has mixed feelings. In her whole life, Moon has known less than 200 people. Not only was Lo one of those precious few, but what he did to her has had a huge impact on the way she looks at the world. She doesn't speak, because she's too close to the situation to be capable of any words.

[Wyntonian]

The commander frowns. "A worthy idea, but now's not the time to discuss it. We have an execution to perform. Who here finds this man to be worthy of death?" His voice is like a trumpet, trained to pierce the din of battle. The crowd roars assent, and most of the mages do as well.

[Zap Dynamic]

For the briefest of moments, Moon locks eyes with Lo. Thoughts and emotions play across the faces of both of them, tendrils across a vast sea of separation. She touches her face, where a bruise suffered at his hands had faded long ago.

In the monastery, during spear training, students stood in an orderly line, watching, listening, and waiting while Brother Goro extolled the virtues of the spear, or demonstrated a technique. If a student had a question, they were supposed to step forward from the line of their peers. It was lesson learned early on, however, that to step forward from the group was a blessing and a curse: it often lead to edification and could correct a mistaken point of view, but it was also a challenge to the teacher's authority. All those who stepped forward were allowed to ask their question, but only after they engaged in a practice bout with the instructor.

Unlike many of her peers, Moon has never been afraid to step forth. She draws a deep breath, and moves a few feet out onto the naked ground between the rabble and the accused. Her senses are alive the entire time, gauging the reaction of the commander, the crowd behind her, and especially Lo, perhaps the only person here who understands what she's doing. She understands the nature of a challenge, and she will issue whatever is necessary to ask her question.

[Wyntonian]

The crowd slows its cheering and roaring as Moon advances. Lo looks up for a part of a second, then returns to glaring at the ground. The commander arches a eyebrow. "Yes?"

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon draws a deep breath. She balls her right fist, wishing that she could clutch her spear for support, but she left it back at the Mage's Circle camp.

"One life cannot be worth so many others," she falters for a moment, searching for words. "But does his life have any worth?" She steels herself, digging deep to put the words together properly, even with such a heavy accent. "Who else knows where to find this camp?"

[Wyntonian]

"We can find the Urgal camp with little difficulty. And as for the value of this man's life? Well? What do the warriors he betrayed think?" A roar, louder than the first, crashes over those gathered.

"I deem it settled. The sentence is death, to be executed this night."

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon bows and steps back into the throng, but her actions are a speck amongst the raised voices and the ruckus of weapons and armor clashing together. She looks at Lo, who seems almost to have died already.

[Wyntonian]

The Commander turns to Lo, his face like carved steel. "Now, I give you a choice. How would you like your sentence carried out?"

There is something that happens to men, when they realize that the only thing they have control over is how they will be remembered. As the question is delivered, Lo lifts his chin, straightens his back and steps forward, towards the Commander. He speaks with a voice devoid of fear. "If your decision is that I die, so be it. You will be the one to carry it out. I request that we fight, here, now, unarmed, and to the death."

The crowd roars once more in response, but now their voices carry a shadow of respect.

[Eldest]

Well, you can't fault him for courage. Vail mutters. Then he shouts out for everyone to hear. And if you win, Lo, then what? You will have killed the commander, no small task, but your execution will only be postponed.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon's brow furrows. Unarmed? The monks trained in unarmed combat, but how could Lo hope to defeat a battle-hardened commander? I would prefer to live, but if I had to die I'd rather die fighting.

[Wyntonian]

The Commander turns to Vail with a hint of anger, speaking loud enough for the entire company to hear. "If the traitor slays me, then Lieutenant Marrano will take command of the Rose Company, just as if I had died in battle." He removes his armor with the help of Captain Bartomelo and his shirt as well. He is left barefoot, in loose pants, revealing the multiple scars cris-crossing his chest. He places his sword and belt next to the pile of his armor and puts up his guard. "Come at me, traitor."

Lo, his bonds cut, steps forward calmly. Moon recognizes that his motions have become much more fluid in the years since he left, where his strength was left ineffective by his awkward movements. He likewise lifts his hands to an open-handed guard and smiles, slightly. "Out of respect, sir, that honor belongs to you."

For a full fifteen seconds they watch each other, unblinking, before the Commander moves. He lunges forward, striking with each fist in rapid succession before getting a grip on one of Lo's wrists as the smaller Sunshani blocks with elegant speed. He pulls, hard, and whips his forehead into the other man's face with a crunch.

Lo staggers back, a hand flying to his face. He stifles a grunt and straightens, taking a lower stance and turning to face the Commander, now cocky, stalking around him.

After another pause, Lo strikes. The Commander, watching the smaller man's quick and deadly hands, didn't see the foot that caught him across the temple. He collapses, just far enough to push himself back up and catch the Lo's second kick, delivered from mid-air in a whirling leap. With a wrench of the man's scarred torso, Lo's leap turns into a crash as he hits the packed dirt. The Commander pounces on him, and they roll, undignified, back and forth, scrabbling for a hold. Eventually, the Commander end up on top, pinning Lo with his superior weight, one hand on his wrist in a crushing grip, the other clamped on his throat.

His face slowly purpling, the former monk turns to Moon. A smile, stained with blood, and a wink is all he can convey, before his free hand lashes forward and catches the Commander in the right eye. Blood and clear fluid comes from the wound, but the Affariatan somehow does not loosen his grip. With a flash, his other hand meets the other on Lo's throat, and with the sound of wet green sticks breaking, the fight ends.

The victor stands, his hands wet with blood, and with the crushed remains of an eye still in the socket. He roars his victory, and the crowd, reduced to bestial levels, responds in kind.



DC 15 spot check for Moon

[Zap Dynamic]

The press of mercenaries around Moon is claustrophobic. During the roaring all around her, she is sure to look at Vail and Lady Misuto, curious to know their reaction to the events.

[Eldest]

Vail's face fills with disgust at the blood sports. He glances around, spotting anybody who isn't cheering with the crowd.

[Wyntonian]

Lady Misuto looks on with a touch of disgust, but also a deep sort of pride. The rest of the Circle has a similar expression, though less positive.

Captain Bartomelo has a pained look on his face, but stands his ground with firm discipline.

Sigurd Ravensong, the Vallheimer, leans in behind Moon. "Did that boy try to tell you something? I saw him try to speak."

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon considers the situation. She recalls the strange look in Lo's eyes just before the end and shrugs. "I do not know what words he had."

[Wyntonian]

Misuto glances over to Moon and speaks without turning her head. "It looked like he said 'I'm sorry', in Torei. I presume he was speaking to you?"

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon looks at Lady Misuto with deference. "Yes, my lady. I did not see it, but I'm sure that's what he said," she says in Kotoba, then pauses. "He cast a long shadow from my past."

[Wyntonian]

Misuto turns about and ushers the Circle back to your campsite, as the cheers and roars die down and the crowd disperses.

The sun has set, but there are torches and a substantial fire lit. Sigurd gets out a small leather bag and begins drawing out small bone tiles, one at a time and arranging them on a blanket. The curly-haired doctor is right where you left her, though another centimeter into her book. The rest of the circle putters around, getting ready for bed.

[Eldest]

Vail stalks back to the campsite, still obviously angry about the revelry surrounding the fight. He sets up for bed again and prepares to fall asleep again.

[Zap Dynamic]

Leaving the Circle, Moon makes her way to the boundary of the mercenary camp. She walks through the sleepy village she has watched from a distance her whole life, and turns out to walk across starlit fields.

The monastery looms on a hill above the village, and Moon can see the faint light of torches against the walls here and there. The light of the mercenary camp has dimmed her vision a little, but the night is clear enough that she can see a blanket of stars over her head. Without particular emotion, she looks up into the blackness overhead, losing her self in the sense of space.

She knows the names of many of the stars, as well as the constellations they form. Most are tied to the legends of one culture or another, though she has always wondered how the ancestors of the world managed to find meaning amongst the heavens. To her, the night sky seems pregnant with answers, though she lacks the language to put it in words. Instead, she feels peace washing over her in waves.

She grips her spear and sinks into a form. Since she could remember, the spear and the pen have been her tools, and the stars have been her solace. Like the meaning within them, she lacks the words to express her feelings at the moment, but her spear form is aggressive, choppy, and exhausting.

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[Wyntonian]

After a few minutes of gliding through forms, a familiar shape steps out of the shadows. Captain Bartomelo joins you on the open grass, his armor replaced with the loose shirt and laced vest the Affariatans favor, and his long narrow sword at his hip. "You're close. Follow me."

He draws his sword and glides through a smooth set of thrusts, moving with a grace that makes his most darting movements seem languid. He darts across the small field, his silver blade glinting in the moonlight, moving like a trained dancer before turning back to you. "What I see is a girl holding a weapon. But there is no weapon, in truth. The mind is the weapon, the spear only extends it. Smooth your mind, free it of turmoil, and the spear will move smoothly as well. Cast aside the burdens on your mind, and the spear will be lighter as well."


Creative wanking is the best kind!

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon bows politely after the advice. "Thank you," she says. She would need to spend some time deciphering his words, but she understood enough to know that he was being helpful.

Without ceremony, she begins another form. Like the captain, she seems to glide from stance to stance, spear striking out in devastatingly precise thrusts, only to recede into grace like a whip cracking. Unlike her first form, fluidity, balance, and economy of motion seem to rule her every breath as she sidesteps and stabs. The similarities between her form and the captain's are enough to give pause to anyone who knows what they're looking at. Her footwork needs attention, but such is to be expected from a novice practicing in a field.

When she finishes, she looks back at the captain. "Emperors strike from the throne, where power is still and swift, yes?" Moon silently thanks herself for having the good sense to spend time translating the philosophies behind the forms given to her by Brother Goro. The spear was almost everything she knows, and at least she has the means of talking about that amongst so many foreign tongues.

So Bart's a fencer, eh? As it turns out, Moon's got some maneuvers from Jade Throne, too. :smalltongue:

[Wyntonian]

Bartomelo and Moon practice for a short while longer before returning to bed, inside the screen of scouts that encircles the camp. The Circle is mostly asleep, though Iona is still trying to read her book by the light of the embers of the dying fire.

The next morning....


So, do you guys wake up early and train, sleep in, wander around, RP have conversations?

[Zap Dynamic]

After waking shortly after sunrise, Moon goes to Vail's tent. Standing outside, she calls into the Vallheimer.

"Vail! Have you risen?"

[Eldest]

Vail moans and rolls over in his bedroll, pressing himself into the furs.
...
Sunrise? Really?

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon waits for a few moments, and eventually moves along. There were a few lazy people in the monastery, but everyone used to rise and rest at the same hour.

She looks around the Circle camp, and walks up to the nearest person she sees. "Excuse me," she says with a thick accent. "Where to report?"

Hahaha, yeah... I saw you mention that Vail was sleeping in, and couldn't resist. :smalltongue:

[Wyntonian]

The only person who seems to be awake is Constantine, the former Solerian clergyman, but he remains silent, his head bowed towards the rising sun as you ask him. After a long, awkward pause, a minor officer walking by offers up some directions. "We're headed out today, ma'am. The Circle takes care of its own gear, so just pack your stuff up. We leave around noon."

[Zap Dynamic]

Bowing slightly, Moon thanks the Solerian and returns to her bedroll.

[Eldest]

A few hours later, Vail rolls over and finally wakes up. He stumbles out of the bedrolls, goes straight to the campfire, and sits in front of it after setting a pot to boil and tossing a few handfuls of powder and herbs into it. Small figures of fire can be seen walking out of the flames and into him. After almost an hour of this, the pot of water he set on was boiled down to the dregs, and he drinks the liquid, seemingly impervious to the boiling water.

[Wyntonian]

As the day progresses, the Circle seems shielded from the bustling camp by the ring of wagons. Olivero gets his bits and parts put away, and everyone loads up the covered wagons and hitches up the bored-looking oxen. By noon, everyone is either mounted or riding in the wagons, and the Circle moves off in the middle of the column of three thousand souls that forms the Rose Company. You start off southwards, and soon enter the foothills of the Stormwall Mountains.

Feel free to do some RPing, or just tell me to continue.

[Eldest]

Feel free to continue.

[Wyntonian]

Around noon, the long, snaking line of soldiers grinds to a halt, time for the soldiers to eat, drink, and rest their legs. A lieutenant, the same one who spoke in the town square the other day, rides up on a gleaming horse. "Lady Misuto!" He calls to the lead wagon. "We're sending ahead a scouting party. Send two of your folks to the Commander, if you would."

Misuto growls something incomprehensible, and probably foul at the man, who sweeps off his hat with the utmost politeness. "Always a pleasure, Dama".

Misuto whirls around, stalking like a tiger among a flock of sheep. "Well? Who wants to go risk their necks for a good look around? Hm? Or do I have to choose?"

Sigurd looks up the saddle he's been loosening on his horse, a black gelding, and grunts assent. "I'll go."

:smalleek: Sorry!

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon deciphers most of what is said, and looks to Vail. "I am your guard," she says, inclining her head. "I must follow wherever you go."

[Eldest]

I'm not the sneakiest of people. If you'd like me to, Lady... His tone makes the statement into a question.

[Wyntonian]

Misuto gestures impatiently. "Might as well risk one of our barbarians with the other. Go ahead. Try not to get killed."


I am your thane, sworn to carry your burdens :smalltongue:.

Skyrim? No? Moon?

[Zap Dynamic]

As they move away to gather their gear, Moon walks close to Vail. "I have never been so far from the monastery as this," she says in Torei before catching herself. "What is the wide world like?" she asks, this time in Trader's Pidgin.

[Eldest]

It's... big. Really big and uncaring. The world could care less if you live and die. It's the people in the world that would care, and usually they are ambivalent. Vail gathers his stuff, grabs a small stick for poking stuff along the way, and waits on Moon.

[Wyntonian]

Sigurd rides with Moon and Vail to the front of the column, where you meet two men and one woman. They are uniformly short, slender and move fluidly, like hunting cats. As the rest of the Company waits, you set off up the narrow dirt road on foot, as the trees get thicker and the bones of the earth reach closer and closer to the skin. Although it is fully noon, and the sun in high in the sky, the oppressive weight of the pines overhead makes it seem like night.

After a mile of hiking, the three scouts fan out into the woods, and Sigurd gestures you over as he pulls out a small leather bag. "Come here, Fox. Do you know anything about runic divination?"

[Eldest]

Not a thing. Most of the time I spent with my magic was trying to figure out how to not burn everything down. It's harder than you'd think.

[Wyntonian]

Not a thing. Most of the time I spent with my magic was trying to figure out how to not burn everything down. It's harder than you'd think.

Sigurd chuckles a little. "Well, sit down. I'll show you what I'm doing. I'd appreciate it, Moon, if you'd keep an eye out for us? You're welcome to watch, as this isn't limited to the Circle."

He squats on a flattish part of the ground and shakes out the contents of his doeskin bag onto the ground. Each of the twenty-four little bone tiles are uniformly rectangular, and inscribed with small, angular shapes.

"Each one of these is a rune. I take them like, so, and scatter them..." He examines the pile. "Now, the ones facing up, I take again and flip upside down. Then I shuffle them, arrange them as they want to go, and flip them up. It's hard, feeling how they want to lay, and this is a complicated casting."

The polished tiles end up in a line of seven. "From here, I look to the relationships. Laguz, there, can speak of the unknown. From its relationship next to Tiawaz, which is leadership, I can see that I am missing something important about our leaders. Berkano, is reversed next to them, which I suppose speaks of deceit. Hm." He pauses, pondering. "That's not what I mean to ask, but fair enough. Next, Algiz stands reversed, indicating hidden dangers. Beside it, Wunjo stands reversed as well. A berserker, perhaps? Recklessness, at least. Dagaz is implied to take effect soon, being the second from the last, and represents understanding. And the last one... Oh hell."

He stands up, shoving the runes back in his bag. He settles his hat on his head, draws his short, broad sword and pulls a carved rosewood stick from his belt. "Ready yourselves. Now. They come."

Somewhere in the bowels of the woods you hear a faint howling and.... then a scream.

[Zap Dynamic]

Moon looks relaxed through the strange ritual, back turned to the northmen, eyes idly scanning the woods around them. At the first mention of trouble, her feet shift, and her spear slides into her hand like a stream of water.

She crouches at the ready, feet spread wide and spear held up to receive any foes. Her dark ponytail sways back and forth, her ears trained on the space around them more than her eyes. "What is it?"

[Eldest]

So what you're saying is that one of our leaders knows something we don't, lied, and now we have some sort of danger around us? So, not to be rude or anything, but what does that tell us that we didn't already know? In the mist of the banter, Vail stands with his back to something solid and a tangled up area with clear vision in front.
So basically, standing with his back to a wall and facing someplace hard to cross but easy for him to target people crossing. Like a briar patch.

[Wyntonian]

Sigurd shakes his head. "The Commander didn't cause this, that's a different concern, but I know those calls. Forestkith, the Children of the Woods. They're hunting."

A second scream, a female one, and closer, and a man-shaped figure erupts from a nearby bush. After a confused second, you recognize him a one of the scouts. "Lenora!" He screams hysterically, "A trap caught her! They're coming! Run!"

Sigurd wrestles the man over, and cuffs him across the head. "Shut up, fool! How many did you see?"

The scout is unable to speak for a moment before choking out "Too many? Felt like hundreds.. they... swarmed her..." He clutches his longbow like a child with a blanket, shaking uncontrollably. "Oh gods, please, Wild Hunter, Velmare, Morkai of the battlefield, not now, not like this..."

Sigurd drags the man over by his collar, into the reasonably defensible space formed by two boulders where he showed you the runes a moment ago. "Ready? They're close..."

A fresh chorus of deafening whoops, howls and yips emerge from the underbrush nearby, and the woods seem alive with half-hidden eyes, seeming to come from all directions.

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_
1|T|T|T|f||T|T|
2|T|T|T|||T|T|
3|T|Tf|T|||f|T|
4|T|Tf||M|S|B|T|
5|T|T||V|L|B|T|
6|T|||B|B|B|T|
7|T||||B|B|T|
8|T|||T|T|T|T|
[/table]

With a renewed and blood-chilling howl, four dark humanoid forms emerge from the shadows of the forest. They are built like a human in concept, but hold themselves unmistakably different, hunched over so that their arms almost reach the ground. They carry crude weapons, spears of sharpened wood, crudely woven nets and clubs, and their mouths are splashed with red. They have odd piercings, with spikes of metal, wood and bone inserted seemingly randomly into their skin, most of which are discolored with infection. Long, lank hair hangs around their snarling faces as they pace forward like hunting cats.

Sigurd levels his sword at one, holding its blade parallel to the ground, with his holly wand against the crook of his right arm. He glares coldly at the one that approaches him, meeting its insane, inhuman gaze with his own iron strength.

T= A tree or other undergrowth. Constitutes cover, 20% concealment to those inside it, reduces movement by 10 ft.
B= A boulder. About 7 feet high, on average.

f=Forestkith
S=Sigurd
M=Moon
V=Viggo Mortensen, of course.
L=The cowering scout. His name's Lucien, by the by.

Initiative order:
Moon, Vail, Sigurd, Forestkith. I don't really care which order you two go in.

[Zap Dynamic]

Not moving from her position, Moon scans back and forth, eyes and ears alert to any foes that might approach.

Fighting Defensively for now:
AC +2: 21
Atk -4: +7

[Eldest]

Gah! Ugly buggers! Vail flips up and hand and amid several arcane gestures throws in a few not-so-magical but very insulting gestures. Fire spews forth from his palms and blasts the area where the forestkith are.
Firey burst, A/B and 3/4. I'll put in rolls tomorrow, when I'm not tired.

[Wyntonian]

{table=head]_|A_|B_|C_|D_|E_|F_|G_|H_
1|T|T|T|f||T|T|
2|T|T|T|||T|T|
3|T|T|T|||f|T|
4|T|T|f|M|S|B|T|
5|T|T|f|V|L|B|T|
6|T|||B|B|B|T|
7|T||||B|B|T|
8|T|||T|T|T|T|
[/table]

The forestkith on the path ahead of you throws a short, heavy spear at Moon, but she bats it aside with the head of hers, sending it twirling into the underbrush.

Vail's burst of flames sets some of the drier bushes ablaze, but the two forestkith leap through it, smoking and scorched and screaming. One carries a short, heavy club set with small chips of some black stone, while the other carries a spear with a partial rack of antlers set parallel to the fire-hardened wooden head.

The club-carrier leaps at Vail, swinging wildly and screaming incoherently. The flesh on his right shoulder is charred, and a strip of metal is woven in and out of the skin across his forehead. He hits, solidly, across Vail's ribs, but your chain shirt keeps the sharp blades from penetrating. You hear, or maybe feel, a muffled crack from within.

The spear-wielder dives at Moon, cannot get past her guard. He is immensely strong, but has none of your polished grace. The antlers lashed to his spear rattle and serve only as something easier to parry. His eyes blaze with fury and joy.

As the beast-man facing Sigurd draws back his rusted and pitted sword to strike, the Vallheimer whips the rosewood wand from the crook of his arm, trailing drops of blood and draws a single vertical line in the air. The blood holds the shape for a moment, as if painted on a canvas. He rapidly adds two more runes to the shape, and the forestkith stops in its tracks, blood trailing down from the corner of one eye, the veins and tendons in his neck bulging. Sigurd staggers as he does so, keeping the wand pointed at the creature.

T= A tree or other undergrowth. Constitutes cover, 20% concealment to those inside it, reduces movement by 10 ft.
B= A boulder. About 7 feet high, on average.

f=Forestkith
S=Sigurd
M=Moon
V=Vail
L=Lucien

Initiative order:
Moon, Vail, Sigurd, Forestkith.

Vail takes seven damage. Forestkith are really buff.

[Zap Dynamic]

The wild men's rancid fervor stands in sharp contrast to the heavy stillness of the battlefield. Stale air fills Moon's lungs as she twirls in a tight circle, he spear deftly deflecting the blows that are as haphazard as the spear that delivers them. Moon has never been to hill country like this--indeed, she has only ever seen pine trees from a distance--and yet she melts into her surroundings, adopting the strength of stillness for her own. She is an artist in the center of her canvas, and her spear is the brush with which she will create.

She jabs a few times to reveal her adversaries' pattern before lashing out as straight and slender as the needles in the boughs above. Her aim is true, straight for the heart of the barbarian.

Moon attacks Forestkith C4, with 19 to-hit for 8 damage!

Moon (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=373755)
Female Human Warrior-Poet, Level 4, Init +8, HP 34/34, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 14, Flat-footed 15, Fort +2, Ref +8, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus 4
Swift action to switch between +1 Spear +9 (1d6+4, x3)
Swift action to switch between Club (other end of Spear) +6 (1d4+2, x2)
Mithral Shirt, Bracer of Armor +1 (+4 Armor, +1 Shield, +4 Dex)
Abilities Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 9, Cha 16
Condition None

[Eldest]

Buggerbuggerbugger! Lucian! Do something! Vail's gestures are much more frantic with the proximity of the forest-thingies. He points at one of them, and it's movements visably slow.
Cast Hold Person on the forestkith in C5.
Concentration check for avoiding AoO: [roll0]
Will save to avoid, DC: 15