A Warlords Revenge

"I want you to find him. I want you to find the battle-damned bastard who took him!" The oruch slams his fist against the desk. The sound reverbates throughout the Guild office.

That was ten minutes ago that this started. Twenty. It could have been, it might not have been, but it feels like it. The oruch, Anaru, a war chief of the Bonesworn, had come in angry and stayed angry. Though a dense 6'2", short by the standards of his people, the man has a presence that fills the room. The veves on his arm pulse with suppressed anger. It was the Guild's smallest who stood him down. Anaru and the guild's gnomish official stand eyelocked with one another.

So far, there isn't a name that Horst, war chief of Arendt, has NOT been called. His name is a blistered whirlwind of scathing insults, but more than that--

--possibly a soon to be dead man, if the war chief has his way.

"He has an army of over a hundred." that's Balbo, the Guild representative. He's repeated the same line ten, eleven times now. Not that the oruch has heard it. If there wasn't so much gold on the table for you...

...would you still be here?

"We will retrieve your friend first. Then, if you want to declare war..." he says. "We go in as Dranei recruits," Balbo continues. "We do this smart, and we get your Whetu. We will also, considering Alexandria's friendliness with your clan, lend these operatives disguises, so that they look like Dranei," he says. This said, the gnome turns to the group of you, eyes alight with gnomish...mischief.

Oh. Oh SHIT.

Ganbaatar leans against a handy solid object, clearly not needing a Dranei disuise in the least. "You want us to join a clan." He looks over the other recruits sceptically. "Those had better be good disguises. You are all.... short." He idly swings the head of the Dran flail wrapped around his waist.

Hildr looks down at herself, all four feet of unmistakably dwarfish muscle, braids, and a wildling's furs. "...Y'know," she drawls, the stalk of wheat at the corner of her mouth bobbing in time with her words, "somethin' tells me as you're gonna need more than just a cloak'n' axe for some of us... Wanna get to the details there, Big Shoots?"

Alik shrugs. "We are the proper size."

Someone starts to run down a checklist in her own mind. Five feet tall. Aria's at least human-/sized/. The copper skin and eyes glowing a pale blue, though . . . that might be more of a complication. And parasols aren't exactly standard-issue among Dranei recruits, right? "I assume they're referring to magical disguises," comes the reply of one of the less-convincing enlistees in this operation. Her voice defaults to a soft, pleasant tone, even if there's an edge to the words she says next. "I hope so, anyway."

Gimring stands quietly behind the others gathered, his lips drawn tight and expression dour in a most dwarven manner. Stoicism fails and a grimace plagues the dwarf's features beneath his magnificent black beard at the words of the man: magic, no doubt. Broad shoulders rearranghe themselves in a sign of discomfort at the whole ordeal. "Get a big long cloak and I can stand on her shoulders," the man suggests jokingly of Hildr, brilliant, gem-cutting smile flashing.

"Why, I am a gnome," Balbo says. The diminutive gnome gestures towards himself in a way that says, 'Of course' or, 'rain is wet.' His pince-nez sit adroitly upon his gnose.

After a moment, his features become more serious. "Arendt, the trusting sort that he is, regularly sends out 'additional enforcements' to some of the clans. They're spies, of course," he says with a look towards the rage-filled Anaru, "But the warlords don't dare disagree.

Ganbaatar glances at Alik. "The proper size for... you I suppose. Dran warriors tend to be taller. And more... Anyway. Magic I hope." He turns back to Balbo. "Arendt." He spits on he floor. "If it would weaken him I would attack his army by myself. This is a small thing to ask."

Hildr transfers the haft of her scythe to her other hand, leaning over and elbowing Gimring with an answering grin. As Balbo goes on, she tilts her head to listen, sucking on a tooth. "So they'll be expectin' spies anyway, just turns out it won't be th'kinda spies as they're useta."

Alik nods. "For us, yes." He walks over to Balbo and looks him over. "Yes," he agrees confidently. "Gnome."

"What else do you need to kill him?" demands Arnau, as though no one had spoken. It is the mood he is in, the severity of his anger. "I will give you his home. I will give you the names of his allies." He leans forward, fists on the desk as he looks over each of you. The hands tremble, slightly. The wood creaks.

"We reclaim your friend, first--" A hundred warriors!

"Yes, yes. I will loan you mammoths!" Anaru declares. He slaps his hands on the desk, broad, scarred hands hitting it with force, and it shudders again. Balbo looks at it carefully, a man calculating insurance payments.

"They took my friend," he says after a moment. Anaru raises a scarred hand to cover his heart. "We Bonesworn, MY CLAN, we developed the magic that will soon turn loose on the world. Blood magic. Strong magic. You know what Horst will do to him."

He will bleed him dry. He will suck the magic from his soul.

Ganbaatar nods gravely to Anaru. "For the honour of your clan we will do this thing. For your friend." He closes his eyes in memory. "And I will do this for my clan as well. Many have suffered." Alik has not entirely followed the exchange between the clan leaders. But he has understood the important parts. "So. You provide disguises. We infiltrate Dranei. We find this Whetu. We weaken the Dranei where we can. Yes? Yes. Good." He sits on something appropriately sized, content.

"Assuming our disguises are sufficient to pass muster, and that we're able to pass undetected until we reach the person we are rescuing, is there a plan for our exfiltration?" Aria asks, for the moment deferring to the judgment of the guild official. "And am I right in my understanding that we're to rescue this person quickly and quietly, if possible?"

Alik looks disappointed by the latter.

"Bring back my kin. Kill them, do not kill them, but whatever is done, the Bonesworn will declare war upon this sniveling pile of mulshit and anything that remains," the oruch warchief growls. His veves burn to ash.

Balbo rubs at his forehead. "The golem has it correctly. We will arrange your departure in the morning," the gnomish Guild rep says.

Morning finds you at the sables with one of the Bonesworn. A Bonesworn and...a great, great many mammoths.

"That is Tane Bloodrender. He will carry you bravely." Your guide-to-be thumps Tane's leg with a fondness only the oruch can muster for beasts with tusks the length of two men! Tane may notice, he may not--the mammoth gives no outward sign of it, beneath the thick, muscled hide and fur. His tusks, fourteen feet in length, are clasped in hard iron at their ends. What had been symbols of the Bonesworn have been filed away and through Balbo's magic--replaced with the blood-red talons of Horst's clan. So too, have all of you changed.

And, he is not the only one. "Over there, Paora Tuskrender, and Nikau Stompshandler. Moana Hammersbender..." Each is introduced in turn, by Waimarie. Each is given a solid thump against hide or leg and the reins passed over to potential riders. Oh, good. You DO know how to ride. ...right? <.<

Alik scowls at his assigned steed, attempts to discern the handling signals it has been taught, reassures it as best he can, then attempts to mount it... an unfamiliar skill on an unfamiliar mount in an unfamiliar body. What could possibly go wrong?

GAME: Alik rolls handle animal: (3)+3: 6

"You got 'em trained up good," Hildr notes, casting the eye of a professional over each mammoth in turn. Easing up to the one named Hammersbender, she bumps the back of a fist up against one of the iron-shod tusks, pushing outward briefly, then knocking that fist against the mammoth's trunk. "You train 'em for commands in Trade, 'r Oruch?"

GAME: Hildr rolls handle animal: (5)+6: 11

Ganbaatar observes the mammoths stoically with only a subtle hint of worry. "I have fought these but not, ah, climbed one. I presume they are not difficult?" He approaches the large beasts slowly in case they want to sniff him. Or do whatever it is mammoths do.

"Oruch, but hand signals and seat will work well," Waimarie replies. She looks at the khazad-now-Dranei with a keen eye. "You know something about war beasts, then?" She gives her own a solid thump and after a heartbeat, two--the massive beast responds.

His leg goes out into a kneel and--stepping from great knee to stirrup, Waimarie vaults into the saddle with a rider's practice.

"Hit the knee to get them to kneel!"

NOTHING. Could go wrong. Ever.

The mighty barbarian woman formerly known as Aria has many skills. Animal handling, well . . . Lets take a moment and listen in on the conversation happening right now between her and her mighty steed. "Hello, Nikau," comes the same soft, polite tone that the woman typically speaks in. "I hope we can be friends." The mammoth gives no sign of hearing her, much less responding. Her eyes turn away, toward the horizon. /Fine,/ she thinks silently, /be that way./

GAME: Aria rolls strength: (19)+0: 19

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls str: (11)+str: 11

GAME: Alik rolls handle animal: (19)+3: 22

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls strength: (14)+4: 18

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls athletics: (10)+9: 19

GAME: Hildr rolls ride: (6)+-2: 4

Alik regards the kneeling beast skeptically. This is entirely indistinguishable from his earlier expression. He grabs the saddle strap and hauls himself up into the seat, then attempts to get it to stand. Ganbaatar quickly scales the giant beast, not waiting for it to kneel. "<something you don't understand in jotun>"

GAME: Alik rolls handle animal: (15)+3: 18

Alik looks vaguely pleased briefly, and mutters some encouraging comments in gnomish to the animal, mostly about how it appears to be a well-designed riding machines.

GAME: Aria rolls ride: (10)+1: 11

Being a dwarf does tend to mean that verticality will forever be your weakness. It takes a couple tries, then, and no small amount of indignity at the occasional flat-on-the-ass tumble, but eventually she makes it atop the carpeted mountain, mopping sweat from her brow. Following this is a sharp whistle, and a barked Khazadi word that gets the bored, sleepy-looking bear to its feet and sidling up to the mammoth with a grunt.

GAME: Hildr rolls handle animal: (20)+6: 26

Alik contemplates just talking directly to the animal, but decides to save that for later if needed.

So. Morning's rise has you on your way, disguised as Dranei warriors and atop mammoth-saddle. The great creatures move with ease over Dran's rugged landscape. Feet the size of dinner plates swing forward, leaving the earth to shudder beneath them. Distance is no obstacle, and this high--the Dranei landscape looks even greater, as even hills dwarf beneath you. Your guide, Waimarie, rides ahead of you with a lifetime's practice. She's given you a rundown of various commands: left, right, and OH GOD STOP NOW. Basics like that.

Ahead, beyond the hill's rise, you are told, is Horst's camp. The screams of war in the distance speaks to the peacefulness of the Dranei plains. Not the direction you are headed, but not far off.

The tents you are told, will bear Horst's mark--a screaming eagle grasping its prey in blood-coated talons. The Talonclaws, they call themselves. A young tribe, ambitious. A hundred strong camps there, give or take--according to the scouts.

Ganbaatar spends his time watching the terrain and the horizon, it has been years since he was here without fearing for his life. He's also willing to give behavior pointers if asked. Alik mostly concentrates on not bouncing too much in his saddle, and hoping nobody asks him to arm-wrestle.

Once settled atop the tremendous beast, Hildr takes to the urging of her mammoth as though she were born in the saddle. After awhile spent teasing the bear from way up on her new perch, and getting only put-upon huffs from the creature, she settles into her interperetation of a Dranei wilds-shaman; dour, silent, hood up, SO MUCH FROWN.

Aria's eyes are still far away when she feels a nudge on her leg. She turns around to find Nikau kneeling for her to mount, nudging the golem with her trunk. Wait, did they /actually become friends/? Aria struggles a bit to climb aboard the massive beast, taking the reins once she settles into the saddle, the mammoth seeming to respond to her commands. "Thank you, Nikau." This is the start of something beautiful! Or maybe Aria cheated and Nikau can smell the fresh produce the golem stuffed in her backpack to placate her mount.

As the day passes, and she constantly feeds the animal, it becomes obvious that Aria did just that. Near the camp, though, she finally speaks. "We'll likely be approached soon enough. Who's going to speak for us?"

Alik says, "Am suggesting bear."

Dubtle has been here. Honest.

He's actually rather unsettled about the idea of being on mammoths. But he's smiiiiiling. It's the sort of fake, plastered on smile someone has when they're actually terrified. Completely terrified.

As you near, a whistle sounds, and three warriors come running out. Clothed in furs and carrying spears and great hammers, they resemble typical Dranei--hugely muscled, with javelins and iron cudgels at their waists.

At their arrival, Aria's Nikau thunders deep in his throat, tusks vibrating as the strangers near. He manages a half-lunge.

"State your business on the Tide's land." One of the guards. The speaker is a broad-shouldered man carrying one of the hammers the Dranei are known for. He holds it easily in one hand. Around him, others carry similar weapons, or ready throwing javelins.

There's probably flexing. But you know. 'Subtly.'

GAME: Aria rolls ride: (8)+1: 9

Ganbaatar stands up on the back of his mammoth, hefting his earthbreaker easily. "I am Gaan. These are my allies. We will join your clan in battle if you prove worthy in our eyes." He glares at the welcome party. "We will meet your chief now."

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate: (15)+9: 24

Astride her mammoth, Hildr shifts her scythe to her other shoulder, turning it slightly so it can catch the sun for a moment. At Ganbataar's words, she looses a curt, unfriendly-but-still-agreeing grunt, echoed by a rumble from the bear at her side, and a low trumpeting from the mammoth beneath her.

What /about/ her food bonus. Aria reaches into her backpack for another orange, only to draw out an empty hand. /This is bad, isn't it?/ Nikau starts to poke and prod at the rider atop it with its trunk. It pokes Aria in the face. Poke. Poke poke. Poke. Where. Is. My. Orange.

This is one of those tragic moments when friendship goes bad . . .

It takes a good thirty seconds for Aria to calm Nikau down from the resulting tantrum.

Alik guides his mount to a stop, ideally not too far from Ganbaatar, and scowls dyspeptically as he looks at one warrior after another, regarding them as he might a poorly functioning radiator array.

"I am Abelard, and have served this clan for three years." The lead doesn't shudder, exactly--but he backs down, keeping a more, much more careful eye on Ganbaatar now. The rest of you, but in particular the man scowling at him.

Some of the other forward-scouts grip their javelins, but lower them, after a nod, two.

"You say--which clan are you from?"

GAME: Hildr rolls intimidate: (17)+1: 18

GAME: Aria rolls charisma: (20)+0: 20

Alik turns to Ganbaatar with an expectant air, as though to suggest that their chief has all the answers that need be given.

GAME: Alik rolls charisma: (1)+0: 1

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate +4: (4)+9+4: 17

Ganbaatar glares at the one with the temerity to ask questions. "We were sent. That is all you need to know."

Hildr's eyes turn to the questioner, narrowing slightly. The hooded 'Dranei' tosses a look down to the scout that could easily be interpereted as 'I am memorizing your face so I know who to put up against the wall first.'

Alik burps unexpectedly.

Abelard takes a step back, and gives Ganbaatar--and by extension, the rest of you--a companionable nod. You're allowed to move past, and towards the camp. The guards of course, file in alongside you.

The final leg takes fewer than ten minutes, more or less.

In front of you, roughcloth tents dot the landscape. Of a plain, tough fabric, they would be uniform except for the brightly painted murals on their sides. Done in ink and blood, the murals depict victories and triumphs of the warrior within. You pass by one that has a warrior landing atop a mammoth. Blood sprays from the beast's throat as it falls. Another depicts warriors in phoenix-red and marks. These Alexandrians run cowardly from battle. They throw their weapons as they flee, and the Tide gives chase.

GAME: Alik rolls perception: (4)+15: 19

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls perception: (2)+7: 9

As Alik burps, Dubtle gives him a look as if someone just grossed him out. "SHHH," he hushes the gnome before turning back toward sGanbataar and then the others. He folds his hands across his lap neatly and offers a winning, winning smile. When in doubt, SMILE. SMILE ALL YOU CAN.

GAME: Dubtle rolls perception: (17)+2: 19

Nikau is angry. So angry. This isn't what the mammoth signed up for her. She signed up for bribery and corruption. This was her big break after last summer's awkward month of listening to Anaru practice his oruch love crooning in the mammoth stables (a desperate measure to mend fences after his wife kicked him out in a literal Rage). The mammoth suddenly rears up on her hind legs, the impact rocking the ground as they again fall.

Of course, the golem can't exactly change her facial expression. And so neither does her disguised barbariette form. All the approaching scouts see is her gripping the reigns, stonefaced and "fearless," as a mammoth rages beneath her, seemingly in response to the challenge. Intimidating? Sorta?

GAME: Hildr rolls perception: (18)+7: 25

GAME: Aria rolls perception: (1)+0: 1

GAME: Gimring rolls perception: (12)+8: 20

Alik looks around the tents as he enters, trying to look as mulish as a Dranei. The banners show the artistry he has come to expect from the brutes who invaded his birthplace. He does not expect a banner depicting an outsider being kidnapped and tied up, but it cannot hurt to look.

Gimring sits straight above the lumbering beast that meanders beneath him, each heavy footfall of the mammoth's clubbed toes shaking the earth. He seems to be doing his best to give off an air of arrogance and pride any young barbarian warrior of Dran exudes, chest out, chin held high. Concern etches itself into his features, brow furrowing at the sight of the tents. "Not many have stayed behind," the disguised dwarf murmurs, for any nearby. "Out to war, seeking their glory."

Hildr glances at Gimring, nodding once. Urging her mammoth closer to Ganbataar, she supplements his analysis; "Might be as you'll wanna ask that'n over there," she murmurs, nodding toward Dog-Ear, "where-all 'is warriors went off to, an' let on you'll be expectin' t'hear good stories 'bout they's wins tonight."

Ganbaatar nods approvingly at Hildr's tip. "You. Abelard. Your warriors, they do great deeds today? We will hear their stories when they return, our travel has been long." He's trying to keep their attention. You paged Lahar with 'Since these are tents, and I have a high perch, can I roll knowledge/engineering to see if any of them look more jaily than others?'

GAME: Aria rolls knowledge/engineering: (2)+11: 13

With their presence in camp established, and the 'chief' of their group engaging Abelard, Hildr moves her mammoth towards the stables, examining their facilities in the manner of a disapproving shaman.

GAME: Aria rolls perception: (10)+0: 10

"Killed two lucht, and an Eldanar that thought they knew Tide business," Abelard says. He spits to the side to show his opinion of them. As he and Ganbaatar talk, you head over towards what appears to be Horst.

"Eh. Who's this?" a band of Dranei come by. Among them, at the center, the scarred visage that was described to you as Horst. His remaining, half-ear falls down like a dog's. That's...familiar.

He addresses Abelard, and then his gaze roves around the rest of you, before settling on Ganbaatar, towards the front. Hildr moves off with little difficulty.

Gimring viciously beats his own chest with a clenched fist, raising his hand to the sky in the direction of the man with the dog-cut ear, a triumphant gesture full of the promise of great deeds yet unspoken, and yet undone. Precariously, he clambers down from the great beast, doing his best not to look like a fool and blow his cover. Not much of one for cloak and dagger, the dwarf keeps quiet, perhaps not confident enough in his own acting to risk saying the wrong thing.

"So far so good," mumurs Dubtle, rubbing his beard. Which is not small, at all. No doubt somewhere Jokul feels envy. All the same, he's letting the others take point for the moment.

Alik regards the approaching band's leader carefully, and a randomly chosen warrior in that band. He does this primarily so he doesn't attract undue attention when he examines Horst, which he does next, attempting to discern as much as he can about the man, his gear, any obvious wounds or constraints on him, signs of magic or artifice, etc.

GAME: Alik rolls perception: (7)+15: 22

Waimarie, your Bonesworn guide, remains behind you. As Gimring dismounts, she does as well. Grim-faced, she takes the reins.

Hildr returns to Ganbataar's side, leaning over to murmur a few words into the warrior's ear and dropping an approving nod toward the stables. "They're definitely understrength, but there ain't much room for upsettin' the stables 'less there's a fire."

Horst nods, and looks to each of you directly, "Kor's blade! I'll see you have your chance at honor by dawn, honor to the Tide!" Then, "See to them. Food, water. Show'em where the latrines are," to one of his guards. The man nods once, then eyes you with a Dranei warrior's eyes. Horst didn't choose this one for his cunning, after a quick look. However, you know instinctively that he'll follow Horst's orders to the letter. So, unless you do something, you're going to see the outhouses!

Horst himself moves on through the camp, muttering to himself, and snapping orders.

GAME: Hildr rolls perception: (1)+7: 8

GAME: Aria rolls perception+4: (4)+0+4: 8

GAME: Alik rolls perception: (7)+15: 22

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls perception: (16)+7: 23

GAME: Gimring rolls perception: (8)+8: 16

Alik catches Ganbaatar's eye, subtly gesturing to one of the tents.

Ganbaatar listens with slightly narrowed eyes, giving nothing away. "Very well, we will stay. For the Warlord!" He slides off his mammoth carefully and leaves it for someone else to deal with. "Show me where is food and drink. Also latrines, the day has been long."

Ganbaatar nods slightly to Alik and attempts to lead the guy the other way.

GAME: Dubtle rolls Perception: (8)+2: 10

All Dubtle sees is Gan and Alik gesturing to each other. "What?" he whispers, though his eyes are inevitably drawn back to the mammoths. He pats one. He clearly has no ideas at the moment. He's sort of out of his depth and a little terrified. It shows.

Alik scowls. "We have not come here to eat, like gluttons. We fight, when fighting is. For now, I prepare." He walks off in an arbitrary direction that just happens to lead him past the bloody tent.

Hildr finally slips off her mammoth, giving a fond slap against the leg and passing off the leash to their guide. "We'll find your clansman," she murmurs quietly, "and soon." With that, she moves off after Ganbataar, presumably in anticipation of being shown the latrines.

Gimring scowls at the talk of latrines and drink, muttering something inappropriate aloud about needing women after a long day's travel and a short night before the chance to seek his honor on the field. Playing the part of spirited individualist, he storms away from the group through the encampment, plodding along a distance behind Horst to try and get a sense of the place's layout.

The walk to the latrines is--direct. That's the BEST thing that can be said for it, that it's simple and well-made. ...though really, does anyone want the latrines to be interesting? At all?

The camp is roughly one hundred strong, give or take. Horst's tent is heavily guarded, though to his credit--simple, rough. Ganbaatar at least, to him--the layout would feel familiar. Absolutely so.

Alik regards the tent carefully, looking for anything anomalous, as he passes. Then he looks for an opportunity to get out of sight for long enough to cast Invisibility... perhaps thanks to a convenient distraction. When he's done so, he sticks his head in the tent.

Within the tent, and oruch rests supported by a broken stool. The arm thrown over it is shredded, the veve-patterns once woven so proudly now torn and discarded. The air smells of blood. It smells of blood and the electric-sharp spark of mana.

...he stars hard at the tent flap, intense. Bloodshot, as though expecting something to come through. And that that something will not be good.

GAME: Alik rolls heal: (8)+2: 10

Alik thinks a bit, then shrugs. He takes advantage of his invisible status to peek in a few additional plausible-seeming spots out of curiosity, mostly, before resuming visibility and rejoining the party.

Alik describes the tent, and the wounded oruch, and the blood, to whoever he can find an opportunity to surreptitiously update.

GAME: Alik casts Invisibility. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16

At the latrines--it doesn't take long, or much for the pup to get disinterested and walk away. It leaves you with Waimarie, and a handful occasionally, of Dranei who also on occasion, rush into the latrines and slam the doors behind them.

Before emerging, much more relaxed.

It's what latrines DO.

At any rate, you're able to reconvene, with a better understanding of what's going on around you.

GAME: Aria rolls spellcraft+2: (18)+11+2: 31

GAME: Alik rolls craft/artifice: (19)+12: 31

Once shown the latrines, Hildr disappears into an open box, taking a moment to listen hard for movement to either side of her. Once all is clear, she mutters the words of a spell, sharpening her eyes enough to see and track the flow of magic.

Gimring seems unsure what the best course of action will be, his countenance darkening visibly at the revelation that the Dranei are torturing the prisoner and maybe even performing some dakr magic upon his person... even if he is an orc. He spits upon the ground in disgust, quieted voice carefully relaying his opinion to his companions. "We should try and sneak him out. Quietly. There are many warriors here, and we will need time ahead of them realizing we have their prize in order to escape."

"Eh? What are you doing there?" A Dranei demands. He's shouting at the man inside the tent. The rest of the words are blurred, but given the tents are in rows, it's easy enough to make out. Just perhaps, not the details.

Alik scowls. He does that a lot. "It is perhaps decision taking out our hands." He pays close attention to the Dranei at the tent.

Ganbaatar grunts. "Last time I had to escape an entire clan on the open plains we had magical assistance and secret caves." He turns to watch the shouting warrior, fingering his weapons in readiness. "Perhaps you are correct." He starts striding in that direction, not too obviously though.

Her spell cast and the wait done, Hildr exits the latrines, adjusting her trousers to sell the ruse as she makes her way back toward Ganbataar. At the challenging question, she raises an eyebrow at him, then her leader, and back. Scowl, interrogative grunt.

Aria has been relatively silent thusfar, standing on the periphery of the group as something occupies her attention. Alik's investigation had confirmed her suspicion, though his report about the torturous tampering with his magic was something she hadn't entirely expected.

Something prompts her to finally speak her piece. She draws closer to their de facto leader and Alik, speaking nearly in a whisper. "Do you feel that? That spell . . . it's not just a residue from earlier. It's building right now. I think our hand may be forced very, very soon."

"They should've given this to the Tide. The True Clan of the Dranei. Saved us all this damn trouble!" the Dranei is saying. A few other warriors stop to look. Some smirk.

No one is looking to help your oruch, though. Whetu staggers, held up only by his good arm, and the grace of the tent's pole.

Hildr leans in to tap Ganbataar's shoulder with her scythe. "I could measure out that man's life with a spoon," she whispers. "If we're movin', we're movin' now."

Ganbaatar strides forward and shouts at the Dran who is harassing the Oruch. "You fool! You've been hiding this... asset from Arendt! Anaru thought this was the case." He attempts to bull past the warrior. "Come with us, now."

Gimring follows his fellow adventurers toward the impending conflict, his mouth agape slightly as he lays his cold gaze upon the oruch's burning stare. "I have seen that look before," he admits, quietly. "It is the blood fury of the orc. This does not bode well..." stepping forward towards the real Dranei, he calls out to the barbarians, "What's a wretch like that doing out here in the presence of heroes and legends? Lose his way?"

GAME: Aria rolls reflex: (8)+6: 14

Alik 's eyes light up at Ganbaatar's move. He has no idea where this is going, but action is good. He follows.

GAME: Dubtle rolls Ref: (15)+2: 17

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls reflex +2: (2)+4+2: 8

GAME: Gimring rolls reflex: (14)+4: 18

GAME: Alik rolls reflex: (18)+7: 25

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls perception: (1)+7: 8

GAME: Hildr rolls reflex: (5)+1: 6

Ganbaatar intervenes, and Whetu looks at him like a man possessed. For a moment, something flickers there. A corpse's whisper of, "Vials," before he feebly shoves the other man away.

The Dranei half-turns to respond to Gimring.

Whetu's physical strength is gone. Bled dry. ...but something's happened. The Bonesworn created something new, something untested and though the form is weak--what remains of the blood is strong. Whetu roars, and his broken teeth hang wide and unhinged like a jungle cat's, but far too wide. The force of it snaps outwards and hard--it hits the Dranei guard. The man snaps backward, his neck breaking, his bones crushed as he drops to earth. Soon, barely enough time to draw half-breath, fire erupts.

A dying man's fatal inferno. A dying man's pyre. Around you, the tents turn to flame.

At the center of it, Whetu lies unmoving, he--

There are those vials. Next to him. Through the smoke, Ganbaatar can barely see them.

Alik was already approaching, and now hurries to collect the vials. He's not sure what they're all about, but theyre clearly important.

GAME: Aria rolls craft/alchemy: (6)+11: 17

GAME: Alik rolls craft/alchemy: (17)+10: 27

Ganbaatar bellows at the top fof his lungs, opening his wide mouth showing sharpened teeth. "Fools! Fetch water, lots of water. The camp is under attack!" He grabs the nearest standing warrior and shoves him in the direction of the latrines. "RUN!"

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate: (12)+9: 21

GAME: Aria rolls heal+10: (20)+6+10: 36

GAME: Aria rolls wisdom: (9)+0: 9

Alik 's eyes widen as he picks up the nearest vial of blood. "We can use these to spit fire," he infrms the party, before pulling a flask out of his own pack. "Here. Drink," he instructs the wounded orc. (Potion of Cure Medium Wounds)

Gimring throws his arms up to shield his face from the fiery inferno that roars to life before him. Instinctively, they abandon the protection of his eyes from the brightness of the flame to protect a far more sacred treasure: his majestic, perfectly groomed black beard. There is a moment where he hesitates, watching men catch fire, and instead of springing forwar dto protect the fallen orc magic wielder, he slips between some of the tents that have not gone ablaze.

"...ahhh!" Dubtle is caught off guard, really. "What do I do?! What do I do?!' he squeaks, then calms down. His reaction was rather hysterical for a moment in all the chaos. Yes, it's rather clear he's never been part of anything like this before, glancing from side to side with nerves obvious.

With the fire burning, BURNING, Ganbaatar's words are not hard to believe. There's a roar from the direction of Horst's tent. It sounds...wrong. Just...off.

Nearby, the metal golem kneels, tending to the burned oruch. Alik forces a vial between his teeth--and has to hold what remains of the man's jaw still. Most of it is lost through the holes in his cheek, the missing teeth, bone. What little gets in glows faintly, before passing into the skin. Whether it helps or not, you're uncertain at this time.

Behind you, the thunder of mammoths. Waimarie comes, bringing them with her. "ORDERS," she snaps at Ganbaatar, all but bearing her tusks.

EVERY 'TALON HERE WILL DIE, her eyes say. FOR WHAT THEY DID.

Aria rushes over, unslinging her pack as she draws and unravels a healer's kit, kneeling by Whetu. She palms what looks like a thanatopticon to help her assess the fallen oruch's state. It takes her a few moments before she finally speaks. "Idiots!" She screams. "Why didn't you watch him! This man is dead! We should do what we can to preserve the body for study . . . " It's a show. A convincing one? Who knows.

She looks around, hoping she's not being watched as she draws a small spherical contraption, seemingly from nowhere. A wave of healing energy washes over his body a moment later. She mutters to Alik, barely above a whisper. "He's alive, just on death's door."

Hildr looses a few choice words, dropping to the ground immediately on being set aflame and rolling back and forth until the flames are smothered away. "Git 'im up an' let's get outta here," she rumbles, heaving to her feet and loosing a sharp whistle. "I'll keep hold of th'guy, make sure as 'e don't die on th'road."

Ganbaatar speaks more quietly just for those in the group. "Mount up, we are leaving." He then bellows loudly again. "Dragon! Dragon from the sky! Ware the fire!" He gestures back the way that the group will not be leaving, hoping to distract more Dran looking for glory in battle.

Gimring remains on the periphery of the action, seemingly content that the orc is in the care of his fellows and doing his best to watch for Dranei attempts at interference, the disguise ddwarf lurking in the shadows cast by the inferno that threatens to consume the encampment. "Get him onto a mammoth and let's go!" he harshly whispers, the normally patient dwarf eager to escape.

Alik taps the magic of his people to speak in the language of the mammoths. <<"WARRIOR MOUNTS!">> he yells to the animals <<IT IS TIME FOR BATTLE! BEAR US UP AND CRUSH OUR ENEMIES!!!>> as he approaches his mount.

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate: (7)+9: 16

Alik also mounts, if he has time.

Swiftly, Dubtle grabs an Oruch and shakes him.

"I saw it with my own eyes! HUGE! One for the record books! WHy, the last confirmed dragon sighting in this area was in 1000! It's the ANNIVERSAY! It all makes sense, man! GO! WARN THE OTHERS!" 

The oruch blinks down at Dubtle and finds him AMAZINGLY personable. He must be tough enough to be his khazadi. Anyway, he takes off screaming about Dragonversaries.

Aria struggles to lift the fallen Oruch, only able to move him once Hildr joins her to support Whetu's other side. They manage to stagger their way to the mammoth stables, Aria relating to the druid what she already knows about the man's condition.

"Sounds about right," Hildr answers, nodding briskly. "Mostly a sheep doctor, but I got magic an' herbs enough, I might-could keep 'im put t'gether for th'road back. Ain't gonna be happy, but he'll live t'be pissed. Good enough." With that, she hauls herself up after the Oruch, knocking on the mammoth's head to get its attention, and barking orders at it as she drags out a rough leather valise. More than enough space atop a mammoth for a healer to work, thankfully.

Alik mounts his mammoth and attempts to direct it to clear a trail out of the camp, using a combination of normal animal handling commands and SHOUTING HIS FOOL HEAD OFF IN MAMMOTH to direct it. If it's convenient to do so, he tramples over a row of soldier's tents in the process. Or soldiers. Or both. If a good clumped-up target presents itself, he uses the vial to burn it down, down, down!

Waimarie's rage is choked off as Aria and Hildr lift the broken body onto the war mount's broad back. Whetu's body is beyond what field medicine can do--but between your skillsets, you can keep him alive. Her rage ends in a sob, and she begins to whisper something under her breath. Something different than she'd--intended.

As for his life? You have a few hours. But, he wouldn't have had those few hours without you.

Also for now, the Dranei believe you. The one Dubtle charms begins shouting, and they all turn to look towards the sky. Others run for buckets, or bring them back. They're desperate to put out the blaze.

...except, Horst emerges from his tent. The man looks wrong, off. His eyes burn as he looks towards the sky. Then, his shoulders...unhinge. They MORPH. For any of you, former soldiers and adventurers all, you recognize a dislocating shoulder. ...except this one melts.

It hits the ground, transforming into long, black claws. His head shoots skyward, pouring black ink.

Suddenly, Dubtle isn't lying anymore.

"...ADOM TAKE IT!" Waimarie rasps. She hits her mammoth, leaping into the saddle. "That's a Void Dragon! VOID!"

Thanks to Alik's words--the mammoths are more than ready to MOVE. They raise their noses, and bugle a war cry. THAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Fourteen feet of iron-clad tusk raises to the sky!

GAME: Hildr rolls intimidate: (12)+1: 13

GAME: Hildr casts Entangle. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14

GAME: Aria rolls intimidate: (18)+0: 18

Alik steers his mount past the stables, shouting to the mounts inside "THE DRAGON ATTACKS!!! RISE UP, TEAR FREE OF YOUR BONDS, AND PROTECT THE CAMP!!!" before using his vial to torch the side of the stable opposite the dragon's location. He then continues to trample his way out of the camp.

Ganbaatar points back at the now revealed dragon. "Warriors of the Dran! Avenge your chief, for the Warlord and glory!" He gestures at the fire all round. "FOR THE TALONCLAWS!"

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate: (5)+9: 14

"...ah, watch out!" agrees Dubtle. "Ahhh!"

He's good at screaming, anyway.

GAME: Ganbaatar rolls intimidate +6: (7)+9+6: 22

THE TIDE IS BURNING. The Void drops his jaw...and it falls, and keeps falling. The power of the Void rolls over the field. Its emptiness jerks at the seed of your creation, and the threads of your existence begin to unwind before Horst's blazing eyes.

Except you and only you seem to know it's Horst. And the guards beside him, who turn gray, then ashen before falling to their knees in death.

Then Hildr's vines rush upwards.

His roar can be heard for miles.

"A KISS FROM ANGORON, YOU DIPSACK!" roars Waimarie, her maul in hand. Hefting it, she lifts it overhead--and hurls it, end over end towards the entangled beast.

Whether it hits or not, you'll never know. The mammoths eat ground.

The Dranei roar behind you.

The Tide is burning.

Alik cheers his mammoth on, clutching onto it for dear life as it tramples through the camp perimeter and onto the wilderness. Truthfully, he is in no meaningful sense guiding it anymore, the Speak With Animals effect wears off soon enough and he is just yelling his fool head off in gnomish. It doesn't really matter, it knows the way home better than Alik does, he just urges it to MOVE. Years from now, the annual Mammoth Races will be held in these wastes, in memory of this moment. At least if Alik has anything to do with it.

With the camp falling away behind them, Hildr turns the bulk of her concentration to her patient. soaking bandages in herbal tinctures, smearing astringent paste against terrible wounds, coating an entire bandaged arm in sticky wet plaster, the druid works with a fervor usually reserved for prize cattle to keep the dying Oruch clinging to life, augmenting her labors with magic and liberal Khazadi curses. Dubtle's ona mammoth. HE'S ON A FRICKING MAMMOTH.

"I AM SO WRITING MY MOTHER ABOUT THIS," yells Dubtle, terrified, holding on to his mammoth for dear life. 

VERY DEAR LIFE.

Ganbaatar clings to the stampeding mammoth and glares back over his shoulder at the receding dragon. Not today, but someday. "Arendt has more to answer for. Putting true warriors under the command of a... monster! Pah!"

...it takes days to make your contact. Two, in fact. The Bonesworn are waiting for you, and as soon as Whetu is returned to them, and his vials, they declare war. Except there's none to declare.

That Horst had been a Void Dragon is news. Big News, enough that you end up in conference with Balbo again, and several Guild higher-ups. They want to know.

They want to know Everything.

What you learn from it is that Heth is not as static as everyone had thought. No, Dun Morden, Alexandria--and now even the Dranei. Does Arendt know how much, or how far his talons reach?

Now there's the million gold coin question. No one knows.

Most chilling however, is Anaru's final words, before he and his clan had left: "His clan is no more, now that they know what he is. ...but now the Void has the knowledge of our warriors."

...

"By Angoron, what have we leased on the world?"