PI: Aveas: Quartermaster's Square (Samheen 29th)

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Grant
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PI: Aveas: Quartermaster's Square (Samheen 29th)

Post by Grant »

Once this market square would have been bustling with activity and draped in bright colors.

Now only white banners with the sign of the Eye in gold adorned the buildings. There were small stalls set up for the selling of food or repair skills to the fellow explorer. Mostly though, people were trading not for coin, but for the iron tokens that could be traded for the expedition's limited supply of goods.

Along one side of the square, tents with the symbols of various houses sought men for their ventures beyond the town. They called to those that passed by and offered great reward for hard work.

There was one main tent that bore a wooden sign that read "Quartermaster". Several sharp eyed guards stood before the surrounding smaller tents to make sure the supplies did not go wandering. Within, a skinny man in the livery of the one of the merchant houses of the Mouth sat behind a makeshift table covered in scrolls. Most entered with scrolls and token and left with tools or perhaps a different scroll clutched in their hands. Others entered with goods and left with tokens and scrolls.

Several phalanxes of mustered soldiers were collected at the opposite side of the square, soldiers that varied widely in appearance. There were the red-marked Purificatio soldiers, the blue-clad Condotierre, green-clad Knights, white-clad Paladins, and a handful of other military orders present, each one gathered together and sorting through supplies, equipment, and personnel. The leader of the Purificatio...a red-clad Inquisitor wearing splinted leather armors and a pair of wickedly curved swords...stood before his command and reviewed his draft list carefully.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Grimhyge

Post by Grimhyge »

The town square was about what the dwarf would have expected; a lot of military activity, or commercial activity catering to soldiers. That was as it should be. Who needed drapers and goldsmiths and spice merchants right now? The townsfolk had rightfully yielded their square to the righteous cause identified by the banners of the Eye of the One flying everywhere now. Grimhyge thought about the tattoo he wore that had that very symbol on it, and felt a rush of pride. He belonged here.

Puffing up his chest a bit, he walked past the stores and tents. If he needed anything he did not already have, he was certain his commander would tell him. He need only look for the red uniforms of and markings of the Purificatio.

These were not hard to find; the units were all distinctly marked and set apart, making things easy for the new recruit to find his way. He headed straight for the mass of red that had to be the purificatio. Before the gathering formations of soldiers stood an imposing looking inquistor looking over some list. That must be Solestine.

Grimhyge eyed the formations of soldiers quizzically, seeing if he could figure out where he was to fit in, but first he would have to report to the commander. Walking up to the Inquisitor, he stopped at about three paces and hailed: "Excuse me, Sir. I am Grimhyge of the Howling Ice Mountains, recruited for the Purifcatio at Dragons Keep. I report myself for duty." He plumped the butt of his poleax down upon the ground by his right foot and leaned the weapon against his right shoulder while he awaited acknowledgement and instructions.
Grant
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Post by Grant »

Another mercenary. And a dwarven one at that, thought the priest, inspecting Grimhyge closely. It wasn't too surprising, in point of fact. Dwarves were a rather frequent sight in World's Mouth, dwarves from Kaza Rhun making a tidy living on the trade routes through Mach Mellin. Some dwarves even held lofty positions in some of the trade guilds...and some aspired to even greater heights. A few of their kind had quickly accepted the One God by virtue of the Prodesse Dominicus...and the city had, at least so far, overlooked those that had not. After all, World's Mouth was a city built upon the metals trades from the Howling Ices...and that trade had always included the Kingdom of Kaza Rhun.

"One be with you, Grimhyge. I'm Father Rathe," he introduced. Father Rathe was a mere whisp of a man, aged and frail...but with the same stern, demanding demeanor that might be expected from a priest of the Purificatio...though to the trained eye, his vestments did not mark him as part of the Purificatio. Rathe aspired to a Bishopric, and for that, he had to remain a part of the Diocese...but he was the singular pontiff of the faith here in Pan's Isle, and he would use his authority to further his reputation and the Faith in every way he could. "Are you familiar with that weapon? Have you any skill to recommend you? We're preparing an attack into the island in the next mark. You've arrived...just in time, I think. Tell me of your experience, and I'll find a fitting place for you."

The collected soldiers of the Purificatio numbered well over a hundred soldiers, though they were a decidedly mixed bag. At least eighty soldiers of the One...largely conscripts...were lead by a group of Inquisitors. In addition to these, Grimhyge could see another group of perhaps sixty large men all armored in red-stained leather and armed with heavy, six-flanged maces and shields. These were the Confessors...the standing elite of the Purificatio itself.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Grimhyge

Post by Grimhyge »

Grimhyge's heart was pounding, and the inside of his head felt like a hive full of bees. The Purificatio! The Confessors! Not two marks before he had been in Dragons Keep, not certain whether he would have anything better to look forward to than sitting in the tent city at the edge of the desert, waiting for the next caravan in need of mercenaries. And now here he was on the other side of Tazlure, ready to join the ranks and march forward against the heathen, with a priest looking at him. It was like a dream, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. Dreams didn't make sense.

"And also with you, Father," he mumbled automatically in response to Father Rathe's greeting. It took a moment for the priest's questions to register. When they did, Grimhyge felt a brief pulse of resentment at having his competence questioned, but quickly suppressed it. Do not show disrespect to the One's consecrated he reminded himself. Bowing his head O, so humbly, he answered the priest:

"Father, I do have some modest skill with this weapon, and with the sword at my belt, as well. I can also do basic repairs of leather and metal. I do not claim much experience. I only embarked on the profession of arms recently. Wherever you place me is fine. Just give me the chance to fight, and to avenge the martyrdom of Zacharias on these heathens."

He waited anxiously. Surely a priest of the true god had the wisdom to see Grimhyge's devotion, resolve, and potential? Certainly he would reward the dwarf's righteousness, and not dwell on petty details like experience. He did not pretend to the honor of being a Confessor, but surely he belonged in the front rank of those conscripts, where his poleaxe would be among the first weapons to reach the enemy's ranks?
Grant
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Post by Grant »

"I think perhaps you will do nicely," replied the priest evenly. Whatever thoughts he might have had about the dwarf were less than obvious, but that was almost typical of any Diocesian Priest...a mask of wisdom and benevolence that imperfectly hid a will of iron and enough determination of ten men. Father Rathe was no different than those, though he seemed to enjoy a certain defree of cunning as well. He motioned towards the mismatched company before him. "Take your place among them, and you'll have your vengeance very soon indeed."

Turning to include the balance of the cohort, he spoke loudly and boldly. "We will march upon this...refugee camp and round up the locals for detention. We will occupy the ruins in which they hide, for in these ruins lies their Portal. Capturing this Portal insures that we cannot be contested for the island...and our noble task will be nearly complete..."

----

Emerging from his conversation in the Portal Building, Sir Peccia glanced out at the square and took in the company preparing to march. There weren't too many going...perhaps a few hundred, all told...but they were among the finest warriors assembled on the island. Even the conscripts assembled under the Banner of the One God were far better equipped than the savage islanders that they would face...proof that the benighted island needed conquest to save it from the misery of it's own depravity and ignorance.

But this was not right. He knew it was not right. The Oneists were about to march...but how many of the local militia would march with them? The Governor had spoken...and while troops continued to arrive from World's Mouth, Dragon's Keep, and King's Court, most of those troops weren't so swift to follow Father Rathe's direction. There were enough soldiers in Aveas just now to crush the natives easily...but they were far from ready to stand together. I will go with Father Rathe's troops. Regardless of our strife, we cannot afford to be defeated.

Marching forward, Sir Peccia of the Holy Order of Dominicus joined Father Rathe before his command, the Paladin covered in head to toe with the articulated plate armors typical of that militant order. As he approached, Father Rathe continued to speak.

"We will be the vanguard of our operations here in Pan's Isle...and through our efforts, we will rename this island to The Dominian! Gather what goods you need from the supply train...be sure to find a tabard of your order...and make your peace with the One. We march in one mark!"
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Grimhyge

Post by Grimhyge »

The dwarf grinned beneath his reddish beard, and his eyes took on an eager glint as the Father told him to take his place among the mercenaries. "Thank you, Father" he said simply, bowing his head before rising to join the ranks of the others who had come to fight the heathens.

Having done so, he hung on the balance of Father Rathe's words: There was another portal, apparently, one that had fallen under the power of the enemy. He and the others were to take it. Grimhyge sneered as Father Rathe spoke of "refugees". It made those gathered around the portal sound pitiable and helpless, perhaps deserving of mercy. But he was certain that they were no such thing. I won't go soft on the scum, he thought My hands won't falter; they'll get theirs.

A knight or paladin, apparently to be the military leader of their group, appeared before them and took his place next to the priest as the latter contiued to speak. The Purificatio was to lead the charge! It was enough to make a faithful dwarf's heart swell and race. He could smell the blood of his godless foes already.

Grimhyge needed little from the train, or so he thought. The paladin had not told them how long they would be away, so it might be prudent for the dwarf to pick up some food if he could. First, though, he would get his tabard. There would be no question of who he was, of who he was with. After picking up his tabard, he would look into getting some food, enough for two meals, hopefully: one now before they set out, and one sometime later. He would trust in the One's providence, and perhaps the logistical abilities of his commanders, for the rest.

Having gotten what he could, and upon returning to the assembly point, Grimhyge lowered himself on one knee, lay his poleaxe across his raised knee, and assumed an attitude of prayer.

I ask that the divine hand can intercede upon my behalf- he said quietly, reciting the Litany of Intercession, for I am faithful and have borne witness to His wonders. I ask His protection as I walk through the marshes of evil and praise him freely and without stint.

Grimhyge thought for a moment before adding a petition of his own: Lend my humble arms Your strength that they may strike worthily in Your name. Give my spirit courage and my hands skill. Protect me from those who would deny You the rightful place in their hearts, so that my blade may take its rightful place in their hearts.

Not entirely reverently, the dwarf chuckled a bit at this last bit of cleverness, though he quickly suppressed it. Having concluded his prayer, Grimhyge rose, dressed now in the red tabard of the Purificatio, and joined the ranks of those with whom he was to fight, and perhaps to die. Either way, he was sure that Dominicus would smile upon him and his endeavors this day.
Last edited by Grimhyge on Thu Nov 23, 2006 6:18 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Grant
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Post by Grant »

It took very little effort for Grimhyge to locate the supply wagons. They were located near the port's magazine, and were (at this moment) protected by a rather large war party of...orcs.

There were perhaps forty of them, all large, brutish monsters that averaged over seven feet in height. They were armed with wicked blades and maces and armored in very little all told, though it was often rumored that an orc's hide was as tough as boiled leather. At their feet were more than three dozen bags of caltrops, wickedly fashioned tetrahedrons of blades designed to confound cavalry...or centaurs. As the dwarf approached, they were digging through the wagons for anything of any great interest, offering the dwarf and his comrades (a dozen levies from the Purificatio had accompanied Grimhyge towards the supplies) only passing glances as they collected what they needed.

Red tabards could be found...tabards that would marked the dwarf and his comrades as part of the Army of the One. In addition, dried victuals could be found, victuals typical of World's Mouth: fish preserved in salt and oil, olives, crusty, dry cakes, packages of salt, lard, hard cheese, and cheap, bitter wine. In truth, the rationings were actually quite good compared to the usual road fare often suffered by soldiers. Gathering a few of these along with his tabard, Grimhyge was prepared for the march inland...though he had a few moments to himself before the Purificatio mustered in the square.

"Du'karn dook kar'l hah," muttered one of the orcs as he motioned towards the dwarf, a phrase in orcish that gave his three dozen comrades to burst out into laughter (a sound that could chill the blood and give animals to flee, for orcs seldom laughed unless closely accompanied by bloodshed).
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Grimhyge

Post by Grimhyge »

Grimhyge was pleased to find a tabard, one that almost fit him, and the first thing he did once he had secured it and some rations was to put it on. Now I am one of the warriors for the One he thought to himself. The idea excited him and filled him with pride.

It was then that he noticed the orcs, and almost instantly his mood darkened. He would have to fight alongside *them*? He hoped he would not have to fight to close. The dwarf would almost have rather had a Panling at his back than an orc, even one who was supposed to be an ally.

As he eyed them mistrustfully, they eyed him back. One of the ugly creatures pointed at him and said something that made the others laugh. Grimhyge ground his teeth. Make fun of him, would they? No, that would not stand. Gripping his poleaxe, he glared steadily at the orc that had spoken and pointed at him. He made a point of staring several flickers, more than long enough to make it clear even to an orc that he was staring openly at them.

"Was there something you wanted to tell me, orc?" he called out, once he was sure he had the brute's attention.

[ooc: I'm so sorry I was away for so long. Hope it's not too late!]
Maeve
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Post by Maeve »

The Orc gnarled but his face was almost eager. Oh, this one wanted sport. Good. Fight. Hunger. Yum. First though the beard had to go. Orcs in their own way can be hygienic.

"You.. Little One... do you taste well?" the Orc challenged.
[i][b][color=orange][size=92]Smile and carry a big stick.[/color][/b][/i][/size]
Vanadius
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Post by Vanadius »

OOC: Grimm? Still with us?
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Post by Tristam »

Archived due to player disappearance.
[size=100]
Donald heard a mermaid sing, Susy spied an elf,
But all the magic I have known, I've had to make myself.

Shel Silverstein[/size]
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