VEYL: First Campaign Thread

The two guards look down at Cork as she approaches, then they look at each other, then Rory.  

"Goblins."  One says.  

"Ankle biters."  The other nods.  

There's a second where they examine each other.  Are they going to laugh?  Is there further commentary?  

They both look back down at Cork, sizing her...up?  Down?  

Then one of them shrugs, turns, and makes a 'follow me' motion with his hand.  He's silent the whole way down the corridor they arrived down.  Past mess halls full of troops eating.  Past make-shift armories where soldiers oiled and sharpened blades and fletched arrows.  Past arcane workshops where wizards and their ilk worked on contraptions of this and that design.  And then they were exiting from the rear of Kaelor's field headquarters, and into a hastily constructed stable where grooms were busy taking care of the horses stabled there.  

The guard doesn't have much to say.  Like Kaelor, he looks haggard and tired, as though the weight of untold battles was slowly weighing him down, much like it was weighing down the warlord he followed.  

They follow the guard down the muddy path between stalls where animal waste and spilled water and who knows what else has turned the fine dust of the Sere Marches into filth.  It sticks to boots, sops up around ankles (and in the case of some of our shorter folken, even deeper than that), and just generally stinks and makes things unpleasant.  

Eventually, he steps up to a groom, and they mutter some words between each other.  For anyone listening, it becomes clear they're not hiding anything as much as they're just....disinterested.  The groom finally nods, the guard departs without so much as a 'f*ck you', and then props his hands on his hips.  

"Eh, so, you lot are here for the cart?  Torp says you is, aye?" , all five feet of his scrawny human body blocking the way forward.  "Ah, well, he says the General sends you, so ain't for me to judge now isit?"  

He stars down the muddy thoroughfare, and you all see he is barefooted as he plods along without a care in the world.  

"Aye, well, these here two 'orses are Golly..."  He points to one, "...and Gillpy."  He points to the other.  Both horses are big and strong and already lashed to a cart.  "Ih, I done checked yer cargo, yeah.  All set, everything nailed up nice and tight for your journey, and strapped in too where it shouldn't jostle and shift about.  Tried to make it flat as I could, so you can sleep on it if you need to.  Also stored about two weeks worth of food in there for the lot of ye, and a couple casks of water, and oats for the 'orses."  

He nods in approval at his own work.  

"Eh, ah, what's now can I do for ye more?"  

Harper looked at the cart. He looked at the mud around his ankles. He looked at the cart again.

Without a word he found the wheel spoke, hauled himself up, and settled onto the flatbed. He kicked his boots against the back of the cart once flinging what had accumulated there into the mud behind him, narrowly missing Rory, before settling in with his back against the cargo and his journal already open. He did not apologize

"well, that certainly makes finding food easier." Toil looks this random human up and down appreciating the simplicity. "Why not? You said it's not for you to judge, but have you tried it? You might like being judgemental? Give it a go, what's the first thought that pops into your head when you see... ummm him!" Toil grabs the stable hand around the shoulders and points to Aubrik, squinting his eyes as though to see the man better.

Aubrik offers a slow, respectful inclination of his head to each member of the mismatched company as the names go around. When the grim-faced guards let slip their dim-witted remarks about goblins and ankle-biters, his gaze shifts quietly to Cork. In his line of work, he has learned that the small ones in rough places usually carry the sharpest teeth, and the fact she is here means she can handle herself. He is thoroughly interested to see exactly how she chooses to handle the situation.

Once the meeting dissolves, he gratefully retrieves his ironwood stirrer, along with his other gear. As they march through the sprawling underbelly of Kaelor’s headquarters, his eyes drift over the mess halls, the frantic weapon smiths, and the strange, humming arcane workshops. It is an impressive machine of war, but it lacks a soul. The oppressive, ankle-deep muck of the Sere Marches outside feels far more honest.

Arriving at the stables, he watches with quiet amusement as Harper immediately claims the dry high-ground of the flatbed, completely unbothered by the mud he flings behind him.

Then comes Toil. The tiefling grabbing the scrawny, barefoot groom by the shoulders and pointing a finger his way seems intended to make people uncomfortable. Was the groom his target, or was he the target, or both? He doesn't let the friction catch. Instead, he steps forward, his rugged features softening into a warm, easy smile.

"It looks as though you have done a fine job", he says to the groom, examining the cart for a secure spot to place his own pack. As he does so, the rest of the party likely notices a pair of small, sturdy casks tightly lashed to the bottom of the pack frame.

Leaving his gear settled, he steps past the cart to approach the horses. Golly and Gillpy are big, solid beasts, and he has never been that comfortable around horses. Because of that, he cautiously approaches them here, letting them familiarise themselves with him in a safe environment.

Rory ignores the guards and their comments, following along behind them, his mind seems occupied.  He begins to trudge through the muck on the street, looking at the different stalls and shops as they are led.  When they pass the mess hall and armory, he looks, appraising without a thought.  His hand strays back to his quiver and bow on his back, but he keeps walking.  Finally they encounter the groom, Torp?  He watches as everything is pointed out in the cart.  His hand goes to any blade or arrow absentmindedly, fingering, checking.  Finally he speaks.  

“Casks of water…”.Rory checks the placement of the items.  He doesn’t mind Harper jumping up into the wagon and his dirty little feet, a grim smile comes over his face as he watches him settle in.  A small look of disappointment on his face as he’s looking at the casks.  “Anything stronger for our long walk?  Some casks of ale?  Or wine?  Something a little stronger to wet the whistle?  General wants us happy.. and effective.  I would certainly appreciate something more for our march.”  Rory sums up his full height and looks down on the groom, giving him a hard eye and strongly suggesting silently that he should comply with the request.  

Cork stops as she notices the guards looking at her.  When they call her ankle biter, she sneers at them, making sure her upper lip goes above her gum so that her pointy teeth are on display.  Then after sizing the two guards up, she shrugs like they are a waste of her time and waits for them to get a move on.

As they move through the keep, she doesn't pay too much attention, more keeping an eye on her new companions, but the arcane workshops give her pause.  Enough to get pushed along by Toil so that she keeps up with the rest.  She grunts in response and looks back longingly as they move.

Out in the muck on their way to the stables, the filth doesn't really bother her, only that it slows her down a bit which annoys her.  She watches with no expression as the halfling makes themselves comfortable in the cart.  But before Cork can say anything Toil starts in with the stablehand.  She watches with cool detachment as the tiefling does what he does, but then finds herself curious as the orc breaks in.

The goblin nods along to Rory's request and adds, "Wine would be good too, helps people sleep.  Need good sleep for long trek."

Orvyr frowns at the guards as they mock Cork. He does not like bully's. But, Cork seems to handle herself well. He retrieves his axes from the barrel, then goes with the others through the muck. As they get to the cart, Orvyr looks it over with the others. "Hmm, two weeks of food. We might need to hunt for more. The mountains will provide for us." Then he goes up to the horses, bending down to look at them eye to eye. "Hello Golly. Hello Gillpy. You will be in our care for a bit."

"So, who knows how to drive a cart?" he says, looking toward the others. 

Solya quietly follows the others, her staff in hand. As they pass through the muck of the stables, threading their way in between the bustling grooms, she looks about for her own horse, and, spotting him in a stall, reaches out quietly with her free hand to get a groom's attention. "Please saddle him for me," she says, nodding to the white horse, "we will be leaving soon." The groom nods and scurries off. Solya catches up through the shuffle with the others. The mud sticks at her boots. She thinks for a moment of the hard, glowing quiet of the Silver Road, the soothing staccato of her horse's hooves over long pilgrimage. This journey is likely to be much more... variable than her usual journeys. Remembering in times of peace strengthens the mind to remember in times of turmoil.

She looks over the cart, the harness and the shining coats and well-shod hooves of Golly and Gillpy. Kaelor's grooms take good care of his horses. She reaches a hand out to offer to the horses in greeting. As she does so, another groom walks up, leading her own white horse, saddled with her bags securely lashed behind the cantle. Solya smiles warmly as she reaches out to take the reins. "Thank you," she says, and hands him a coin.

Turning to the groom  the cart, and the others in the party as Aubrik and Orvyr step up to greet the cart horses, Solya lets her white horse reach out his nose to greet Golly and Gillpy as well. "Hello Golly, hello Gillpy," she says to them. "This is Creed." The white horse snuffs at Gillpy and squeals, before pinning his ears and turning away.

Sonya looks over the cart again, and Orvyr's question surprises her. She had thought one of Kaelor's men would be driving his cart. She looks questioningly at the groom. "Is there no driver accompanying us?"

Torp scratches his nose and then looks surprised at the questions.  

"Ah, me, judge?  Why bother?  Easier to do."  He shrugs, watching Toil's response before an almost sarcastic bow to Aubrik.  "I thank you for that."  

"Ah, uh, wine?  Drivers?"  He says, then chuckles.  He looks down at himself, at his dirty clothes and horse-crap caked boots and at the mud of the central lane between the stables.  "You can talk to the Quartermaster about all that if you wish, but I suspect that this is as good as yer going to get."  

He reaches out to pat Gillpy on the rump while Golly stamps a front hoof and snorts in investigation of Creed.  

Torp finally hands the reigns off, quite literally, to Orvyr while picking something from his teeth with a fingernail that looked like it had never been cleaned.  

"Uhm, the gate's off that way."  He says, gesturing with one hand in the direction where you had all entered Ashvault some time earlier.  "Eh, lest you got anything left for me, I have other jobs.  Must keep the army ready to march."  

Solya smiles as Torp brushes off their inquiries. Kaelor's secrecy, clothed in poverty, shall be their only companion on this journey. "Thank you ever so much, Torp," she says, and reaches out to shake his hand. "You take lovely care of your horses, despite your circumstances. May you never forget, wherever the road that goes ever on takes you."

Turning to the gate, Solya takes a deep breath, and lifts her hood up over her head. Leaning her staff against Creed, she puts one foot in the stirrup and pulls herself up into the saddle. She gathers the white horse's reins in one hand and her staff in the other. "Shall we be off then?" she invites the others.

Without looking up from the journal.... "Some of us are already sitting down."

Toil raises his eyebrows in glee as the shirt stablehand offers Aubrik a sarcastic bow. It seems the guy had it in him all along, bending down a little Toil whispers in the stablehand's ear before setting off to follow the others.

Whilst walking, he checks over his weapons, collected once again after the meeting, he has no items or pack with him, a light traveller as it were. 

He begins humming through his smile, then bobbing side to side a little before breaking into song for no reason. Making a stark contrast between himself and the surrounding barracks and militaristic backdrop of Steel and Sh*t. A happy tune, a jaunty bop, a smile unwavering on his face.

"I'm a travelin' man and I've made a lot of stops

All over the world

And in every port I own the heart

Of at least one lovely girl

I've a pretty señorita waiting for me

Down in Stormwatch Hold..." 

He continues even after the group finds the quartermaster, or leaves through the gate, whichever they decide to do.

When Creed pins his ears and squeals, causing Golly and Gillpy to shift uneasily, Aubrik doesn't stick around. Backing up a little to allow the beasts to settle, he takes up a position along the side of the wagon.

As Torp tosses the reins to Orvyr and the question of who will drive hangs in the air, he keeps his boots firmly in the mud. He has no desire to claim the bench or wrestle with the moods of the draft animals. And as for the groom's bow bordering on the sarcastic, and subsequent whisper from Toil, he allows the display to wash over him. He has dealt with worse before.

Instead, his attention shifts to Rory and Cork’s complaints about the lack of proper provisions. A knowing, easy smile breaks across his rugged features. "The General may have left the wagon dry, but rest easy. I have brought along something to wet the throat and warm the blood a little."

He looks up at Solya and gives her a nod to indicate he is ready to leave.

Rory looks over at Aubrik after hearing the disappointing news from Torp.  His reply seems to satisfy him, and he urges that they press on.  “Alright, if you have a plan, Aubrik.  Let’s get moving then.  Ole Torp says we’re not going to get much more from them here.  I have some tools to help us with navigation, charting our path by the sky, but I’ve been no cart driver, so whoever wants to take the reins, fine by me.  Orvyr, guess that’s you.  Ready, team of warriors?  Let’s go.”  

Rory balances his glaive over his shoulder and begins to walk, taking a nice slow pace, pausing from time to time to keep in pace with everyone else, ready to begin the task at hand.  

Cork shrugs as the skinny man tells them that what they got is what they got.  But grins up at Aubrik when he mentions he might have something for the road.  "See?  We got all we need."  She then climbs up onto the bench behind the horses and holds her hand out towards Orvyr for the reins.  "I can see you don't really want those, and I am happy up here where I don't have to look at your ass*s the entire way, just the horses.  Hand 'em over if you please."

Then turning to Solya, "After you, m'lady."

Orvyr looks confused as the he is given the reins. He looks to the others. Then looks back at the horses. Gillpy sneezes in his face. 

He is very relieved when Cork offers to take the over. "Ahh, yes, please. I've ridden on the back of a cart before. Never driven one." 

With others taking the front, Orvyr will take up the back position, walking behind the cart. He checks his weapons, making sure they are at hand and ready if needed. "I'm ready to go whenever you all are."