Malazan Campaign IC

[Weikel]

Your First Mission

For whatever reason, you joined the new Malazan 15th Army in Unta, capital of the Malazan Empire. Some of you felt some personal debt to the Malazans and decided to repay that by joining up, some of you just sought the answers that an army may provide, others joined seeking to bring honor to their people, but no matter why you are here, now you serve the Empire. While training, the group of you stood out as talented potential and were assigned to the Marines. The Marines are known for being the first in and the last out. They specialize in doing the tasks that are too complex for the typical soldiers. You were assigned to them either because you have skills useful to these tasks or because you are capable of keeping alive your comrades that do have these skills.

As you graduated from training, you were assigned to your Sergeant, a young looking man of small stature. He has orange colored hair, and always seems to be covered in a very fine layer of dirt. If you didn't know better, you would almost think he had a tan, his skin tone matching his hair color, but its actually just a caked on red powder of some sort. Likely dirt, but who are you to say. The name he has given you seems like a nickname, but it's the only one you know, and so you simply call him Sergeant Scrub. On the ship ride, he made a point of talking to each of you. Unfortunately, when he did, you never got in a single word, as he continued to talk about various things, such as his days in the 7th Army traveling with Coltaine's Chain of Dogs and his obvious fondness for the old Master Sergeant in charge of training new marines, Braven Tooth, who has since retired. Eventually he decided he was done talking and walked off without another glance in your direction. He carries a sword and shield and wears leather armor that also seems to be covered in some red dirt.

Upon nearing land, he gathered you all up and, as though you were raiding some sea port, you were asked to get into battle formation and rush the beachhead, even though it was clear that the beach was empty for miles, empty plains rolling on to the edge of a forest to the west and a wasteland to the east. After a march west, the army camped out shortly before the forest. Now, you sit around a campfire with your squad mates, eating dry rations.

"Well, as you all know, I'm your sergeant. Scrub's the name. We're marines. That means that we have the honor of paving the way for the rest of the army. Our mission starts tomorrow morning. We set out alone into the woods. We'll scout and look for anything that could provide the army with trouble. This is Shal-Morzinn. They have a reputation for killing outsiders, so that's what we should expect. No Malazans have ever been here, so we have no idea what they are capable of or even where we might find their cities. If we don't find anything, we'll report back, but presumably, we're gonna run into resistance, and when we do, I want to be ready. Rest well tonight and be sure you get enough to eat. Make sure you fully equip yourselves before we leave. Who knows what lives in this forest or how long it'll be before we can resupply with the main force. Tomorrow at an hour after dawn we leave. Be ready by then." With that, he looks back to his meal, almost as though he no longer has any interest in any of you.

What do you do?

Just go ahead and start to role play. You may not have introduced yourselves yet, so you can do that. If you are ready to move on IC, make it obvious by saying that your character goes to sleep or something similar. If you want to explore the camp or do stuff, you're welcome to, just role play it out.

[Zos]

It was from a dark corner of the creaking ship that Zosimos of Ugarat emerged, having spent a majority of the voyage preparing a variety of tinctures and salves. As beakers sloshed and vials rattled on the high seas, the alchemist assembled an arsenal of pungent tools. When he finally did emerge from below deck, it was with a heavy pack brimming with tinkling vials and foreign smells. Zosimos stormed the beach alongside the regular marines. Despite the supposed explosiveness of his pack, the alchemist seemed unphased as he ran down the beach. His comrades had neither the courage nor common sense to inquire about their safety.


Now Zosimos sits across the campfire, disinterestedly chewing on jerky as he stares into the flames. Earlier he had stripped off his great coat and bandoliers, now dressed in a simple shirt and breeches. Though it is not his unusual uniform that sets the foreigner apart, but his thick accent and dark skin. The differences only become more apparent the more one observes, from the way he carries himself to which idioms he understands. Zosimos was always considered part of a fringe population in the seven cities, and to the greater world his own seems a far and strange place.

His gaze passes over each comrade, as if trying to determine the answer to a question he did not ask. Some seem to be from Malazan itself, while others share a darker complexion not found in the heart of civilization. Heavy expectations rest on the shoulders of the 15th army, and Zosimos could not claim to know any of his companions. Was he to march and die alongside strangers, simply to pave the way for a greater force? Each man and woman before Zosimos survived training, but now the alchemist wondered if they would survive the events to come. This, in part, would be his responsibility.

The question finally emerged, "What do we even know of this land? Of Shal-Morzinn?"

[lysanderish]

Anica stares disdainfully at her rations. After seemingly endless days on that blasted ship, half of them spent bent over a railing or bucket with sea sickness, she'd was hoping for something a little easier on the stomach. Or, at least, something that had been alive sometime in the last month.

She forces herself to eat, chewing deliberately and drinking generously from her water skin. Dry. Too much salt. The last few bites are almost sickening and she swallows too quickly. A hard lump, barely eased by water, works its way down her throat and she rests her head in her hands as she waits for the pain to pass. Stupid. Learn to chew your food, Anica. Not the only lesson that she needed to learn, she realized, but it'd be a hell of a good start. She could work up to, "Don't ambush people a foot taller and a fox smarter than you," from there.

Straightening after a time, she takes a closer look at the other marines. Earlier she'd paid them only enough attention to notice that they all towered above her petite frame. Her fingers play at the hilts of her swords, Fire and Ice, as she endures a wave of uneasiness. Things would get hairy fast if any one of these walls of muscle caught her unarmed. None of her comrades have introduced themselves yet, let alone earned her trust. And the bald one had that thing with him. The disgusting, hairy thing.

She grips Fire suddenly as the dark one speaks, breaking the silence that had grown in Scrub's wake. "There's rocks, trees, and people who will try to kill us," she says, shrugging. "Can't say I know much more than that. If we're lucky there are deer. Stupid ones, if we're real lucky." She smiles and lets out a small laugh, trying to relax. "Hey, can your pet catch us something yummy for dinner tomorrow?" she asks, addressing the bald one.

[Yeturs]

The Hunter was tired.

Already, the Hunter grew weary of his apperant commander. His eagerness to speak was as toxic as any poison to the Hunter. Yeturs took the chance during his speech to review his day. First, he had awoken early from a late night. His companion, Squishy, was unfamiliar with vessels of the sea. Uncertainty of footing is early a problem for a creature with eight feet Yeturs often reasoned to himself. He had seen many of his friends have children, and their troubles mweere not unlike the Hunters now. His companion had to be tended too at all times, lest her crafty mind figure a way out of her stable. The chaos a 400 pound turantula could cause unleashed on a ship... Yeturs knew his place and tended his companion.

His trials getting the spider from the ship to the shore had been even more harrowing. Squishy, in the chaos of the fight and her own panic about the water below her, crashed through a a landing vessel during the drill. The soldiers dove away, some turned to attack her. The Hunter managed to stop them, and now Squishy was in the area. Yeturs doubted anyone else noticed the eight glints in the firelight, just at the edge of sight.

Now s the fire crackled, yeturs considered his new companions. One was massive, a true brute. He was covered in ink as some of Yeturs' tribesfolk had been, but these tattoos were different. He was different. Yeturs did not distrust him, but he was very curious.

Looking around, Yeturs considered his own clothing. He wore his armor now, though he would have felt more comfortable in his casual attire. His armor was some leather, he wished he had asked Bolus, the Leatherworker, before...

He had on his battle skirt, a cloth of green and red, around his waist. It was a way for him to remember home. The skirt served purpose as well, both smoothing his own tracks behind him with its motions and cleaning the blood from his weapons. The leather of his armor was rough, but finely worked. He had a small bad with him that he had slung about his waist.

The hunter had with him his two Klars. They were long and fang like. Yeturs knew how they were made. Melina, the Widow spirit, had gifted them to him. Zeriu, the Smith, had later gilded them in Steel, a metal Yeturs had quested in the forest for. Now the fangs were geaming gray, but still carried the Widows bite. He had brought his Axe as well. It was long, and heavy. Yeturs noted that the brute across the fire had a hammer of similar heft as yeturses Axe. Looked like they were similar enough he could use it, but by the look of how the brute carried it, he doubted he would get the chance to try.

The Hunter heard one of his new companions speak.


What do we even know of this land? Of Shal-Morzinn?

The Hunter had wondered something similar. He took the chance to add his reply to those his companions surely had. The Hunters voice was steady and somewhat droning, but low and gravely in range.

"I have wondered the same. I am Yeturs, foremost Hunter among my tribe. You may call me either Yeturs, or the Hunter. As a Hunter, I am able to provide some information on this subject, but I will first need to commune with the spirits of the land. I desire to do both this and walk my verminous companion. Commander, how long have we before sunset in this land, and at what time will we convene again in the morning? As is common among those who access magics, I require a full six hours of rest to regain my spirit channeling abilities once they have been expended. I hope this will not inconvenience our efforts."

Yeturs waited for a reply from the Commander before saying more, though he acknowledges his companions should they speak to him.

[Squishy]

Eight eyes glint in the dark

A low click can be heard by the perceptive.

Eight eyes wait for a command.

He was all around the bad ones.

The men on the water.

They put her here from her trees.

She didn't understand.

She trusted the Hunter.

[Goobercheese]

For Markos, the ship ride from Unta was quite pleasant. Having grown up on a coastal city, he was well accustomed to the sea and sailing. His fellow marines and sergeant seemed a very odd sort, so he mainly spent his days at sea talking with his fellow Malazans, the sailors. The days passed on by rather uneventfully; the weather nice, the sailing smooth and it was much earlier than Markos expected when the outline of land on the horizon appeared.

When he heard of the drill to storm the beach, he donned his suit of fine Malazan heavy plate as he quick as he could and prepared to head up the faux assault on the beach. Although the exercise may have seemed a little silly, Markos knew the importance of execution in combat. After they stormed the beachhead, Markos planted his heavy shield in the sand and removed his helm and and a few of the more cumbersome pieces of armor in preparation for the march west.

They set up camp at the edge of the forest as dark came and Markos sat around the campfire with his squad, dressed now in his standard-issue casual wear. Now, growing up amongst nobles and city folk, he was typically used to being the largest guy in the room. Two of his squad mates, however, managed to dwarf even him, and he knew this was not a fact to be ignored. The others, he noted, were also not to be trifled with as he knew not what concoctions lurked in the sappers pouch, and the lithe movements of the small woman spoke of deadly precision.

One of his companions spoke.
"What do we even know of this land? Of Shal-Morzinn?"Spoke the sapper.

"I know little of this land other than that we are the first of the empire to explore it. It would be wise to remain vigilant when we venture into the forest", replied Markos as he finished his evening rations.

[Yeturs]

Yeturs had long finished his meal. He waited patiently for Scrubs to continue talking, but he seemed far too engrossed in his meal. This was odd, for it seemed as soon as his fellow marines had appeared they had already finished. This reminded yeturs, he was hungry. He took a long pull from his water skin, though it did not contain water.


"Hey, can your pet catch us something yummy for dinner tomorrow?" she asks, addressing the bald one.

"Please, she is no pet. She in my verminous companion. Call her by her chosen name or do not call her. Come, Squishy."

A rattling comes from the trees, leaves fall this way and that. A huge creature hued deep purple comes from the trees. It drags a silken strand behind it. Its eyes, eight in all, look about with glinting curiousity.

"Hail, friend. Would you br so kind as to fetch us a-" before the Hunter could finish, the creature was gone. It moved with alarming speed.

"Well, Squishy has something to do now. I hope she doesn't fetch anything untoward. Now, we have met my companion. I would meet all of you. Left us be introduced. Tiny human, please speak your name, and I will repay the onus I incur by filling your belly with Squishies catch tomorrow."

[lordbuxton]

From his training as a marine, Heimrok took these orders to rush the beach in battle formation as though a battle was nigh. Osk drawn and his psyhce sinking into the comfortable clothing of craze, his stomach turned and his body convulsed as it took to steeling itself for the violence to come. With the last shred of reasoning he had left before the will of the hammer consumed his being, Heimrok guessed there were no enemies about.

"Warriors of Shal-Morzinn, come out from your hiding places! Meet me in the glory of combat!"

The holes drilled into the head of Osk by its forger, cursed be his name, made a terrfying whistling sound and Heimrok swung it over his head and sunk it haft deep into the sand.

Whispering into the sand where his beloved lay sleeping, "Rest my darling, our time will come. They cannot withstand our might combined."

Around the fires not a five foot step away from where Osk silently slumbers, Heimrok sat with his newly formed cohort. Sizing up each one of them, he came to the conclusion that no one would dare challenge him for control of Osk so he at least did not distrust them.

"It matters not to me what we know and do not know about this land, so long as there is battle ahead of us." Heimrok says in reply to the question put forth by the man with glass.

[Weikel]

"Oh..." Scrub says, looking up with a particularly chewy piece of dried meat in his mouth, which promptly drops from his lips, though he seems to catch it in his hand anyway. "Of Shal-Morzinn, we know very little. When it comes down to it, that's our job as marines really. To find out what we can and if need be, be the first to engage. Hopefully we don't have to do too much of that right away so that we can actually figure out what we might have to deal with. As for sunset, I'd give it about an hour before it finishes going down. Should be around 10 hours after that that it comes back up. You guys have 11 before we move out. About food, I plan to requisition us some supplies including rations, but anything fresh could be better than what the army provides if you can manage it. If any of you still don't have bedrolls you can go visit the quartermaster, Master-Seargent Grits. His cart is in the center of camp near the command post. It's easy to find."

When Yeturs calls for her, Squishy shows up rather quickly, as though she was waiting fairly close.

Squishy seems a little uneasy about the forest, and you can't seem to feel any vermin spirits from that direction. Maybe you just aren't close enough yet, but it's still a bit strange.

The air seems to be getting colder, and the fire's warmth feels very welcome to those who are less familiar with cold climates.

[Yeturs]

Only cold silence followed the sergeants word.

"Very well. I will learn your designations upon the field of battle, if I must. I now take my leave. I will see you each again on the sunrise. "

Yeturs stands, gathers his belongings, and leaves the fireside for the quartermaster.

From the quartermaster Yeturs squires a 50ft length of rope, a few trail rations, and an extra 2 waterskins.

The Hunter then leaves camp for the woods.

I want to use survival to scour the area, a circle around camp. I know I cant go out too far, but I'm not trying to be thorough. I want to find a camp or a civilization out here and I want to use stealth to watch them from outside their town or camp or whatever. I want to note what weapons they carry, if any, and what type of clothing they wear.

I also want to look into a storehouse of some kind and note the general equipment they have, if any. Notabl, I want to determine what percentage of our enemy is wizards or other dress's wearing casters.

I also want to know axes or swords or clubs. Are they masterwork? Appraise should tell me (or more likely not tell me anything)

Also, I want to return after 5 hours. If I cannot, that's fine. I wish to sleep for long enough to not be fatigued (I don't think there's a rule for it, but I plan on resting a few hours) if I cannot find anything worth finding in 5 hours.

[lysanderish]

Anica opens her mouth to respond to the warrior just as he leaves, but closes it again quickly. Squishy, huh? Not exactly what I'd call that thing... She glances around at the remaining men. "Well, that was... something. I'm Anica." The rogue smiles and waves. "Better watch yourself or I'll steal your heart." She winks at one of her companions, the one who stormed the beach in full plate, forcing herself to be a little more friendly than she might otherwise be. That was too much. Tone it down. We're soldiers, not school girls.

She shakes her head and grabs her bedroll and pack. "I'm, uh, going to be over there... if anyone needs me." She points to a patch of bare ground a few yards off. "Just, don't sneak up on me unless you wanna be hamstrung, yeah?" Anica retreats calmly, feeling, or perhaps imagining, the eyes of the others on her back. She settles purposefully into preparing her sleeping space. Notably, Fire and Ice never leave her side.

[Zos]

"I am Zosimos, a sapper for the Malazan Empire, and an alchemist for the greater cause." His accent puts strange emphasis in his words, sounding always as if speaking on a matter of severity.

An uneasiness settles over Zosimos as his companions concurred, they know nothing of this land. Zos never felt like a marine, and now more so than ever feels ill equipped to charge into the breach. Yet as he glances into the encroaching gloom, he notices Yeturs slipping into the forest alone, another prospect to sit uncomfortably on his mind. Surely his comrade would return by dawn.

Zosimos inches closer to the fire to absorb all the heat he can, but the unfamiliar cold still bites at his skin where it can. Some of his companions settle in for sleep, but Zosimos continues to seek the fire's warmth as he double checks and secures his pack for the morning's hike.

He lies at the edge of the embers' warmth, always turning. Sleep does not come easily to Zosimos that night.

[Goobercheese]

Markos sat in silence as he watched the hunter called Yeturs depart, the assassin (he guessed), Anica, and Zosimos the Sapper introduce themselves. The Untan smiled at Anica's flirting but remained aloof, as he knew any professional soldier should. And when Zosimos spoke, Markos listened intently.

"I am Markos Ataras of Unta," the Malazan said. "I'll be the squad heavy, as I'm sure you've guessed." He yawned. "Well, I'm heading off to get some shut eye. See you on the morrow."

Markos then stood, turned, and trudged over to his sleeping bag before flopping down and passing out almost immediately.

[Weikel]

Something seems off about this cold. The day had been rather hot, and summer should continue for another couple days at least. No, this weather couldn’t possibly be natural. Something foul caused it, but what it was, you cannot say. Perhaps magic, in which case… well, it’s nothing like the kind of magic you put into your alchemies.
As you all seek some sort of comfort as the night grows colder, Scrub continues to sit and stare at the fire for a while. After a couple of minutes like this, he looks up, seems somewhat surprised and looks around frantically before getting up and heading into the center of camp with urgency, but not saying a single word.
As you go out into the forest, you notice it is much different from the forests of your home. These trees are much taller and darker. The undergrowth is almost too thick to walk through. Above all else though, you notice the cold. Your breath is quite visible when you exhale and it seems as you continue inward that it only gets colder. Before you realize it, there seems to be a layer of frost on the ground, producing a soft crunch underfoot. As you travel inwards expecting to find something, anything in fact, to indicate life, you begin to realize a few things. First of all, the only real indicator of how far you have travelled, is the cold. All the trees look identical, save for the amount of ice and frost around them. Another thing you notice, there are only very minimal spirits here. The normal call of the vermin doesn’t seem to be present here, only a faint call, as though you are hearing something from a great distance. They were there just back out of the forest. Looking around, you nearly panic as you struggle to identify which direction you came from before you notice in one direction that the frost is a little less common. Turning back deeper into the forest, a faint crack sounds behind you. Maybe something is alive in this forest after all. You look back, but see nothing.

Then you feel a hand over your mouth, and a familiar voice sounds in your ear. He speaks in a whisper, but it holds urgency all the same. ”Didn’t they teach you anything in Unta!? Never travel into enemy territory by yourself. I don’t know who taught you, but here in the Malazan Marines, we work as squads. I think there's something in these woods that I'd rather not encounter at night. Call your spider off too, she seems like she wants to eat me…” With that, Sergeant Scrub lets his hand off your mouth and points towards where your spider had been slowly creeping up on the pair of you.

[lordbuxton]

Hardly noticing the interactions between his newfound squadmates, Heimrok listlessly gazed into the cackling fire, lustfully fantasizing about the bloodshed to come. As his visions of glorious combat faded with the fire, he noticed his sergeant scuttling about the camp in a manner consistent with someone who thinks all is not right. Skillfully retrieving Osk from her silent and sandy slumbering seat, Heimrok approaches his superior in such a way as to not alert any possible watching enemies that he knows they are near.

"Have they come to bring us battle this night?" Heimrok calmly queried Sergeant Srcubs, spitting slightly as the mere possibility of battle tingles his nerves and warms his heart.

[Weikel]

Scrub looks back over his shoulder at Heimrok before clearly forcing himself to calm down a little, though a little fear registers in his face when he spots the weapon in the barghast's hands. "What? No battle yet. Did that fool Yeturs go into the forest alone? If he gets too far out there we might have an issue, but trust me, it's not a battle that can be won by strength of arms, even with as interesting a weapon as that. Stay here and wait for me to come back, but everything should be fine." Before really letting anyone answer his questions, he hurries off into the forest.

[Yeturs]

"Very well." The Hunter said evenly. The frost here highlighted his breath under the moonlight as its warmpth hung in the air, until the cold killed it. Yeturs suspected Scrubs was right. Little was to be found alone this night.

"Please, do not sneak upon me again. It is clear you are able to receive my senses, so I will not threat on to stop you by harm. Just know that it makes me incredibly uncomfortable to be snuk upon. Aside, I am the Hunter, I will not cry in shock if you simply get my attention."



Before I go, I will descover what I can of this place.

Yeturs closes his eyes, alighting himself to the spirits all around him. For a moment he heard his own whining voice. Its pitch rose and fell rhythmically but rapidly. He sounded like the beggers in the 7 cities, not that the Hunter had ever seen them. Then, the Hunters soul was fully into the realm of spirits. This is how the Hunter understood magic. Though this place contained few spirits, and even fewer he could speak with, Yeturs did find one willing to aid him. The small cricket spirit chirpped rhythmically, as yeturs sought its aid. The melody of the song changed in the Hunters ear. He opened his eyes and halted his canting. Now, the cricket spirits song should make itself clear, and the forecast should be available to Yeturs, as his spell Read Weather is finished being cast.

The spirits cannot dectect mortal magics effecting the weather. An odd oversight in their abilities, but a fact I learned long ago. If my ns are true and a magic user is usingcmagics upon the sky, this cricket should advise me I'll of the weather. This may be a natural cold, in that case I would know more as to why no peoples are in this land.

The Hunter casts his eyes around for footprints one last time, before pulling his cloak about him tighter and turning back home.

The Hunter stops after a moment. His breath is heavy, casting magic always tired Yeturs out a little, like suddenly needing to jog several feet before stopping still and trying not to move, but this activity and restlessness the Hunter felt deep in himself, not in his physique. The Hunters eath froze in the air from the cold, a thick mist. Yeturs pondered the mist a few moments, even as he produced more. Little things like this fascinated Yeturs. It wasn't often his home would drop to the cold required to see your breath. The Hunter, six foot or more, heavyset, bald and middle aged, stood enraptured like a child.

Yeturs makes a click in his thought, sharp and sudden slicing open the still silence. It was a trick he learned as a boy, he had trained Squishy to come at this sound. Any moment now, he would mount his spider and return to camp, with scrubs if he is there, without scrubs if he has left already.

[Squishy]

Hunting.
The anticipation.
We look for where the hunted are.
No.
We look for what the hunted are.

...

A man.
The Hunter has not seen.
He has 2 I have 8.
The other has 2.
Now the Hunter has seen.

...

I wait for the hunter to speak.
It is cold.
I do not like the cold.

...

The hunter speaks.
I go to him.
He rides me.
I like the hunter.
He is warm.
He knows the way.
He is my friend.

[lysanderish]

Anica watches the camp from her bedroll. Her interest is piqued by the sergeant's sudden burst of activity, but, as he slips off into the woods, she decides to pretend she saw nothing. If he wanted her help he would have asked; if he felt it necessary that she know his purpose, he would have made it known.

She lays down on her bedrool. The ground is hard, even with the padding, and she loathes sleeping in her light armor, but the possibility of a midnight attack - from the natives or the strange men she's been thrown together with - trumps her discomfort. After tossing and turning, she finds a liveable position, cuddling her swords in their sheaths close, and drifts off to sleep.

[Weikel]

Yeturs call to the spirits reveals that there are no spirits within the immediate vicinity at all and even reaching the realm of spirits (in truth a portion of Hood's Path, though Yeturs is unaware of this) is rather difficult, as though his mind had to first push through some membrane of some sort. His mind strains as he has to travel a short distance before finally finding the spirit of a cricket that happens to know what the weather will be like. The cricket's song tells of clear skies and even a hot day to follow. It tells of an overcast, but otherwise average and warm day the following day. The spirit of the cricket's song turns slightly mournful just before you leave the realm, but you only catch that for a split second before you are gone.

As you return to yourself, only a minute after you had left, you notice Scrub standing there staring at you with an odd look on his face. Though in truth, his face always has an odd look covered in ruddy reddish brown dirt. "You use magic eh? Interesting. I'll have to keep that in mind. Well, let's get back then." You search a little on the ground as he talks, looking for footprints. You see one set, leading to you and a smaller set of Scrub, though his seem to stop not far away from you, while your own continue on towards the camp.

As you mount Squishy, Scrub looks a little hesitant, but asks "You're gonna ride it back aren't you? Well, I'd rather not. But I bet you I could still beat you back to camp. I'll bet you a day's pay, assuming we ever see any coin from this expedition. What do you say?"

[Yeturs]

Yeturs considers what scrubs has said, and what lies before him.

In this cold I should have heard him, my ears are still sharp. He is quiet. He has left no trace. Could this be Scrubs the Druid? They walk without trace, as I knew my uncle Vendlin the Druid to do. No, he does not seem patient enough to speak with the world. Scrubs must be a darker sort. A Hunter, like Yeturs, but a Hunter of men and lives. I will watch this one carefully, but for now I am thankfull we work together.

He looks back to scrubs, and speaks. "I will not require the pay, should it come. I will bet, but I suspect there is more then one magic user here, Sergeant. "

Yeturs pauses only to break a frosted branch from a low tree and tuck it someplace cool on his person. He wanted something he choukd show from this place, and it looked as if this area was remote enough no one would notice a broken branch, especially one 8 feet or so up.

"Very well sergeant, begin our contest on your mark."

I plan to run back to the camp. I should know the way, but if I get lost I want to head to the area of lowest frost generally. I can use the run action on my spider, so if I can haul it in a straight line I can go 200ft/r I think. I doubt I could do that in the forest, but that's top speed for you.

Also, I want to keep my eyes open. I fully expect to lose this race because I suspect scrubs will do some shock shadow walk stuff. Anyway, I want to look for any footprints at all, including scrubs. I want to cast a spell on the footprints I find, if any.

[Weikel]

When Scrub starts off, you quickly pass him, outstripping him by a long shot. While you could still see him, he was leaving prints, but you quickly sped past him and saw nothing of him after that. Upon reaching your campsite, you find Scrub not present, though all your comrades are fast asleep. Before long, (in fact, before you’ve even fully dismounted and set up for bed) Scrub comes striding out of the main camp area, clear on the other side of your units camp area from the forest. He gives you an odd smile when your face gives some sign of surprise. ”I see you beat me here, and with some questions I imagine. Don’t worry, friend, I’ll explain everything I can once we get out of the main camp. I’m not sure who all I’m willing to trust here…” he whispers, somewhat more attentive and alive than his normally impassive and somewhat detached attitude, before his voice goes back to normal and he adds in”Off to bed then, we have to move out in only a few hours now. We need our rest if we are going to be successful.”

The next day, at dawn, Scrub seems to be missing from your sleeping area. After breaking up your campsite, you sit and wait, but Scrub seems to be taking longer than he claimed. At around an hour and a half past dawn, he shows up, on his back a small bag and a significantly larger crate. He also seems to be wearing a cloak covered in leaves and brush that covers all but his face, including the pack on his back. He carries five small bags identical to the one on his back.
”Alright soldiers. Earlier I talked to a mage friend of mine. Apparently he’s come up with a nifty little item. It’s a magical bag. Each one has a way to access the imperial warren. They each lead to their own separate area that is mostly secure. You can use them to store stuff without having to actually carry the stuff. I already packed in some food, bedrolls, a few healing potions, flint and steel. You can each have one, but consider that they’re a new invention, so who knows how well they work. Oh, but one thing we have already found out, they do not react well to munitions, so if you have any, store them outside the bag.” With that, he deposits the bags in front of you all, then carries on speaking.

You each get a handy haversack that contains 14 days trail rations, 10 clw potions, a waterskin, a bedroll and flint and steel.

“Well, if you’re all ready grab your stuff and follow me; I know where we’re headed. Oh, I almost forgot. I need to name one of you as my corporal. My second in command. Seeing as I’ve only ever met one of you before this trip, the choice is fairly obvious to me. Zosimos, you’ve just been promoted to Corporal. After the care you gave me in the healers tents on the Chain, I trust you more than I can say for most.” Clapping a hand on Zos’ shoulder, and giving him a nod, Scrub then looks a little awkwardly at the rest of you, but with a shrug he turns towards the forest. He gives you a moment to collect your new bags, then starts moving. The trees here are far taller than any you have ever seen, if indeed you have seen any at all. The undergrowth is thick, and could easily trip you if you stopped watching your steps. Mostly following him by the sounds he makes as he tromps through the forest, you all make your way behind Scrub. The deeper you go, the colder and darker it gets. All the trees are completely covered in snow within an hour or so, and with the snow brings a strange difficulty in being able to tell if you recognize anything. As you take each step, your feet crunch on the snow, leaving large footprints.

If you are still watching for it, you notice that Scrub’s feet are leaving prints.

After a few hours of marching through the forest, Scrub suddenly stops, allowing at least one of you to run into his back. He puts one hand up, using the marine signal for silence that you all learned in training, even if some of you don’t remember it. In front of Scrub is a large clearing. While in the rest of the forest, ice covered bushes and downed tree branches make the terrain nearly unnavigable, in the opening it is just snow covering the ground. It is a rather large area and right in the center of it appears to be a tower made of stone, surrounded by a low stone wall. No path leads to the wall, and all around that you can see the forest has no path away from the clearing.
”Be ready to draw your weapons, but keep them sheathed for now. I don’t know what we’ll find in here, but I don’t know that our weapons will help us too much right now. We haven’t worked much as a unit yet, so I want to know how you guys will handle this. Search the area, see if you can find an entrance, look for anything that could tell us what might be living in there.”

And now I turn it back to you guys. You guys can search, cast any potentially relevant spells, etc. I would give a map, but the area is pretty simple. A big round opening with a big tower in the middle, surrounded by a waist high stone wall. The tower is round, about 30 ft diameter. The whole meadow is no more than 150 ft from one end to the other. It’s also very symmetrical. Just say what you wanna do. You don’t need to roll any rolls. I’ll do them all until combat hits. It’s just easier if I do them so I can more easily check them and decide if we actually need them or not, depending on what you wanna do.

[Yeturs]

"Well, if you’re all ready grab your stuff and follow me"

Before leaving, probably while waiting in the morning for scrubs, Yeturs prepares his inventory.

Picking up 2 heavy blankets, 1 winter cloak, 4 empty flasks, and any kind of stuffed toy from the quartermaster, if he has one. Its for the pet, I haven't told squishy yet so shhhh.

...

As Yeturs treks through the growing cold, he pulls his heavy cloak around him. It was malazan empire, it had the insignia emblazoned across it. Yeturs would make his own heavy cloak to combat the cold when he could, from the fur of some beast, if this land had any.

Yeturs prepared his arsenal of weapons. On his back is hung Nail, a large Axe head on a long staff of wood. The knot of its haft were still present, and there were some curves about the handle. The head was shining Steel along its edge, but black on its faces. At his hip, on each side, hung Tooth. Though he regarded them as one, fighting with them required both weapons. They were shaped like a spiders fangs, and slid up to the Hunters forearms when worn. They worked both as shields and as piercing spikes to bite into his foes.

But for now, he kept his weapons where they were. He dismounted his spider, and the large beast shuddered in the cold. Its maw didn't emit fog like the Hunters did. Instead, a slight mist posted off the whole spider, like it was exhaling through its purple futty chiten.

With a deep voice the Hunter hummed a few times and clicked once, from deep in his thought. "Stay back. Watch us, Squishy. Be where you can hear me."

With a few agreeable chitters, the great spider dashes back into the trees. Perceptive party members might follow her motions up one of the huge trees, where she begins to construct a silken nest. From her vantage she can see the whole area, hopefully.

Yeturs crouches low, and begins to peer around. With slow voice, he says "Keep your eyes open. Look for footprints. Tell me of them, without cdisterbing them; One of my magical spells can offer aid."

The hunter then ducks low, to the edge of the woods. He waits, eyes sharp.

[Squishy]

The Hunter leads.
I go as he steers.
Its cold again.

...

I will watch.
That's what the Hunter wants.
I'll climb up.
Higher can be good.
Trees break under me.
This one seems sturdy.

...

The little spiders had better webs.
I watched them often.
There is one by my nest.
I try to weave like them.
So small.
So fine.
My webs are fat and clumsy.
Not like the delicate little ones.
I wish I was little.
Sometimes.

...

[Zos]

There was a time when Zosimos could neither read nor write in any language. In Ugarat they called the uneducated children from outside the city "sand whelps", and most were too poorly connected to elevate themselves beyond tilling the fields. Most would work until their back broke, and slip away with the river's current. Zosimos, by far, stands as the exception.

Zosimos' eyes betrayed no joy as Scrub named him corporal. It had been mere chance that initially lifted Zos above a dirt farmer, and he'd done nothing more to earn this nomination. Is this then the path by which leaders are made? He was an alchemist, barely, and had no qualifications to command. Despite his reservations, the newly appointed corporal left them unsaid. His tongue saved him as if by rote memory, "yes sir."

During the hike, the alchemist settled himself under the pretense that he likely wouldn't need to exercise his authority. Yet with every hour he found himself battling the cold and not his mind, for the desert dweller was unused to the chill of winter.

When they reached the snowy clearing, Zosimos found himself immediately drawn to the tower. This is the first contact with this civilization, even if it's only through their architecture. There may be much to be learned even from this. He walked right up to the wall to clamber over, yet heard Yeturs' call from the edge of the clearing. Before hopping over, Zosimos took a moment to look in the snow for any sign of foot prints between the wall and the tower. The alchemist walked the circumference of the wall, observing the tower and fallen snow.

[Weikel]

Looking closer at this tower, you recall something you learned as a boy in the academy. Something about one of the founding races, Jaghut. They were known to make large towers out alone away from others. This one seemed to fit the description quite well.

[lysanderish]

Anica wakes the next morning to the sound of the lieutenant returning from... wherever he gets off to. Her sleep was uninterrupted and her worries eased a little with the rest. She dawdles getting up, feeling the cold morning air on her face. Eventually, however, all good things must end, and she forces herself to emerge from her cocoon with time to prepare for the day.

She still feels the sand from storming the beach the previous day in her hair and under her nails. Unacceptable. As frustrating as it is to go without a proper bath for- too long - sand under the nails is just too much. She crouches at a nearby stream and scrubs her hands and face in the far too cold water and makes an attempt to wash her hair.

Feeling fresher, if not frigid, she returns to her bedroll to apply fresh makeup for the day, before packing her grooming supplies and mirror away in her newly acquired haversack. On her way to get morning rations, because one does NOT scout on an empty stomach, she spots the bald one - Udders? - coming back from the quartermaster wearing a heavy warm-looking cloak. I need that.

Finishing her breakfast like a starving dog, she rushes over to demand a winter cloak. The quartermaster seems puzzled by her demanding attitude but complies. Anica wraps herself in the downy cloak and returns to camp to await further instruction and pine for hot tea.

When the party moves out she sticks close to the Lieutenant. As they proceed and the snow gathers, she draws her new cloak closer and closer. She's so distracted by the cold, she bumps into Scrub when he comes abruptly to a stop.

Anica peers around him at the clearing. She stifles a snicker. "Whoever built this was definitely a man, " she remarks when the officer is done speaking. Without another word, she jogs to catch up to Zos, more interested in the tower than anything else. "This is, uh, definitely a tower." She peers up at to top of the tower, following the alchemist as he circles the tower. "I'm going over," she annouces, about three seconds before vaulting over the wall. She lands lithely on the other side and looks around.

[Goobercheese]

Markos awoke a hair before dawn in silence, crept out of his sleeping bag, and did his daily mental and physical exercises. Once his comrades had risen, he donned his gear quickly, not wanting to disturb them with the clatter of steel on steel. After seeing the hunter return with a traveling cloak, the assassin dart off into the camp with a purpose, and with no sign of his sergeant, the Malazan went in search of his own.

Returning just in time to see Scrub arrive, Markos took a pack in silence, slung it about his back and fell in line. It didn't take long to reach the clearing and the young noble spotted no dangers on the trek. The sight of the tower brought immediate recognition and trepidation to his mind, the ancient stones looking exactly as the history books depicted.

"Take heed, comrades. This is a Jag'hut tower if there ever was one. Been here a long time, so it's anybody's guess if it's inhabited or not," the heavy stated in reply to Anica's musings. He followed the others towards the tower, inspecting it closer as he recalled all he could about the ancient people and their dwellings.

[lordbuxton]

After being disappointed in the lack of violence the previous day before, Heimrok dreamt of battle. Osk in hand, swinging and singing its terrifying sound as it made disgusting cracking sounds against the heads of those unfortunate enough no to run earlier or faster. It was when his imaginary fight was coming to its climax, the point at which he was alone inside a clump of 25 or more enemies, flailing violently in pure ecstasy as he could hear Osk chanting her joyful tones in his mind, he rises from his sleep. Deeply saddened, he eagerly begins his preparations in hopes he could recreate his dream in the day to come.

The cold and the trees brought forth sullen memories of a time before his beloved entered his life. He was always a fan of the cold, being from the high in the mountains a person at the very least learns to ignore the bite, if not take pleasure in the sensation. Venturing further into the forest and happening upon an unguarded tower perplexes Heimrok. Licking both sides of the head of Osk to confirm his reality, he proceeds up to and over the short stone wall. Heimrok licks the stone tower as he had his hammer and asks the heavily armored one,

"Who are these Jag'hut of which you speak? Do they have bones to break?"

Heimrok then plugs the shaft of Osk into the snow to see how deep it is.

[Weikel]

As you all look around, you see no footprints, or even any indication that anything living was anywhere near. In fact, the only evidence of life was that of the trees, and even that seemed somewhat dimmed by the cold. Any of you who venture near the north side of the tower discover a large wooden door in the tower's side, accompanied by a short wooden gate in the stone wall. Miraculously, the door and gate are in perfect condition. They have not molded or rotted. The fittings have not rusted, despite the moisture all around in the snow and ice. On the door there appears to be a knocker, in the shape of a face with large tusks coming from it's lower jaw. The visage is somewhat beastial, but retains a vague humanoid shape to it.

Those who jump over the wall discover that on the other side it's even colder. In fact, it's so cold that not even your winter coats seem to help much. You've heard of Jaghut, but you can't recall much about them. Some race from a long time ago.

Living near the edge of the Seven Cities, you do recall hearing of a place called the Jhag Odhan. Rumor has it that Jaghut used to live there, but you still don't recall much about them in specific.

What you remember about Jaghut:
They generally live alone. They are very dangerous, but you can't seem to quite remember why. Though you do remember being told as a kid not to stay out in the winter too long or a Jaghut would get you... whatever that meant. Probably just something your parents told you to keep you from getting a cold. You seem to recall hearing they were very large, though how large you aren't sure. Maybe a little bigger than your new, angry seeming companion, but you never studied the specifics. You do know, however, that you were told generally to avoid them if possible, though they aren't always evil, per se. They are an ancient race, and most were hunted down by the T'lan Imass years ago. In fact, you remember hearing about the T'lan Imass deserting the Malazan army when it first was taking over the Seven Cities in order to crusade into the Jhag Odhan, the wasteland between where you are now and the Seven Cities, to hunt down Jaghut they had discovered living out there. You can relate as much or as little of this information as you want to the group. If you want to, you can say it before Scrub says what he says below. If so, just mention that you say it before he gives his info. What he tells you guys doesn't overlap much with what I've given you.

The snow is about a foot deep. You've heard of Jaghut, but you can't recall much about them. Some kind of race from a long time ago.

You sense no bug or animal life anywhere near the place. Squishy also seems a little bit scared, as though this place was not natural to her. Oh, also, you couldn't find any toys at the quartermaster's wagons. Seems the army doesn't bring such things on campaigns. Perhaps you'll have better luck once you all reach the nearest town, or maybe whoever lives in this tower has something...

"I had come to the same conclusion, Markos. Especially given this dreadful cold. Jaghut are very powerful magic users. They use their own warren called Omtose Phellack, a warren of ice. It would explain this forest if one lived here, but there magic can be long lasting, so this could just be a spell lasting from before when one did live here. I'm kind of curious to see whether one lives in there, but who knows how a Jaghut would react to a squad of marines knocking at it's door." Scrub says as he advances towards the tower, keeping his distance, but slowly circling the structure, eventually finding the front door, and approaching the gate, but not yet venturing past it.

I need a fort save for Zos, Anica, and Heimrok.

[Yeturs]

Yeturs, keeping an eye on his companions over the wall, turned back to Scrubs for conference.

We do not know our quarry, what fools would leap now? I will watch them, and ready myself should danger come, but keep my blades stowed. A first impression could be our last, with whatever built this tower.

With low tones and a calm mellow voice that actually hid great distress, the Hunter speaks.
"Scrubs, a word. Some foul magic is about this place. The vermin soul is gone here, as never before have I seen. The crickets of the shore sung of a lovely sunny day and warm winds; some icy magiks is ruining natures plans away. If the source of this sourcery esides within, I recommend extreme caution. "

I want to be ready to help my allys if they need it. Just keeping en eye on them is all.

[Goobercheese]

Markos waits for his Sergeant to finish speaking before he answers his comrade's question.

"While I'm unsure about the specifics of their anatomy, what I do know is they are large, dangerous, very old, and nearly extinct. I would not expect one to be particularly forgiving if it were to find trespassers on its land. Be on your guard, friends."

With that, the Untan fell in line behind Scrub as he approached the gate in the wall. Hand on the hilt of his sword, shield at the ready, Markos draws down the visor of his helm and waits for his squad leader's next move.

[Zos]

The word tumbled around Zosimos' brain for a bit, Jag'hut. It felt familiar yet vague, a memory dredged from a long forgotten time. No matter how Zos mulled it over, he could not place an entity to the word. The party was in a flurry while Zosimos absently pondered a word, he snapped back to reality.

Before him a solid wooden door and gate, Zosimos found himself stepping through the threshold. The air seemed to freeze as the alchemist ventured beyond the wall, its chill biting through at his thin blooded veins. The shift in temperature caught Zos by surprise, stealing his breath and sending shivers down his spine.

Zosimos immediately retreated and shed his pack. Digging through its contents he found a long root with dozens of small sprouts, a capsule of red granules, a flask marked with an X, and a vial. Breaking off one of the root's sprouts, he dropped it into the vial where it dissolved. The red granules shared the sprout's fate, followed by a small swig of a murky white liquid from the flask. The concoction fizzed for a bit before settling down. Zosimos swirled its contents around for a bit, but seemed content with the creation and swallowed it.

1) Fortitude Save: [roll0]

2) Created 1 Endure Elements Extract.
3/4 Extracts remaining (none prepared)

3) Drank it. 24 hr duration.

[lysanderish]

The cold hits Anica like a charging bull as she straightens from her landing. "Holy hell," she hisses through a sharp intake of icy air. She eyes the wall behind her wistfully and pulls her cloak tightly around herself, briefly considering hopping back over the wall to escape the sudden cold. It's not worth it. I'll probably just have to come back anyway.

Trying to suppress her shivers, she trudges through the snow, circling the tower inside the wall. She draws to a stop beside Zosimos in front of the door. Looking up at her teammate and then the tower, she thinks, I'm the smallest thing in this gods accursed place.

"That's uh... that's a pretty ugly knocker," she says between shivers, eyeing the door. "I'm not saying it's got a face only a mother could love, but it's definitely not something I'd willingly put my mouth on. Do you think we should knock?"

[lordbuxton]

Puzzled by the apprehension among his party members, Heimrok wonders aloud, "Surely an abandoned tower does not put fear into the heart of those I am to do battle with. Sgt. Scrubs, let me break down the door with my hammer. No wooden door can bear the weight of my swing, and once inside let us do glorious battle with whatever foe stands before us!

Immediately following the words glorious and battle, Heimrok begins to slobber and tremble as thoughts of violence and bloodshed begin to consume his being. Osk urging his actions, he charges the door.

natural 20. plus 8.

:smallfurious: