The latest issue of the Varna Free Post has just gone to print, so you each of you know, and dread, what’s coming next: assignment day, when your boss, Whiskers hands out the assignments that are due in three short days, when Rasaak will need to set the presses for the next edition.
He has summoned each of you into his office, and as you file into the increasingly cramped office (made even moreso by the presence of the hulking Warforged Zeenon), you see Whiskers in a familiar position, head buried in his hands, so only his extraordinarily long whiskers are visible on his face. He removes his hands and stares down each of you, hard.
“Well, I would call you all my biggest disappointments, but that doesn’t account for that miserable ‘artistic’ tiefling out there and the spoiled heiress who fancies herself a society reporter.”
He looks at each of you in turn. “The last issue was a disaster. Thank God for Herbert. That man carries all of you on his back and you should be out there kissing his feet."
He raises a paw-like hand and starts in on each of you, individually. “Rowan, when I asked for photos of the delegation from Thrane’s visit, I was kind of expecting, you know, pictures of the delegation. What I got was twelve pictures of the druid grove they visited. You do realize that 90% of our readership lives near a druid grove, yes? And they know bloody well what a druid grove looks like!”
Then he turns to Korvash.“And you? First of all, I told you to NEVER call me Mr. Whiskers. That sounds ridiculous. And I don’t suppose this piece you submitted was the one I asked you to write about Aundarian border aggression A MONTH ago? You’re lucky you at least turn your work in on time and write slightly better than a simpleton, or I would have fired you at least three times this past year.”
Next, its Breyten’s turn. “Do you know how many letters we received about your column last week?He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Zero. It would be a bloody miracle if you wrote something people actually cared about, Breyten. You’ve been on a cold streak, lately, young man. We can’t afford that at this paper. The only reason we keep you around is you remind me of a less handsome me.”
He looks at Peace and holds up a stack of letters.“And you? I pay you, a lot more than these idiots, I might add, to handle any problems before they touch my desk. I have three letters of complaint from the Aundarian Embassy, a court summons for a case of libel from the last ‘Thomas Karius’ op-ed” He takes a minute to glare at Korvash again, then resumes. “And worst of all, I have a very formal letter from Dalin d’Vadalis’s sister complaining about the profile Corra wrote on her son. You know, the profile I paid for that consisted of Corra trying to seduce him? She called it pornographic. I had to write a personal letter of apology.”
His gaze turns to Zeenon and it softens a bit. You’ve all heard him say what he’s about to say about the Warforged a million times and could repeat it verbatim. “Zeenon, you’re the best bargain I ever pulled off.” He turns to all of you.“Found him at an auction, knew he was special. Makes the best damned cup of coffee in the Reaches. No complaints about you, my boy.”
He pauses from his tirade and takes a big gulp of a flask he has in his desk and looks you over, suddenly looking very deflated and tired. “I suppose you’re wondering why I brought this assemblage of geniuses together, eh?”
Breyten knew by now, having been with the Varna Free Post for countless years now, that it would be pointless to argue with Whiskers. He would just get more angry and possibly throw something. Instead Breyten's hands stayed in the pockets of his trousers, 'juggling' the three stones he always carried with him between his fingers. But as the question was asked his mind did snap back to and he became interested once more. For a group of this size to be gathered the story had to be of decent stakes, maybe even of great importance.
"It had crossed my mind" Breyten said with a smile from beneath the rim of his hat.
If it wasn't for the fact that it was taking up way more room than any one creature had a right to (accompanied by the slight hum it emits if you listen really hard), you'd think Zeenon was nothing but a statue. In fact, after taking its usual place behind the door to Whiskers's office, Zeenon didn't move an inch until the shifter made the off-hand remark about kissing Herbert's feet. As if it was a command phrase, the warforged begins to turn toward the door. Luckily, one of the others is quick on the draw and gives Zeenon a silent hand gesture to cease its movement. Again, the "errand boy" stands stock still until Whiskers addresses it directly. At the words of praise, Zeenon places a hand on the back of its neck in a pantomime of humility. "Did you hear, Zeetin?" the warforged says in its mechanical voice. The audio is somewhat fuzzy, reminding the hearer of a lisp. "Sir is pleased." Once Whiskers calls the group an "assemblage of geniuses", the warforge claps its metal hands. "Zeenon is genius!"
Peace, an elderly blood-red tiefling props his head up while leaning forward, brushing his long white hair out of his face. He strokes his short, trimmed beard as he takes notes. He has dealt with many people like Whiskers over the years, like storms which need to blow themselves out over time. It's a waste trying to mitigate this anger, because it just makes it so much worse. Oh well, maybe over time, Peace can ease the anger this one holds within him. 'Heh,'he thinks to himself, 'still trying to serve the church in retirement.'
"Whiskers, you need to stop pulling those notices off of my desk. They just make you angry. I'm working on responses to each of these, and I am trying to schedule meetings with the other representatives."
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Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
You wouldn't notice by looking at him - he looks calm and collected - but Korvash is struggling to keep his anger inside. That's the problem of being a red dragonborn, naturally disposed to fury. Somehow he manages to stay calm, at least on the surface. He stammers a few "but"s and "what?"s, but stifles them quickly in order not to draw attention to himself and possibly get threatened with firing for the ninth time this week. After Whiskers finishes his rant, Korvash, obviously dejected, bows his head, lets out a little sigh, and utters a simple "I'm sorry." He motions to the door, wondering if he is excused from the room. After a response in the negative, Korvash sits down in a chair opposite from Whiskers and contemplates. After about a minute of silence, he tells Whiskers, "You know, in the nearly three years I've worked with you, I don't really know why I haven't been fired yet either." He asks Zeenon to prepare him a cup of coffee, which Whiskers promptly denies him. Then, turning back to Whiskers, Korvash continues, "So I'm a genius now, huh? Never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth," before realizing that wasn't a literal statement. "Tell me about it. Why AM I here?"
Peace fiddles with the tip of his horn, which curves back around over the front of his forehead. He tiredly looks over at Korvash, knowing that he'll have to talk down both Whiskers and Korvash at the end of this. He debates which one he should talk to first.
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Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
Rowan spends quite a bit of Whiskers’ — almost charmingly predictable — rant surveying his audience, some of the esteemed (and otherwise) colleagues she’s had (at least in her opinion) the pleasure of occasionally joining forces with. Later, she could take the time to tell him that of course most of their readership lived near a druid grove, and that was exactly the point: they took it for granted. Her pictures, she determined, would shed an entirely new light on this wonderful piece of nature; it would be like awakening from a long hibernation to find you’d never truly taken stock of the most important things in your life. It would be like seeing a sunrise for the first time. (Really, in the end, she occupies herself for most of his speech with trying to determine the most poetic, winning metaphor she can imagine.)
Those arguments are for another time, of course; Whiskers barely takes a moment to breathe, and Rowan is perfectly satisfied to live inside the certainty of her own righteousness. Sometimes — okay, maybe always enough that it was nearly his whole personality — Whiskers just needs to blow off a little steam. The young human woman offers Zeenon a quick thumbs-up when he proudly repeats his title of genius, before turning back for the finale of Whiskers’ rant. At his question, Rowan flashes a bright grin, and, glancing once more around the room, says, “Isn’t there always a need for your best and brightest?”
“Balinor, give me strength,”Whiskers whispers loudly in response to all of you. For a minute, you think he might actually just get up and leave his own office. Those of you who look close notice that the Shifter seems to be practicing a breathing exercise -- Peace, you definitely recognize it as something you’ve tried to teach your boss in the past.
There is silence for a second, then he finally speaks again.
“There have been a series of attacks on the Wardens of the Wood up in the Wolfwood just outside Havenglen, about a three hour ride from here. Four attacks so far in a week. No one’s been killed, yet, but the victims are in pretty bad shape. Bite marks, slashes all over their bodies. None of them have been able to identify who or what attacked them. The locals think its a tribe of shifters that have moved into the area, and there’s starting to be some bad blood. Only a matter of time until someone dies.”
He pushes hastily scrawled press credentials towards Korvash, Breytyn, and Rowan. “I have Maharal working on this in Greenheart talking to the Wardens there, but I need boots on the ground. And, as much as it pains me to admit it, the two of you are, Herbert aside, the best writers I’ve got. I need people with a certain….grit poking around up there. I know it, in my gut, that the Shifters aren’t responsible. They’re not my tribe, but I know them. They’re committed to the Reaches and to making this little experiment in freedom work. Explore the Aundair angle. Expose the bastards. They’re at the heart of this, I know it. The two of you will share credit on the story. Rowan will be your photographer. I trust you to keep yourself alive more than I do than your colleague out there, young lady. Man’s scared of his own shadow. But Rowan, I want to make this very clear. We. Need. A. Photo. Of. This. Beast.”He pounds his paw on the desk after every word. “If you don’t get me that picture, don’t come back. If you don’t have a story, don’t come back. The three of you really need to prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake taking a chance on any of you.”
"This story can finally break the paper for us. Maybe, just maybe get us some circulation outside the Reaches. Plus, the Korranberg Chronicle sent their local man too, and I will be damned before I let us get scooped on our own patch. This is the story everyone in the Reaches is talking about. We -- you have to crack it.
“Peace, needless to say because the Wardens of the Wood are involved, you’re going to have to go along too. As much as I need you here to keep me from strangling young Felix for coming into the office hungover yet again, you are probably the most diplomatic of the bunch. I trust you to keep the rest of the group civil and keep the Wardens from complaining to me, or worse, yet, to influential people in town. One or two more scandals, and I can’t keep us afloat.”
He takes another swig from the flask and looks to Zeenon. Whiskers and the big warforged have been a package deal as long as any of you can remember, and Whiskers seems to have a patience for him that he possesses for none of the rest of you. He speaks slowly and clearly, looking up at Zeenon and making sure his attention is focused on him. “Zeenon, old boy. Zeenon, look over here."
As soon as he looks, Whiskers will explain, in his best parent voice, the warforged's task. "I need you to keep these four alive. We can’t afford their life insurance payouts. We also need them to file this story. Make sure they file a story for me within the next three days. Finally, keep track of all their expenses. Collect receipts for everything and remember NO ALCOHOL. Do whatever it takes to fulfill these jobs. If you’re not back in time, make one of these two recite whatever story you have for me into this.” He hands a sending stone to the Warforged. “For the pictures, hire a runner in Havenglen if you have to, but get those pictures to me in three days.”
Sighing, he says “I suppose you’ll need horses and a cart for Zeenon as well. Go to the Vadalis Ranch. Hopefully the old man hasn’t cut off our credit because of that story on his nephew. If our credit’s good, they’ll outfit you. You can leave my office now. And don’t contact me until you have something. Oh, and one of you send Princess Corra into my office. She’s got to attend a ball tonight at the local outpost for House Jorasco” You can hear the disgust dripping from his voice.
A grin comes on to Korvash's face. If there ever was any time to follow orders from Whiskers, he knew this was that time. And maybe this would be the time that Korvash could prove himself to Whiskers. He nods excessively while Whiskers details the task at hand, then after he is finished, responds, "I will not fail." Head held high, he gathers his things and prepares to leave.
Peace sits with a mark of pride that he's made some degree of progress with Whiskers; this was the first time he'd seen Whiskers actually using the anger management techniques he's been trying to teach him.. Now if only we could do something about the flask..
"I'll be more than happy to go along. Is there anything in particular we need to know about the Wardens? Any persons of interest?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
Whiskers shuffles through the mass of papers on his desk, pausing only a second to bat a glass of water off of the corner of his desk before finding what he was looking for.
"Not a lot of info on the Wardens -- you know how they are. 'We are all one, Nature is our only leader' blah, blah, blah. Don't even have the names of the Brothers or Sisters who were attacked. The mayor of Havenglen is a Wood Elf named Beiro Duskwalker. Been mayor for the last fifteen odd years. Incidentally, he's one of the few residents who DOESN'T make their living from farming. He's the town animal doc. Also was the one the druids brought in to treat their wounded. The shifter tribe is squatting out in some old ruins outside of town. Their leader is a Beasthide Shifter by the name of Beard. Good sort, even if he is a bit crude and stubborn."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Rowan brightens considerably (which, given her default state, is certainly saying something) at the mention of the Wardens of the Wood; not only are they a fascinating bunch, who would undoubtedly appreciate her insightful photography subjects, but it's an opportunity to do a little exploring out there, outside of Varna. She's nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet by the time he's halfway through his description of the Wardens. "Aye, aye, boss," she says, smile wide, offering an exaggerated and entirely theatrical salute. "You've chosen the right crew."
(Trying out a history check, too, re: Wardens of the Wood, if you don't mind: 18.)
Rowan -- you've likely spent at least a little bit of time among the Wardens and seen how they are perceived elsewhere, so you know a few things. First, some of the Wardens are fairly uncomfortable with their role as leaders of this new nation. Some see this as an opportunity to attempt to truly create a nation in harmony with nature, while others see the act of governance as pretty much the exact opposite of their role as nature's protectors. They see governance as ugly, worldly work that could corrupt the Wardens as an institution.
Secondly, though the Wardens remain widely popular, there are some influential voices that question their leadership. The Dragonmarked Houses treat the Wardens with suspicion (with the exception of House Vadalis and their allies House Jorasco who support the Warden) because they've largely resisted getting involved in machinations between the Houses. Secondly, and more seriously, veterans of the Last War who have settled in the Reaches openly despise the Wardens. Most Reachers either served in the Aundairan military or the Breland army, and both sides were enraged by the Wardens' decision to remain officially neutral. Had the Wardens picked a side, they argue, it could have swung the balance of the war. These veterans have been increasingly challenging the Wardens' hold on political power in Greenheart and have been asking for a voice at the conclaves held at the awakened pine of Archdruid Oalian.
As Whiskers relayed the information Breyten was carefully taking notes on a small notepad he kept in his breast pocket...
Attacks on the Warden of the Woods...Four attacks so far in a week...Bite and Slash Marks... wolf?bear?Aundairan War Beast! Note: Research this!
Wolfwood, just outside Havenglen...go to Vandalin Ranch to get a cart and horses
Korranberg Chronicle sent their own man...Who?
No Alcohol...wait...what?
As Whiskers finished up his speech Breyten leaned forward and swiped the press pass of the desk, he quickly stowed it in his trouser pocket. He then flipped the cover back on his notepad and stowed it and his quill in his breast pocket. He then tipped his hat to Whiskers, "We won't let you down boss". Even as he said the words Breyten could hear Whiskers retort on how they had let him down every step of the way thus far, but it didn't shake Breyten's spirit. He was going to be traveling again, his mind wandered to Havenglen ahead of him, he watched the scenarios play out in his head. Did the Aundarians use some sort of ward dogs, or cats maybe? Those stuffy sorts were sure to enlist something so that they didn't have to get their cheese making hands dirty. The attacks sounded animalistic in nature though that was for sure, but he wondered why the Shifters were the first to be blamed, why not wolves, or some other creature of nature?
All things they'd be able to ask in a few short hours ride!
Once Whiskers has Zeenon's attention and begins issuing commands, the warforged's eyes turn from their usual light blue to a glowing yellow. Its internal hum grows a little louder, and everyone knows that, while Zeenon is generally aloof and a little childlike, there's remnants of the original mechanical soldier still in there that wakes up when needed. The hulking figure is all business during these times, and — thankfully — usually for the better. The sending stone goes into a compartment in its side. As soon as Whiskers finishes and breaks eye contact, Zeenon's eyes return to their light blue, and it looks over to where the bug had been. Unfortunately, the tiny creature is gone, and the warforged makes a sighing sound.
"Alright, boss. If you don't have any more instructions for us, we'll go get outfitted and head out. Rowan and Breyton are going to explode from excitement if we don't. I'll try to keep things running smoothly."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
Whiskers has already moved on to something else, pulling out a fancy piece of paper from the pile and reading it over while pinching the bridge of his nose. He flicks his paw dismissively to the door. "Go. I swear if the Korranberg Chronicle is first with this story because the lot of you couldn't get off yer bums fast enough... well, let's just say you haven't seen me mad yet."
The paper's office is about a 5 - 10 minute walk to the Vadalis Ranch, a renowned animal breeding and handling facility that is the source of the d'Vadalis family's power. This district of Varna is also home to a small general store, the town council meeting chambers, the town library and a tavern that is popular with the paper's staff, called The Brewer's Droop. Its currently early afternoon, and as said above, its about a three hour ride to Havenglen. The rest of the day is yours...
Breyten left the office quickly, headed to his desk and grabbed his go bag and then immediately headed for the exit. He was light-footed as he left the Free Post and as he stepped outside he took a deep breath of air as if he'd been in prison for a decade. He wanted to do some research on Aundairan war beasts, but he wasn't sure if the town library would have anything on the subject and maybe it would be best to wait until after they had done some investigating in Havenglen before hitting the books.
"Let's head to the Ranch, the faster we can get on the road the better" he said as other joined him on the outside of the building.
Korvash headed home to collect some of his most valuable belongings and then met Breyten outside the office. "Shall we?" he beckoned in the direction of the Ranch. He'd scrawl down some notes quickly while he waited for the others to meet them outside. Just a synopsis of the mission ahead. He capitalized, triple underlined, and circled "EXPOSE THE AUNDAIR ANGLE!" but heaved a sigh as he did so. Why does everything have to be about Aundair? he thought.
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The latest issue of the Varna Free Post has just gone to print, so you each of you know, and dread, what’s coming next: assignment day, when your boss, Whiskers hands out the assignments that are due in three short days, when Rasaak will need to set the presses for the next edition.
He has summoned each of you into his office, and as you file into the increasingly cramped office (made even moreso by the presence of the hulking Warforged Zeenon), you see Whiskers in a familiar position, head buried in his hands, so only his extraordinarily long whiskers are visible on his face. He removes his hands and stares down each of you, hard.
“Well, I would call you all my biggest disappointments, but that doesn’t account for that miserable ‘artistic’ tiefling out there and the spoiled heiress who fancies herself a society reporter.”
He looks at each of you in turn. “The last issue was a disaster. Thank God for Herbert. That man carries all of you on his back and you should be out there kissing his feet."
He raises a paw-like hand and starts in on each of you, individually. “Rowan, when I asked for photos of the delegation from Thrane’s visit, I was kind of expecting, you know, pictures of the delegation. What I got was twelve pictures of the druid grove they visited. You do realize that 90% of our readership lives near a druid grove, yes? And they know bloody well what a druid grove looks like!”
Then he turns to Korvash. “And you? First of all, I told you to NEVER call me Mr. Whiskers. That sounds ridiculous. And I don’t suppose this piece you submitted was the one I asked you to write about Aundarian border aggression A MONTH ago? You’re lucky you at least turn your work in on time and write slightly better than a simpleton, or I would have fired you at least three times this past year.”
Next, its Breyten’s turn. “Do you know how many letters we received about your column last week? He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Zero. It would be a bloody miracle if you wrote something people actually cared about, Breyten. You’ve been on a cold streak, lately, young man. We can’t afford that at this paper. The only reason we keep you around is you remind me of a less handsome me.”
He looks at Peace and holds up a stack of letters. “And you? I pay you, a lot more than these idiots, I might add, to handle any problems before they touch my desk. I have three letters of complaint from the Aundarian Embassy, a court summons for a case of libel from the last ‘Thomas Karius’ op-ed” He takes a minute to glare at Korvash again, then resumes. “And worst of all, I have a very formal letter from Dalin d’Vadalis’s sister complaining about the profile Corra wrote on her son. You know, the profile I paid for that consisted of Corra trying to seduce him? She called it pornographic. I had to write a personal letter of apology.”
His gaze turns to Zeenon and it softens a bit. You’ve all heard him say what he’s about to say about the Warforged a million times and could repeat it verbatim. “Zeenon, you’re the best bargain I ever pulled off.” He turns to all of you. “Found him at an auction, knew he was special. Makes the best damned cup of coffee in the Reaches. No complaints about you, my boy.”
He pauses from his tirade and takes a big gulp of a flask he has in his desk and looks you over, suddenly looking very deflated and tired. “I suppose you’re wondering why I brought this assemblage of geniuses together, eh?”
Breyten knew by now, having been with the Varna Free Post for countless years now, that it would be pointless to argue with Whiskers. He would just get more angry and possibly throw something. Instead Breyten's hands stayed in the pockets of his trousers, 'juggling' the three stones he always carried with him between his fingers. But as the question was asked his mind did snap back to and he became interested once more. For a group of this size to be gathered the story had to be of decent stakes, maybe even of great importance.
"It had crossed my mind" Breyten said with a smile from beneath the rim of his hat.
If it wasn't for the fact that it was taking up way more room than any one creature had a right to (accompanied by the slight hum it emits if you listen really hard), you'd think Zeenon was nothing but a statue. In fact, after taking its usual place behind the door to Whiskers's office, Zeenon didn't move an inch until the shifter made the off-hand remark about kissing Herbert's feet. As if it was a command phrase, the warforged begins to turn toward the door. Luckily, one of the others is quick on the draw and gives Zeenon a silent hand gesture to cease its movement. Again, the "errand boy" stands stock still until Whiskers addresses it directly. At the words of praise, Zeenon places a hand on the back of its neck in a pantomime of humility. "Did you hear, Zeetin?" the warforged says in its mechanical voice. The audio is somewhat fuzzy, reminding the hearer of a lisp. "Sir is pleased." Once Whiskers calls the group an "assemblage of geniuses", the warforge claps its metal hands. "Zeenon is genius!"
Peace, an elderly blood-red tiefling props his head up while leaning forward, brushing his long white hair out of his face. He strokes his short, trimmed beard as he takes notes. He has dealt with many people like Whiskers over the years, like storms which need to blow themselves out over time. It's a waste trying to mitigate this anger, because it just makes it so much worse. Oh well, maybe over time, Peace can ease the anger this one holds within him. 'Heh,' he thinks to himself, 'still trying to serve the church in retirement.'
"Whiskers, you need to stop pulling those notices off of my desk. They just make you angry. I'm working on responses to each of these, and I am trying to schedule meetings with the other representatives."
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
You wouldn't notice by looking at him - he looks calm and collected - but Korvash is struggling to keep his anger inside. That's the problem of being a red dragonborn, naturally disposed to fury. Somehow he manages to stay calm, at least on the surface. He stammers a few "but"s and "what?"s, but stifles them quickly in order not to draw attention to himself and possibly get threatened with firing for the ninth time this week. After Whiskers finishes his rant, Korvash, obviously dejected, bows his head, lets out a little sigh, and utters a simple "I'm sorry." He motions to the door, wondering if he is excused from the room. After a response in the negative, Korvash sits down in a chair opposite from Whiskers and contemplates. After about a minute of silence, he tells Whiskers, "You know, in the nearly three years I've worked with you, I don't really know why I haven't been fired yet either." He asks Zeenon to prepare him a cup of coffee, which Whiskers promptly denies him. Then, turning back to Whiskers, Korvash continues, "So I'm a genius now, huh? Never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth," before realizing that wasn't a literal statement. "Tell me about it. Why AM I here?"
Peace fiddles with the tip of his horn, which curves back around over the front of his forehead. He tiredly looks over at Korvash, knowing that he'll have to talk down both Whiskers and Korvash at the end of this. He debates which one he should talk to first.
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
A small flying bug lands on the wall beside Zeenon, catching the warforge's attention. He leans in close to study the tiny creature.
Rowan spends quite a bit of Whiskers’ — almost charmingly predictable — rant surveying his audience, some of the esteemed (and otherwise) colleagues she’s had (at least in her opinion) the pleasure of occasionally joining forces with. Later, she could take the time to tell him that of course most of their readership lived near a druid grove, and that was exactly the point: they took it for granted. Her pictures, she determined, would shed an entirely new light on this wonderful piece of nature; it would be like awakening from a long hibernation to find you’d never truly taken stock of the most important things in your life. It would be like seeing a sunrise for the first time. (Really, in the end, she occupies herself for most of his speech with trying to determine the most poetic, winning metaphor she can imagine.)
Those arguments are for another time, of course; Whiskers barely takes a moment to breathe, and Rowan is perfectly satisfied to live inside the certainty of her own righteousness. Sometimes — okay, maybe always enough that it was nearly his whole personality — Whiskers just needs to blow off a little steam. The young human woman offers Zeenon a quick thumbs-up when he proudly repeats his title of genius, before turning back for the finale of Whiskers’ rant. At his question, Rowan flashes a bright grin, and, glancing once more around the room, says, “Isn’t there always a need for your best and brightest?”
“Balinor, give me strength,” Whiskers whispers loudly in response to all of you. For a minute, you think he might actually just get up and leave his own office. Those of you who look close notice that the Shifter seems to be practicing a breathing exercise -- Peace, you definitely recognize it as something you’ve tried to teach your boss in the past.
There is silence for a second, then he finally speaks again.
“There have been a series of attacks on the Wardens of the Wood up in the Wolfwood just outside Havenglen, about a three hour ride from here. Four attacks so far in a week. No one’s been killed, yet, but the victims are in pretty bad shape. Bite marks, slashes all over their bodies. None of them have been able to identify who or what attacked them. The locals think its a tribe of shifters that have moved into the area, and there’s starting to be some bad blood. Only a matter of time until someone dies.”
He pushes hastily scrawled press credentials towards Korvash, Breytyn, and Rowan. “I have Maharal working on this in Greenheart talking to the Wardens there, but I need boots on the ground. And, as much as it pains me to admit it, the two of you are, Herbert aside, the best writers I’ve got. I need people with a certain….grit poking around up there. I know it, in my gut, that the Shifters aren’t responsible. They’re not my tribe, but I know them. They’re committed to the Reaches and to making this little experiment in freedom work. Explore the Aundair angle. Expose the bastards. They’re at the heart of this, I know it. The two of you will share credit on the story. Rowan will be your photographer. I trust you to keep yourself alive more than I do than your colleague out there, young lady. Man’s scared of his own shadow. But Rowan, I want to make this very clear. We. Need. A. Photo. Of. This. Beast.” He pounds his paw on the desk after every word. “If you don’t get me that picture, don’t come back. If you don’t have a story, don’t come back. The three of you really need to prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake taking a chance on any of you.”
"This story can finally break the paper for us. Maybe, just maybe get us some circulation outside the Reaches. Plus, the Korranberg Chronicle sent their local man too, and I will be damned before I let us get scooped on our own patch. This is the story everyone in the Reaches is talking about. We -- you have to crack it.
“Peace, needless to say because the Wardens of the Wood are involved, you’re going to have to go along too. As much as I need you here to keep me from strangling young Felix for coming into the office hungover yet again, you are probably the most diplomatic of the bunch. I trust you to keep the rest of the group civil and keep the Wardens from complaining to me, or worse, yet, to influential people in town. One or two more scandals, and I can’t keep us afloat.”
He takes another swig from the flask and looks to Zeenon. Whiskers and the big warforged have been a package deal as long as any of you can remember, and Whiskers seems to have a patience for him that he possesses for none of the rest of you. He speaks slowly and clearly, looking up at Zeenon and making sure his attention is focused on him. “Zeenon, old boy. Zeenon, look over here."
As soon as he looks, Whiskers will explain, in his best parent voice, the warforged's task. "I need you to keep these four alive. We can’t afford their life insurance payouts. We also need them to file this story. Make sure they file a story for me within the next three days. Finally, keep track of all their expenses. Collect receipts for everything and remember NO ALCOHOL. Do whatever it takes to fulfill these jobs. If you’re not back in time, make one of these two recite whatever story you have for me into this.” He hands a sending stone to the Warforged. “For the pictures, hire a runner in Havenglen if you have to, but get those pictures to me in three days.”
Sighing, he says “I suppose you’ll need horses and a cart for Zeenon as well. Go to the Vadalis Ranch. Hopefully the old man hasn’t cut off our credit because of that story on his nephew. If our credit’s good, they’ll outfit you. You can leave my office now. And don’t contact me until you have something. Oh, and one of you send Princess Corra into my office. She’s got to attend a ball tonight at the local outpost for House Jorasco” You can hear the disgust dripping from his voice.
A grin comes on to Korvash's face. If there ever was any time to follow orders from Whiskers, he knew this was that time. And maybe this would be the time that Korvash could prove himself to Whiskers. He nods excessively while Whiskers details the task at hand, then after he is finished, responds, "I will not fail." Head held high, he gathers his things and prepares to leave.
Peace sits with a mark of pride that he's made some degree of progress with Whiskers; this was the first time he'd seen Whiskers actually using the anger management techniques he's been trying to teach him.. Now if only we could do something about the flask..
"I'll be more than happy to go along. Is there anything in particular we need to know about the Wardens? Any persons of interest?"
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
Whiskers shuffles through the mass of papers on his desk, pausing only a second to bat a glass of water off of the corner of his desk before finding what he was looking for.
"Not a lot of info on the Wardens -- you know how they are. 'We are all one, Nature is our only leader' blah, blah, blah. Don't even have the names of the Brothers or Sisters who were attacked. The mayor of Havenglen is a Wood Elf named Beiro Duskwalker. Been mayor for the last fifteen odd years. Incidentally, he's one of the few residents who DOESN'T make their living from farming. He's the town animal doc. Also was the one the druids brought in to treat their wounded. The shifter tribe is squatting out in some old ruins outside of town. Their leader is a Beasthide Shifter by the name of Beard. Good sort, even if he is a bit crude and stubborn."
Rowan brightens considerably (which, given her default state, is certainly saying something) at the mention of the Wardens of the Wood; not only are they a fascinating bunch, who would undoubtedly appreciate her insightful photography subjects, but it's an opportunity to do a little exploring out there, outside of Varna. She's nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet by the time he's halfway through his description of the Wardens. "Aye, aye, boss," she says, smile wide, offering an exaggerated and entirely theatrical salute. "You've chosen the right crew."
(Trying out a history check, too, re: Wardens of the Wood, if you don't mind: 18.)
Rowan -- you've likely spent at least a little bit of time among the Wardens and seen how they are perceived elsewhere, so you know a few things. First, some of the Wardens are fairly uncomfortable with their role as leaders of this new nation. Some see this as an opportunity to attempt to truly create a nation in harmony with nature, while others see the act of governance as pretty much the exact opposite of their role as nature's protectors. They see governance as ugly, worldly work that could corrupt the Wardens as an institution.
Secondly, though the Wardens remain widely popular, there are some influential voices that question their leadership. The Dragonmarked Houses treat the Wardens with suspicion (with the exception of House Vadalis and their allies House Jorasco who support the Warden) because they've largely resisted getting involved in machinations between the Houses. Secondly, and more seriously, veterans of the Last War who have settled in the Reaches openly despise the Wardens. Most Reachers either served in the Aundairan military or the Breland army, and both sides were enraged by the Wardens' decision to remain officially neutral. Had the Wardens picked a side, they argue, it could have swung the balance of the war. These veterans have been increasingly challenging the Wardens' hold on political power in Greenheart and have been asking for a voice at the conclaves held at the awakened pine of Archdruid Oalian.
As Whiskers relayed the information Breyten was carefully taking notes on a small notepad he kept in his breast pocket...
wolf?bear?Aundairan War Beast! Note: Research this!As Whiskers finished up his speech Breyten leaned forward and swiped the press pass of the desk, he quickly stowed it in his trouser pocket. He then flipped the cover back on his notepad and stowed it and his quill in his breast pocket. He then tipped his hat to Whiskers, "We won't let you down boss". Even as he said the words Breyten could hear Whiskers retort on how they had let him down every step of the way thus far, but it didn't shake Breyten's spirit. He was going to be traveling again, his mind wandered to Havenglen ahead of him, he watched the scenarios play out in his head. Did the Aundarians use some sort of ward dogs, or cats maybe? Those stuffy sorts were sure to enlist something so that they didn't have to get their cheese making hands dirty. The attacks sounded animalistic in nature though that was for sure, but he wondered why the Shifters were the first to be blamed, why not wolves, or some other creature of nature?
All things they'd be able to ask in a few short hours ride!
Once Whiskers has Zeenon's attention and begins issuing commands, the warforged's eyes turn from their usual light blue to a glowing yellow. Its internal hum grows a little louder, and everyone knows that, while Zeenon is generally aloof and a little childlike, there's remnants of the original mechanical soldier still in there that wakes up when needed. The hulking figure is all business during these times, and — thankfully — usually for the better. The sending stone goes into a compartment in its side. As soon as Whiskers finishes and breaks eye contact, Zeenon's eyes return to their light blue, and it looks over to where the bug had been. Unfortunately, the tiny creature is gone, and the warforged makes a sighing sound.
"Alright, boss. If you don't have any more instructions for us, we'll go get outfitted and head out. Rowan and Breyton are going to explode from excitement if we don't. I'll try to keep things running smoothly."
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
Whiskers has already moved on to something else, pulling out a fancy piece of paper from the pile and reading it over while pinching the bridge of his nose. He flicks his paw dismissively to the door. "Go. I swear if the Korranberg Chronicle is first with this story because the lot of you couldn't get off yer bums fast enough... well, let's just say you haven't seen me mad yet."
The paper's office is about a 5 - 10 minute walk to the Vadalis Ranch, a renowned animal breeding and handling facility that is the source of the d'Vadalis family's power. This district of Varna is also home to a small general store, the town council meeting chambers, the town library and a tavern that is popular with the paper's staff, called The Brewer's Droop. Its currently early afternoon, and as said above, its about a three hour ride to Havenglen. The rest of the day is yours...
Breyten left the office quickly, headed to his desk and grabbed his go bag and then immediately headed for the exit. He was light-footed as he left the Free Post and as he stepped outside he took a deep breath of air as if he'd been in prison for a decade. He wanted to do some research on Aundairan war beasts, but he wasn't sure if the town library would have anything on the subject and maybe it would be best to wait until after they had done some investigating in Havenglen before hitting the books.
"Let's head to the Ranch, the faster we can get on the road the better" he said as other joined him on the outside of the building.
Korvash headed home to collect some of his most valuable belongings and then met Breyten outside the office. "Shall we?" he beckoned in the direction of the Ranch. He'd scrawl down some notes quickly while he waited for the others to meet them outside. Just a synopsis of the mission ahead. He capitalized, triple underlined, and circled "EXPOSE THE AUNDAIR ANGLE!" but heaved a sigh as he did so. Why does everything have to be about Aundair? he thought.