Clarion Quietus (IC) Part 1

[Sholano]

Dorin smirked at the gnome's retort, gazing up at the 'ceiling'. He took a moment to just breathe, savoring the simple yet glorious feeling of being suddenly being whole and healthy again.

[Exile]

Visibly relieved, Amethyst chuckled as she nodded.  "Not that I have any idea of what's coming next, but... it's deeply welcome, this chance to recuperate a little.  And some of us certainly needed it rather badly.

[Doomed Hero]

After the ceremony the Halflings mostly left the bigger folk alone. The travelers weren't really rejected from the circle, but were given the cold shoulder until they began to drift back toward their own wagon.

Another group of halflings were already there, inspecting the beams and joists, laying their hands on cracks and tears, their magics coaxing the material back to less damaged states. Wendle grinned like an idiot. "You folk are awful handy." he said to Nefario and Ivy.

By the time an hour had passed the wagon looked like a completely different vehicle, nicer than it had been even when Eirik and Dorin had first left Baden's Bluff in it. "A new paint job and she'll be better than new." Wendle said running his hands over the wheels.

As everyone began to bed down, Otter and Star began saying their goodbyes. "We're headed back to the river with Sehiri in the morning. Lots of damage to control from this one." Star said.

Star shook Nefario's hand. "Constance told me she's sending you and your cousin with them. That's good. The two of you stick out among your own and you're mixed up in this pretty deep. I wanted to thank you for getting Cara out of Skinner's hell hole."

Otter pulled Eirik, Amethyst and Siobhan aside. "When you get to Durgis Rock, look for our cousin Kjellan." he said. "He's a good kid. Resourceful and trustworthy. You lot are in a bit of a mess because of all this this and I can't help but feel partly to blame. I don't know what they're after you for," he said to Eirik, "but this will make it harder to find you."
He unshouldered a rawhide leather satchel large enough to hold Siobhan's book and passed it tot he young erenlander. "Anything inside this is out of the Dark One's sight. None of his servants can find it. Though if they figure out you're carrying it, it's a death sentence."

[Exile]

"I fear we're subject to a death sentence if caught in any case", Amethyst responded with a rueful smile, before somewhat diffidently attempting to deliver a warm hug to Otter.

"Thank you.  We certainly couldn't have come so far without you.  And now you're helping us still further.  It's very much appreciated, I promise you."

[Matt]

Nefario had spent the majority of their time in camp with his mother and kin. It had been too long.

Seeing the gnomes preparing to leave, he drew close to offer his goodbyes. He waited his turn and watched Amethyst. Her words were kind. Indeed just her presence seemed to bolster the spirits around her. But there was something about it that set him on edge. In her presence he felt almost a ringing behind the ears; faint, imperceptible, slightly annoying. The voices had said nothing on the matter of note, it was almost like he was imagining things, and yet. He closed his eyes and shook his head out as she finished, then stepped to the gnomes and offered each his hand.

"Thank you. Travel safe."

[neverfox]

Ivy found herself a bit sentimental at the thought of the gnomes' departure. Maybe Star was right; she didn't fit in among her "own." What did that even mean really? Ivy was beginning to feel like she was having a rebirth of some kind. Only, being reborn in this way, it didn’t make her happy necessarily. Birth is wonder and joy and tears and glory–but birth is also violence and ripping and fear and death…

Where do I say I’m from? When one place wants to kill me and the other place I’m still searching for?

[Sholano]

Dorin stretched his arms out, glad to be free of the small spaces in the undergrowth. The big man was used to being crowded for space, but usually he was at least able to stand.

He nodded to Otter and Star as they made their goodbyes, and spoke slowly and carefully in the Trader's Tongue. "Captain Highcloud spoke well of you, and you've lived up to that. It was an honor." He raised his fist in the Dornish gesture of respect.

[Doomed Hero]

"Horace doesn't speak well of many people, so we'll take that as high praise. None of us would have made it out of that mess if not for you, big man. You ever need a hand on the river, talk to any of the Gales, tell them you're looking for a falling star. You'll be taken care of." Star chuckled.

The evening meal passed quietly, with friendly discussion and concern for the future. In the morning, by the time the first rays of light crept across the plains, the halflings were gone. Vanished from under the traveler's noses without a trace or a goodbye.

[Doomed Hero]

Near Kurgun Falls, Midnight, Arc of Obares, Fall

The wreckage was absolute. Nearly one hundred dead all told, about half that slaves. The Overseer had wasted no time requisitioning more help.

And it came. A force of five hundred orcs, veterans all, disciplined and stoic, from the Mother of Bone tribe with their cataract eyes and bone-handled Vardatchs. They wore grey armor and cloaks and were led by a black-leather clad legate who came in like a whirlwind. Three executions later and the camp was bustling. Rebuilding, reorganizing, excavating.

He called himself Jael, and he was calm as ice.

"Engineer Clouse," he said, bent over a planning table, speaking slowly "Where is this Dwarf now?"

[Gabboge]

Clouse was distraught, his mind was reeling. Just another part of their damn game, is it all just random? None of it made sense and the more information he got the worse it became.

"I don't know... He gave a warning just before the slide began, then we were all just running."

Clouse felt beaten. The worse possible situation had happened and he knew exactly who the blame would fall on. He didn't care, in his own mind he kicked himself for his failure. He didn't even bother to start to defend his own actions.

[Doomed Hero]

"His actions saved a great many people. It was not your oversight, or his, that has caused this debacle. There was a hole in the scouting array caused by a disobedient Grak. Rather than staying on his patrol he decided to follow this Dwarf, who is either the most audacious saboteur who ever lived, or he is a Black Blood agent keeping up an alias in the fortress up the mountain. Due to his actions here I am inclined to believe the later, but one can never be too careful in these situations. Dwarves are often more guileful than they are given credit for."

Jael spoke carefully, looking at the map on the table with great concentration, seeming almost to speak to himself, as if voicing an internal monologue. Finally he raised his head and spoke to Clouse directly.

"I am told he had assistants. Bring them to me."

[Gabboge]

"Of course, I will take my men and go get them." Clouse went to leave, but before he made it out he paused.

"Commander, this whole situation has me uneasy. Perhaps I am over thinking this, it's a curse of my kind, but the patterns don't make any sense.Clouse didn't care about who got credit anymore, it wasn't a matter of pride. He just had to see what the answer was, until then it would just drive him crazy.

"All the events leading up to this were stall tactics, slowing us down. This slide seems like a more aggressive shift in strategy but in doing so they have called so much attention to this place. Doesn't make any sense."

[Doomed Hero]

"A great deal does not seem to make sense about the goings on here. Rest assured I will uncover the truth. Bring them."

[Doomed Hero]

The language of Ogres is something akin to a infantile version of Black Tongue, which is itself only barely a language. They communicate mostly through grunts, bellows and various kinds of finger-pointing. Few others can communicate with them effectively in any language, let alone their own, though they always seem to communicate with each other just fine.

Anyone who took the time to study them would tell you that Ogres seem to have a remarkable disconnect between "effect" and "cause" and an attention span that made any attempts to overcome that handicap nearly impossible. It was not that the overseer's whipping was not motivating, it was simply that to an Ogre "pain" and "what is causing the pain" are often separated by an unfathomable gulf. At some point the only answer to "what do I do about the pain?" becomes, simply, "smash things". Overseeing Ogres was a lethal profession. Among bugbears, it was what they did with the dregs of their society. Conversely, veteran Ogre-handlers were some of the most feared and respected among them.

 The trick, Marakal had discovered, was in getting their attention and then directing it across that gulf. When lead by the hand they understood quickly and responded predictably. It was when they were left to their own devices, or when ineffectively led, that they were prone to disastrous actions.

After the death of many of the bugbear overseers Marakal had been put in charge of the Ogre work teams. Not really by any command decision, but simply due to the fact that they had begun listening to him. The Ogre he had saved from burning to death had become something of a leader among them. It took him nearly two days to figure out the strange title they had given the burn-scarred Ogre. At first he had thought they were saying "warm-cover", something to do with the fire, perhaps, but something didn't seem right about the translation (as if he knew what he was doing. He still couldn't figure out how in the world he could understand them at all, let alone translate), but then he saw where the Ogres slept.

The biggest, meanest and strongest among them hoarded the blankets.

At some point someone had taken it upon themselves to stitch a number of filthy rags together to create blankets for the Ogres. They were terribly stitched. The worst examples of patchworking imaginable. The Ogre's didn't know that, nor did they care. They only knew that the toughest got the blankets, and that the burn-scarred Ogre's skin now looked liked he was wearing a blanket all the time. To the Ogres, that was akin to being crowned king by God himself.

And since their King Blanket followed Marakal around like a lost puppy, he'd found himself in charge of them. No one asked questions. The bugbears were thrilled. Anything that let them be lazier was fine with them. The hobgoblins adapted instantly, happy not to have to deal with the bugbears, and the Ogres became less of a liability and more of an asset practically over night.

The lower camp was being rebuilt from the very rubble that had crushed it. Surviving slaves were building levy-like barriers and keeping the storage and command areas well away from anywhere that could be swept away. The Mother of Bone soldiers had taken possession of every corpse pulled out of the rubble and taken them into a large tent without a work of explanation. More slaves were arriving by the hour. It would only be days before the pass was cleared to the point where the forward camp had been less than a week before.

Marakal was directing a large-scale excavation when Clouse found him.

[Gabboge]

Clouse approached Marakal at a brisk walk. Behind him trotted his goblin lacky, limping ever so slightly on bandaged feet. The little goblin seemed to be walking with more pride then normal.

Lacky was, in fact, brimming with pride. He had done it, or rather, he would have done it if a mountain had not slid on top of everyone. He had earned the right to his own name. He had dreamed of this day but now that he was here he was in the throws of indecision. Maybe I'll use the goblin word for bravery! Is there one? He knew it would come to him eventually, and he plenty of free time to study now that Red was out of commission.

Clouse calmly addressed Marakal " The new overseers would like to have a word with you... and probably the gnome as well. Where is he?" He tried his best to be pleasant.

[TwiceBorn]

"Um, right here, good Clouse," replied Kjellan as he approached the hobgoblin and the Erenlander from behind. "Th-the new overseers w-want to s-see us now? I had some things to confirm with Marakal regarding the efficiency of the excavation teams... b-but I guess that can w-wait." The prospect of meeting the new overseers evidently made the gnome a little nervous. He wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow.

[Gabboge]

"you shouldn't be nervous. He doesn't seem to want to play games, he just wants to get to the bottom of this." Clouse gave his best reassuring smile.

[TwiceBorn]

Kjellan's reply was a nod and a weak smile that quickly turned into a wince of pain. He placed his left hand on his right elbow--the one that had been crushed in the rockslide and was now turning all shades of yellow and purple -- and rubbed it very softly. Although the pain from his wounded arm and scraped knees was excruciating and reduced the gnome to a hobble and a limp, he could not resist the urge to touch his injuries from time to time. It was as if he thought that doing so would somehow speed the healing process. All it really did was shoot more searing pain through his limbs. His face and hands were all scratched up. Kjellan had not slept a wink since he had been pulled from underneath the rocks, and his baggy eyes betrayed his exhaustion.  

[arnon]

Marakal gave Clouse a cursory look and grunted an assent as he helped move another boulder to the side. He heard Kjellan approach, continuing his charade of fear... Marakal was no actor, he would act as he always acts, but he will not jeopardize the dwarves plans, he owed them that much.

The ogres were efficiently performing his orders. He was amazed that they understood what he wanted them to do, and equally amazed that he understood them. He directed King Blanket to continue with what he was doing and turned to Clouse: "Let's go then," he said.

A new overseer who summoned 500 orcs with a wave of a hand. This could not be simple...

[Gabboge]

Clouse nodded and led them back to the tent. The small goblin hobbling behind Clouse. The two shared a brief conversation in hushed whispers back and forth. After two quick exchanges, Clouse sighed. "Then just ask him yourself..."

The small goblin looked back towards Marakal. Then he changed his pace to align himself beside the Erenlander. Timidly he said "How do your people name each other?... Are you from the horse people or the farmers?"

[arnon]

Marakal looked at the goblin with a confused look. Maybe it was his poor Trader's Tongue and he misunderstood. "I no farmer and never rode horse," he said to the goblin, keeping his eyes straight ahead, at the tent with the new overseer was, trying to pierce it with his eyes.

He would need to keep his temper, he knew. This was not the time for it. The dwarves saved him and he owed them for that. He would bite his tongue and be respectful. Arise no suspicions. He spared a glance at the goblin: "We are given name when born. Sometime of parent... or someone of family."

[TwiceBorn]

Kjellan followed Marakal, Clouse and his goblin lackey, hurrying to keep pace. He kept his eyes on the ground and spoke not a word.

[Doomed Hero]

The Legate was young. Much younger than Kjellan had expected. He wasn't the best at gauging human ages, but he guessed that the Legate couldn't be more than twenty-five summers.

He was seated at a large table with a series of papers laid out on it. Each was a part of a map, all laid out to give a more complete picture of an area. Rocks and other odds and ends served as paperweights and markers of various kinds. The legate did not look up as they entered. He simply continued studying the map. After a few moments, he asked "What can you tell me of Durgis Rock?"

[arnon]

With the legate studying the map, Marakal studied the legate... but he needed to see his face. "Not much more than I was told, Sir. A dwarven hold, somewhere over that way," he waved his hand in the general direction of the Kaladruns. He kept his answer short deliberately. He had not real gift for talking or deceiving, so he told a very general truth and hoped that it would suffice.

[Doomed Hero]

The Legate's eyes rose, taking in the pair. He was stern but calm, an expression that seemed something like that of a wolf when it was not currently hunting. Content, but not quite satisfied. His hair was dark and cropped close to his head. His eyes were Sarcosan black and bored into them with powerful scrutiny.

"Then you are unaware that the Dwarf, Dunkin, has been splitting his time between this camp and that fortress?"