PI: Aveas Portal (Samheen 29th, entrance)

[Grant]

Delivered by airship, the massive, bulky Portal of Aveas was moved and secured inside a tenant residence building just off the Quartermaster's Square. A low, stone building with no second level, the floor of the building was below the surface of the square...and as such, was often subject to flooding when the rains came. To combat this, a platform of iron and wood was constructed to hold the Portal well off the floor, and a sturdy landing stood just before it insuring travelers a few moments of dry feet before they entered the colony.

Like so many Portals designed and constructed in the West, the Aveas Gate was a strange collision of magic and technology that resulted in a very loud, very hyperactive thing that spouted colors, arcs of electricty, gouts of steam, and shreiks from it's many valves and whistles. A series of knobs, levers, and switchs controlled the Portal, directing its energies and choosing its destination. Despite the great complexity and confusion of the gate, the arrival warning alarm was little more than a large piece of rusted pipe that hung nearby such that the ever-present attendants could bang upon it repeatedly with a wrench or a hammer (both tools kept close at hand not only for such a warning, but also to repair the Portal in the event that it should break...a shockingly frequent occasion).

Today, several guards surrounded the Portal, guards that wore the blue and silver liveries of the Condotierre legion of World's Mouth. There were several guards in addition to a few plainly-clad engineers from the Nashorn Institute, all designated to both operate and protect this vital link to the Western Kingdoms.

[Grimhyge]

[ooc: Continued from here.]

Grimhyge had not known what to expect upon going through the strange contraption that was the Aveas Gate. Breathing an ardent prayer to Dominicus under his breath, the dwarf took a good hold of his poleaxe and stepped through, whereupon his ears were assaulted with all manner of clicks, clangs, squeaks, hums and whistles. Shaking his head as if it had just been struck hard, the dwarf looked warily about, willing his beleaguered senses to take in his surroundings quickly.

The portal itself looked, sounded, and smelt like a nightmare that had been forcibly shaken out of some deranged gnome's brain. Smells of ozone, steam, and oil filled the air, as though there were any room left in that air so filled with awful sounds. The place he was in was obviously quite different from where the young dwarven warrior had just left: instead of a bright, dry tent, he found himself in a dank enclosure with stone walls. He knew instinctively that he was at or below ground level.

Grimhyge did not immediately see those he had thought were to have gone through the portal with him; instead he saw only blue-uniformed sentries, who no doubt would shortly challenge his appearance among their midst. Not immediately recognizing the Condottieri for who they were, the dwarf braced himself and took a good hold on his poleaxe. These had better be loyal servants of the One and his avatar, the King, he thought as he glared around warily at the guards.

[Grant]

Indeed, Grimhyge was correct regarding the identity of the defenders beyond the portal...though the dwarf could not understand the decidedly mixed loyalties of those collected around him.

The moment he emerged from the twisting, stomach-wrenching, magical passage, he was assaulted by not one, but three bureaucrats, each one inspecting him carefully, critically, and unless Grimhyge missed the expression, appreciatively. Around them were the soldiers he had expected to see, from blue-tabard Condotierre to a few horsed knights he quickly recognized as Count Drakendodder's Dragon Knights as well as a cohort of steel-clad Paladins. There were far too many different coats of arms for any leader's comfort...and all crowded into the room where they were quickly met and sorted by the very same clerks that rushed to meet the dwarf.

"Welcome to Aveas, Master dwarf," greeted the first of the scribes, bowing significantly to the obviously prepared dwarven warrior. "From where have you come? Are you with the King's Forces?" he asked expectantly. After all, Grimhyge might have been a mercenary from World's Mouth...or Sabata...and that would place him with Governor Maglio's forces. Or he could have been from Dragon's Keep or King's Court, which would have placed him as a Royalist. He clearly wasn't with the Condotierre...and he was clearly not with the church, either as Paladin, Purificatio, or Army of the One. Still, proper etiquette required the clerk to be sure the dwarf was placed properly.

---------

In the back of the room, unknown to Grimhyge, a sleek man held up his hand to forestall his chat with the Paladin before him. Glancing over through the crowd, he spied the dwarf that had only just arrived. A dwarf? How rare...how uncommon! How fortunate... he thought, instantly imagining how fortune might have just delivered a prize to him. A dwarf might be just what he needed to give him a new option...but only if he could win the dwarf to his side. He might be a Royalist. If he is, I must find out if he were sent by the King...

"Are you attending, Maglio? I realize you are a very busy gentleman, but your inattentiveness is quite rude," sniped the Paladin standing just nearby. Sir Peccia lead the local Paladin contingent, and while the elite warrior expected no more reinforcements for his command...he did expect his Paladins to be treated like royalty while they were in Aveas. Oh, what I wouldn't give to send his lot away... grimaced Governor Maglio, turning his attention back to the massive Holy Knight.

"I beg pardon, Sir Peccia. As you say, I've been driven to...distraction of late. Please...go on..."

[Grimhyge]

As he regained his bearings after...whatever the hell had just happened to him, Grimhyge glared mistrustfully back at the quill-necked parchment-pushers who were ogling him. What did they want? Well, apparently they wanted to know who he was, which only made sense. Finally one of them had the decency to speak his mind and ask clear questions, questions he didn't mind answering, even if the answers to a couple of them should have been obvious.

"Name's Grimhyge," he stated. "I'm from the Howling Ice Mountains, but it was the Purificatio in Dragons Keep that I signed up with." The dwarf scowled a bit when the clerk asked him if he were with the King's forces. Taking the question for a challenge to his loyalties, he growled: "Why don't you go back through the portal yourself and ask the recruiter, if you don't believe me? Sure, I ain't got the uniform or insignia, but I walked through that gate not ten burns after I made my mark on their register. I guess they were in a hurry, and quite frankly so was I."

He shook his head in disbelief: "Did you guys really not know this?" Looking around the huge vaulted chamber that housed the portal, Grimhyge could see a hodgepodge of people, condottieri, Dragon Knights, others he didn't recognize. Was he in the right place? Those fools in Dragons Keep had better not have sent him to the wrong place.

[Grant]

The bureaucrat seemed largely uninterested in Grimhyge the moment the dwarf uttered the word Purificatio. That would mean Father Rathe's lot, of course...and while he could send the dwarf to see Sir Peccia, he had already received a proper thrashing for misplacing soldiers before...so a little more care might be in order. The Paladins were nominally part of the church, but historically, the Paladins answered only to the King...which meant that they were a curious mix of Oneist and Royalist. But is that not one in the same? pondered the mousey little man. If the King is the One's Avatar, then they should be one and the same...but out here in the benighted Isles, the distinction grows more and more critical...

"You are to report to Father Rathe, with the Church. He has appointed Inquisitor Solastine to organize the Army. You will find him just outside, in the...red habit," he finished, jabbing his splinter of coal over his shoulder to indicate the wide double doors that lead out of the low, broad building and to the town center just beyond. Several other recent arrivals were moving in that direction as well...including a few orcs, a race of people that had never before been seen upon the soils of Pan's Isle.

[Grimhyge]

Grimhyge listened to the pale bureaucrat tell him where he was to go. Father Rathe...Inquisitor Solastine...red 'habit'. With a curt 'right, then', he headed off. He was eager to get on with things, and there was nothing more to be had from this harried clerk.

Pushing past the guy, the dwarf filed out with others who had been arriving through the portal. He glared somewhat mistrustfully at the orcs; they weren't a race he trusted or liked much. Hopefully the Purificatio would not expect him to fight along side such mongrols. Did orcs even worship the One? Well, maybe so, since that was as high as they could count. Grimhyge chuckled at his own little racist joke as he marched out the door with all the others and made for the square where he was to meet his red-habited inquistor.

[Guest]

It was as bad as he'd expected, perhaps even worse. Somehow the experience reminded him of a terrible hurricane on the high seas. As solid ground mixed with threatening skies, visions of pounding waves and walls of salty water washed over him. Clinging to the one stable element in the torrent of magic, Holler's knuckles turned an unbecoming pale green against the dreary brown of the heavy bag.

As suddenly as he'd been gulped down by the portal he was disgorged on the other end. With unseeing eyes he grappled for a secure hold on something, anything; as long as it wasn't rolling and bucking. His big green hand touched the side of the magical device that had just coughed him up like a big waddle of muddy spit. With a surprised groan Sleipnir retracted his fingers right away. That stings! Overwhelmed by - usually dormant - fears, physical shock and wobbly legs the young Orc dropped to all fours and threw up. An Orc's usual ability to hold a lot of food, didn't do him any favours now. All of his earlier - disproportionate - lunch seemed to fight it's way past his clenched jaws. With teary eyes the 'great warrior' watched his bowels empty completely. The ever growing puddle of rank leftovers seemed to aim at spreading out as broadly as possible.

His previously good mood had crumpled and turned sodden and rank as well. Shivering Holler started to curse. As seamen are often the most creative swearers, the former sailor had a massive arsenal to choose from. Unable to validate any specific choice, he just started rambling off any and all of the curses he had ever heard. The aggressive Orcish words mixed with the last stragglers from his stomach resulted in a fountain of muck and smut.

[Grant]

Emerging from the portal with perhaps four dozen additional orcs, Holler found himself standing upon the soggy, muddy floor of the Portal Building. All around him, Westerners recoiled in near revulsion at what could have been an orcish raiding party...the Kingstones, the Condotierre, the Alamairre, the Dragon Knights...but one man approached, a grim smile upon his narrow, spare face (perhaps due to the sudden reaction of his peers) as he addressed the small company of orcs.

"We have been expecting you. Councilor Ramessu sent word that you would be coming. You are now the property of Governor Maglio...and he values you all highly. You are to have whatever you wish, though you may wish to fight as soon as possible. You!" The bureaucrat pointed directly towards Holler, having apparently picked him out at random. "You will lead this company. If any of these orcs cannot understand my words, you must relate them in your own tongue. The orcs are to leave this building and drop off those sacks with the supply wagons..." That should be enough to complete the defenses "...and then they will wait with the train until the Governor issues you orders."

Focusing upon Holler, the bureaucrat spoke only to him. "Relay those orders to your comrades, and then come with me. You will meet Governor Maglio himself, and answer his questions. Do you speak human?"

[Guest]

Quickly straightening, Holler remained a tad unsteady on his feet. He surveyed his new surroundings. As he broadened his stance to steady himself his rather large right foot ended up in his former lunch. Yuk! Taking a few tentative steps forward he distanced himself from the ghastly puddle. Peering around - feeling a bit better - he noticed the unveiled hostility of the troops already occupying the building. Slowly his hand fondled the new sword.

One face, free of fear and animosity, drew near, and picked Holler to address. As suddenly as the young Orc had been captured and hauled off several times, he now seemed to be promoted to leader of this particular pack. Self conscious, the former sailor looked about reading the green skins of the group of Orcs standing around. Clearly some had more fighting experience than he had, their bright, colorful tattoos testified to that. Resolved to let them not waltz over him, he drew himself up to his full height and listened to the man's words nodding.

In a direct response to the bureaucrat's enquiry he said in a raspy tone: "Holler knows human tongue. Likes human tongue..." After that he barked out the altogether less civilized sounding Orcish syllables that told his comrades what was expected of them. Somehow the new and totally unexpected responsibility that he now had, opened a part of his mind that before that had seen minimal use. It was a part unexplored and untouched for ages; the part that hid Holler's initiative, forethought and a tiny pebble of intelligence. So, as this obscure gray mass woke up, he swivelled around, facing the pencilpusher. "Where'd be supply wagons at?"

[Grant]

"Outside, by the square...near the magazine. Ah...by all the large ropes," replied the functionary, certain that Holler would have no way to know what was meant by the word magazine. Curiously, the word was rather common to those serving at sea, one of several ways to describe the local stores of rope, cordage, spars, and canvas that most ships needed upon making port. The magazine might also hold food, arms, and the occasional oddity required to keep ships in operation...such as anchors (both kedge and bower), navigational equipment, barrel cooping, and tools. Most magazines were easily spotted due to the impressive clutter often left around them...a frequent result of their hectic activity.

Having sorted the supplies and placed the orcs, the spare man waved the island's newest commander to follow...though he didn't have too far to go. Governor Maglio was no more than ten paces away, still within the Portal building. He was in the midst of a heated exchange with a heavily armored knight that Holler could quickly recognize as a Paladin of the One, the militant Holy Order having shared the battlefield with the Orc People on numerous occasions as both enemy and ally (though far more frequently as the former instead of the latter).

The Governor himself was surprisingly young, but hardly a boy...perhaps not quite thirty yahren, with a small, wirey build blanketed under vibrant, wealthy robes of red and gold. Despite the apparent wealth of the Governor's robes, he seemed to give little or no regard to the ring of dark mud that collected upon the bottom hem as he moved through the blackened waters of the Portal room. While the Governor stood at least a full foot shorter than the Paladin, he commanded as much attention...and Holler could hear the words he spat out at the armored Holy Man delivered along with a waving finger. "It is insanity! To do this so early...without any indication of what might be faced! I strongly advise the Father to take some notion of caution on this, Peccia, but he will not listen. You must talk some sense into him...or at the very least, protect him..."

"...and why will you not protect him, milord?" replied the Paladin evenly, his deep voice rumbling such that it seemed to make the walls shake. "Perhaps the good father does not want to appear to be cowardly, Governor. Now I must go and prepare the Order to move. I trust you will take great care, Signor. At least in this I find you competent."

The Paladin turned and marched for the door, leaving the Governor largely alone in the back of the Portal Room...though he was surrounded by several thugs that Holler could quickly recognize as the bodyguard kind of thug. "You may go introduce yourself to the Governor when you're ready," offered the little bureaucrat to Holler once he had pointed out Maglio. "He'll tell you what you are to do."

[Guest]

Somehow the way the little dignitary stressed the word 'magazine' heralded his distrust in the Orc's ability to understand it. The needless volunteering of extra information underlined this flawed assumption. Still, Holler gathered that being insulted at every slight - aimed or not - might rid him of his new position in the blink of an eye. He choked down his hurt pride and only gave the small man the benefit of a dark glare.

Sleipnir turned to his pack once more and started to growl directions. His body adopted another kind of language as he addressed the other Orcs. Murky green muscles rippled and bulged - some in strange places and at impossible angles - conveying a sense of bottled up rage and aggression. Added to the raw tones of Orcan it showed his determination and dominance. His twitching muscles caused his new armor and weapons to jingle jangle in an inexplicable, eery way; increasing the feeling of menace radiating from him.

Confident that his demands would be met, the 339-pound warrior followed the smallish bureaucrat. As the two of them drew near to the splendidly robed Governor, Holler caught scraps of the heated argument between him and a paladin of the One. Not that the words held any meaning at all for the Orc. After all he didn't have a clue who the subject of their agitated discussion was. Some remarks of the Father first called forth notions that the Father of Heavens was on debate, but the apparent need for protection didn't stroke with that assumption. Surely the Father doesn't need protection by mere men? Using Orcs would be far more sensible!

As the sarcastic Paladin stomped away, the Targri-orc grinned softly. How he loved to see any of those pompous fools in a bad mood! As his beady eyes followed the departing knight, they met the eyes of the functionary, his guide. At the man's words he nodded slowly and squeezed out a thundering 'Will do'. His gaze veered back to the youthful Maglio. Shrugging, he winked at the short human at his side, before he strode off towards his goal.

As his plonking, big feet propelled him towards the Governor, Holler started to notice the contrast between the deep reds and warm golds of his attire. Fascinated - mostly by the gold - he couldn't help but wonder how much the man's robes would fetch on the black market. Before he could figure it out he was within striking distance of his new employer. Quickly the Orc drew a circle around his family sigil, etched into his right pectoral. Thus establishing his roots and status, he rumbled at Governor Maglio: "Packleader Holler Sleipnir. Was told go see you."

[Grant]

With the orders given, the orc party...easily forty strong...stomped out of the Portal building (leaving a wake of splashed onlookers behind them) and perhaps beyond to the supply wagons, though Holler lost sight of them at the door. They had exchanged a few menacing glances amongst each other when Holler was unceremoniously promoted to their leader, but they voiced none of their concerns...and it was unlikely they ever would, given that they were slaves, orcs, and by all accounts, Holler was hardly considered young for a people who didn't often survive to see their thirtieth birthday.

The Governor watched as the pair approached, offering no response at all to the orc's relatively eloquent and extensive introduction. Glancing over at the bureaucrat, Maglio spoke. "How many?"

"thirty eight, I believe."

"Thirty eight," repeated Maglio. Thirty eight orcs. Smiling, he reflected upon the rather unusual nature of Pan's Isle today. In any other circumstance, Holler and his pack of brave, orc warriors would be considered expendable and placed at the vanguard of any attacking force. After all...they were only orcs. They could fight...but they weren't keen on wit or cunning, and they wouldn't know or understand subtlety or tact. But things were not ordinary here in Pan's Isle. Here, they were not expendable...and so, Maglio never for a moment humored the idea of sending the orcs off with the Purificatio in their upcoming attack into the interior of the Island.

The real problem came from division. While the Panlings might present a somewhat unified front, the Westerners would not. Every Westerner collected within Aveas was loyal to either the King, the One, or World's Mouth...and sadly, those loyalties could not be shared anymore as they had in generations past. This left Maglio with only those soldiers hired or purchased for his own, personal use...which left him precious few troops compared to the Royalists or the Oneists. The troops he did control included Holler and his orc war party...which meant that this time, Holler was not expendable.

But orcs needed to fight. It was the beauty...and tragedy...of the orc people. If they weren't fighting, then they had no identity...no purpose. And so, Maglio had to field his orc raiders immediately. While the idea of sending them to march under the flag of the One alongside Paladins was a very cute idea, he would instead protect his orcs from the worst of the war...at least until the war actually came to Aveas. Then we'll use them properly, he predicted. After all, say what you would about their kind...but they could fight.

"Packleader, many soldiers will march into the island to conquer the adhiel that live here. I will not have your pack join them. You will instead march through the forests around this fortress and raid. You will capture and kill any scouts or man-horses you find. You will attack any adhiel soldiers you see. You will leave immediately, and you will enter the forests and give the adhiel to know great fear and horror. There are no orcs in the Seven Isles, Sleipner. Go among them and show them that you are to be feared. You will return here to Aveas before sunrise tomorrow. Do you understand?"

[Guest]

Holler stood silently by, oblivious of the thoughts in the young Governor's brain. Being ignored, didn't even tickle his usually flammable temper today. After all today he was but a slave. It also gave him the opportunity to calmly survey his new surroundings. The dark eyes swept every corner of the Portal building, noting the staggering variety in races and factions. In Orc warfare things usually were very clear. After a few lazy attempts to find his way through the maze of possible affiliations, the tall Orc gave up. Food, it's all food!

Sleipnir's black coals returned to Maglio's as the man addressed him. The disappointment of not being allowed to join the main forces, was swept away in the blink of an eye. Raid? RAID!!! That was something he knew! Like all Orcs he was born to pillage, burn and feast. Interest flared red hot in his eyes.

Although Holler's knowledge of the human tongue was limited he grasped Governor Maglio's goal immediately. Fear... His pack of Orcs had to show his master's enemies what they could do. A warm fuzzy feeling melted a tiny part of the bulky Orc's inner core. Eating their enemies was encouraged! Except for the mentioned scouts or man-horses; they were to be captured. Holler didn't mind that, after all horse meat didn't taste near as good as two-footer steak. Tilting his head slightly to the right he looked at his new owner. Making sure that he understood the man's intentions, he grunted: "We kill, burn, feed?"

[Guest]

Ignazio arrived at the portal on the World's Mouth side dressed in his Alamairre uniform, rapier at his hip and, as usual, impeccably groomed. Behind him, two hired porters lugged his belongings in a large chest; he would not stoop to carrying such things himself. Hands clasped behind his back, he strode forwards and, with a final nod at the men around, stepped through, porters a few respectful steps behind.

[Grant]

"That's all I need from you, packleader. And..." Maglio glanced around him briefly. "...don't bother capturing too many. We just don't need captives. You might also let a few escape your wrath to...infect their brethren with the sickness of terror. Such a thing would please me very much...and the riches you take will be yours to keep. May your strength keep you safe."

Waving the orc away, Maglio couldn't help but smile. His luck was starting to improve. An orc war band would quite literally set the little island on it's head, for while there have been reports of half-giant Panlings wandering the countryside, not even their kind could stand up to the awesome destructive might of an orc. Word of the orc band would spread like wildfire...and soon enough, so would terror. If the island can be brought to terms with World's Mouth, then I'll return home a hero, thought the Governor, turning away to contemplate his situation. Not likely, but another stroke of luck like that and I might find myself in a good position to negotiate...

It was then that the portal sparked to life once more...it had been flickering all day...such that the Alamairre officer could step through. Once through the portal, Ignazio found himself standing in muddy water up to his ankles...water that had collected in the room directly around the portal itself. Directly before him was an orc (of all things), and to his left was a man that could only be Governor Maglio.

...and here is my next stroke of luck. Just how many lancers have they sent? smiled the Governor as he stepped forward. Behind Ignazio the portal continued to work as porters, lancers, horses, and pack animals continued to step through...additional soldiers to bring the total cohort up to a full company. They began to stream outside, as the little smith building would quickly fill otherwise.

Fully aware of how critical it was to give the military a proper dose of courtesy, Maglio offered the officer his best bow and quickly inspected Ignazio's uniform for his rank. "Welcome, Lieutenant, welcome. I am Governor Maglio of Aveas. I apologize for the mess around you. We find ourselves...somewhat pressured of late."

[Guest]

Ignazio's first impressions of Pan's Island were certainly underwhelming, and left him with some idea as to the reluctance of many officers to travel to farflung colonies; his lips twitched in displeasure at the muddy water soaking through his shoes before he could help himself - a displeasure no doubt aided by being forced to be in the presence of yet another orc, after the incident at the Dortman. At least this one was not directly in his face and nostrils.

Ignazio dipped his head to the Governor, returning his bow. "Perfectly understandable, Governor," Ignazio replied. Understandable, but still undesirable. "I am Lieutenant Ignazio Castellani of the Alamairre. Colonel Fella has given orders for myself and my men - a centuriae of lancers, as well as associated supporters - to aid you in whatever way you may desire. What sort of pressure are we talking about, Governor?" Ignazio asked, returning to the man's original remark.

[Rhoddin]

As Rhoddin trudged towards the portal in Kings Court he couldn't help but think that he had seen something similar before. He hadn't given it much thought as he had left Roque, but then again he'd been hunting around for some strange Blood Mage, and was pretty preoccupied at that stage. Now as he approached with Reise and Brytan, he was somewhat surprised to to get an eerie feeling of having seen this before, but where in the seven hells was it?

Still, he brought his mind back to the here and now, he had a premonition that he and his companions were going to need their full attention to the matter at hand if they were going to pull off this little gig, and get back to tell Balthasar what they had found.

Pulling the cowl of his robe up over his head, and slumping a little to disguise his height, the young bard took Reises hand, and with a smile for her, and nod at their companion Brytan, Rhoddin stepped through the portal, for the second time that day...

[Reise Silverskye]

Reise was more than ready to leave King's Court. The city seemed to be more calm now than when she'd last left it. It was now under the firm control of the King, for one thing. And there wasn't rioting and murder in the streets, at least, not as much of it. But it held a lot of bad memories for her; it was a reminder of her failures, a reminder of great things that could have been, and now would never be. She was glad to leave it behind.

Still, as she approached the portal with Rhoddin, she couldn't help but have second thoughts. She'd never intentionally walked into a war zone before. Especially not with the intent of participating in it!

But she had said it herself. War bred chaos. And where there was chaos... there was opportunity. And where there was opportunity... there was a chance for Reise Silverskye to make her move.

[Brytan]

Portals, more portals.

The past few days Brytan had seen more portals than he had in all of his previous life. He was actually getting accustomed to stepping through them even though his last trip was less than pleasant. Him being thoroughly beaten up. Now he felt better and he approached the portal with even a little bit of exitement over this new venture.
Granted, his experience lacked a bit on the part of spying, but that was nothing he couldn't pick up on the way he reckoned. So far the "go places, meet people" bit of his draft into the army had more than lived up to it's promise.

He stepped through, a now familiar tug dropping him into a strange town. The air was warm and heavy here, his bones breathed a sigh of relief. Just before him were Rhoddin and their recently aquired traveling companion Reise. Brytan gathered the two had something of a history together already. He thought back to his history with Laendral and her words just before they departed for the portal. Perhaps this wasn't his fight, but he got mixed up in it and now he had no choice but to work his way back out.

He made a quick equipment check as he stepped away from the humming contraption. Everything seemed to have come along, a pleasant thought.

"Now then, where should we start?"

[Rhoddin]

Even as Brytan stepped through behind him and asked his question, Rhoddin bristled with anger, a deep hatred welled in his body and he nearly gagged on the anger. What in the seven hells are they doing here. From across the room the fleeting glimpse of an orc pack had caught the eye of the young bard. He had rather unpleasant memories of their kind.

Even as he sighted the orcs his attention was drawn to the remaining men, animals and equipment that were slowly leaving the building, clearly more troops were arriving, and they were not Balthasars.

Looking across to Brytan, Rhoddin offered him a lopsided grin. "Where do we start? Right here I think. Let's see if we can find out what is going on right here, right now."

[Reise Silverskye]

Perhaps Rhoddin was familiar with this sort of thing. Unfortunately, Reise was not. One moment they'd been in the city, the next they were surrounded by armed men and beasts and... was that orcs she'd caught a glimpse of? She tried her best not to look suddenly overwhelmed and out of place, but it was a little hard. Her eyes went a bit wide, and she edged just a bit closer to Rhoddin, and she suddenly wished that she was armed a bit better.

Still, Rhoddin's words helped her feel a bit better. At least he wasn't intent on simply dashing off to who knew where. Gathering facts was something she could do, and it was something that helped her feel a bit more in control of things. It would help settle her, and who knew, perhaps she could learn something that would help her.

"Should we look for anyone in particular?" she asked. "Perhaps someone in charge. Someone who would have a good idea of what the overall situation is. It would make it easier for us if we didn't have to piece a dozen different stories together to try to figure out what's going on."

[Gaelena]

Gaelena didn't think she would ever get used to portals. They made one's stomach end up in their throat. It just wasn't natural, in the name of the Mother!

Placing a hand on her still jumping stomach, Gaelena stepped through the portal, her pack full of medical supplies on her back, near to bursting. She had packed all her herbs, her tools, her bandages. One never knew what they would need. It was a war, after all.

Looking around, the red-head looked for whomever might be in charge.

[Grant]

The moment Maglio turned to lead Commander Castellani away, the portal whistled and blinked into life again to admit Rhoddin, Reise, and Brytan, recently arrived from King's Court. What in all the Hells is this? thought Maglio, glancing over the newly-arrived trio closely. They weren't World's Mouth thugs...and they weren't Oneists. Royalists! he confirmed, though he could only guess. Ignoring them for a moment...he could not risk offending the Commander...he continued to lead Ignazio away as he spoke.

"Our...situation is perilous. Disunity among the defenders...uncertainty in military matters...can you believe that of all the forces located here in Aveas, Commander...perhaps half of it will respond to me at all?" he spat. "The Oneists are mad, it seems, all following the good Father Rathe and his lapdog...ahem...his comrade Sir Peccia of the Holy Order of Dominicus..." (a very polite way of declaring Sir Peccia as a Paladin of the One) "...and they have marched. Several hundred trained soldiers, they have marched...despite my direct orders to do no such thing! Now the field is taken, and they'll either stir up a war with the Empire...or be slaughtered to a man, leaving us to be slaughtered next. What I need, Commander, is a sound mind to review the defenses of Aveas...and take whatever measures to insure that the port is safe. An inspection, so-to-speak, and preparation for a siege I can just feel coming our way maybe tomorrow or the day after. The Condotierre are very helpful and willing, sir, but they are the air flotilla. They know precious little of fortifications...and they have admitted as much to me."

"If I could beg your indulgence, sir, I would ask you to begin here. I'll have proper lodgings arranged for your men and horse, and I'll see to their provisioning immediately...and I would ask you to review our defenses and make what changes must be made. We have laced the grounds beyond the outer palisade with caltrops, so you must use caution if your inspection takes you beyond the walls and into the fields..." caltrops were the bane of organized cavalry, though they weren't too difficult to manage. However, caltrops weren't often used around fortifications. After all, fortresses were seldom assaulted from horseback. "...and as soon as you have your recommendations, I'll have the workforce ready to make what changes are required. We'll know when to expect the enemy once the Oneists have marched over Gatetown, I'm sure."

Elsewhere....

Rhoddin, Brytan, and Reise might have just wandered into the bazaar of distant Sabata for all the diversity they found. Orcs, legionnaires, Paladins, knights, soldiers of perhaps a dozen different militant orders...it was enough diversity to give the eye to strain. Thankfully, one individual came forward through the crowd and offered a quick, embarrassed bow. He was dressed like any serf farmer...though his cloak was perhaps a little too strong of a stitch, and the bow on his back was not pretty...but very well-used and potent, to the critical eye.

"Milord Bard? I am Sir Bartran...ah...Bartran, and I've been awaiting your arrival. I was notified by heron of your arrival," he announced. A heron might have seemed an unusual messenger bird to those that recognized the animal...and since it was found only in Amun Rah and around the Mer in the Western Kingdoms, few would recognize it...though all three of the newcomers recognized it at once, for it was prominent upon King Balthasar's heraldry.

"We're collected in the local tavern, sir...if you'd care to join us?" asked Bartran, glancing from Rhoddin to Brytan to Reise. It was clear to all three that he was not comfortable in the dark, flooded portal room among all the various types of people talking in so many different dialects...and he most certainly would not mention the King in any direct, obvious fashion.

And Elsewhere again...

Gaelena's first reaction to the little room beyond the portal's blue, electric nimbus was one of...stink. It stunk here in Aveas...or at least here around the Aveas Portal. Dark, muddy water coated the floor of the large once-a-smithy that had been converted for portal use, and sloshing through this water were dozens upon dozens of people moving about in determined ways, a chorus of officious voices thundering through the large chamber such that no one could rightly hear themselves think. Just as the trio arriving before her, she was assaulted with the sights and sounds of at least a dozen different military, religions, and political orders (judging from liveries around her), and no single one among them seemed to be organizing or coordinating affairs.

Just after Gaelena's arrival, she could overhear one of the more...rural looking gentleman before her speak in a hushed tone to other new-arrivals. "...I was notified by heron of your arrival..."

"Madam, may I be of assistance? From where have you come?" interrupted a louder, more pompous voice from another direction. A portly clerk stepped forward to inspect Gaelena critically (and perhaps somewhat appreciatively) before he cocked his head to one side and repeated himself, drowning out anything more she could hear from the other parties nearby. "Are you perhaps a wife of one of the officers? Or have you come to find work in the local taverns?"

[Guest]

Passion and warfare, like passion and statesmanship, should never be mixed, Ignazio thought to himself as Governor Maglio related the incident with the Oneists. Ignazio kept glancing over at the whirring portal as more figures stepped through, but after a few moments he learnt to ignore it, such was the frequency of new arrivals.

"I would be more than willing to begin a review this moment - indeed, perhaps the Condotierre may be of use after all; the aid of one of their airships in surveilling the city's defences would prove useful if it could be spared. I can tell you now, Governor, as you are no doubt aware, unity and response to orders will be critical in any successful conflict with the Empire. You have already told me of the Oneists, yet you said that perhaps half of the defenders in the city will not respond to you at all. We lack the time to verbally relate every dispute that has arisen, but I must know of them. As such, I would appreciate it if you could procure a brief report with a list of all the units currently stationed in Aveas and any recent incidents they have been involved in.

"Furthermore, I need to know what the current military decision-making hierachy within Aveas is; you stated there is uncertainty in military matters, and this will need to be rectified if we stand any hope of a unified defence."

[Rhoddin]

Rhoddins thoughts were dragged back to the present by the introduction of the man Bartran. The young bard nodded to their latest companion, picking up the reference to the heron immediately.

"Well met umm, Bartran, my name is Rhoddin, and my companions are the Lady Reise, and ahh... Sir Brytan." Rhoddin laid a hand on Brytan's shoulder, squeezing gently hoping to pass on his intention for Brytan to tag along with having been recently knighted.

"Hmm, a tavern seems more preferable to here," and Rhoddin lowered his voice to little more than whisper, "perhaps we can walk past that fellow over there on the way out." A gentle tilt of his head indicated where Maglio spoke with a clearly military man, by the look of his attire from the Mouth, or a least one of its many vassals.

He took note of Bartran's bow, clearly a man who cared more for the efficiency of his weapon than its look, a good sign as far as the bard was concerned.