Fantasy Far Shores

[Vudukudu]

Prince Elomir, his two brothers, their father, and a cluster of lords and generals, two Elves and a Dwarf among them, gathered about the war table dominating the floor of the throne room. In balconies strewn about the room, less important lords whispered among themselves while ladies and children wept. Two dozen of the Kings Guard, clad in their gleaming mithril plate, stood still and silent. Outside, thunder boomed and lightning cracked as the rain began to fall.

The King's face was tired, and his shoulders looked as if they bore the weight of the world - in a way, they did. He was overseeing the end of the Alliance's days on this world. He raised his gaze from the table to his gathered advisers and sighed. "What news of Yordrin and the Marsh-landers?" He asked. General Curindir's elfin ears pricked.

"My scouts returned an hour ago, my liege. Yordrin has fallen, and the Marsh-landers are scattered." He answered, his tone calm even as his lower lip quivered.

The King cleared his throat. "And what of Patriarch Ironflayer?" He asked, turning his eyes on Prince Elomir.

Elomir's voice wavered. "We've no word from the Dwarves, and no sign of them from the Tower. They have sent no message for two weeks, either by horse or griffin."

The King's lips turned to a distinct frown. He had been a good friend of the Dwarf-lords. "Then we must assume the Home-Under-the-Mountain has fallen. And that the Southerners will not come, and what few Elves have not perished are already here. What of the Horse-Lords?"

Before anyone could answer, a mighty horn blasted at the city gates. Everyone at the table rose, flocking to the windows to peer through the dark, rainy evening towards the gates. They were flung open, and a mass of cavalry surged through. The King's brow rose.

"Perhaps we are not doomed. The greyskins have made it." He murmured. They continued to stream through, their burly warhorses thundering through the already packed streets. The city had turned into a refugee camp, containing every last man, dwarf, elf, and orc who had fled before the wrath of the Enemy. A rider and his retinue sped across the city streets, and their leader dismounted and entered the keep.

The orc was garbed in the characteristic armor of the Orcish Horse-Lords, but it seemed ill-fitting. His skin, thoroughly scarred and laced with gold and silver jewelry, showed prominently as he began unceremoniously removing his gauntlets and arm-guards. "I am Thorgrim, of Clan Black Hand. You have my war host, King Ereglar." He introduced himself, bowing low. "We came across some of the Marsh-men on our way here, but many were lost. Yordrin died honorably, giving us enough time to escape with the survivors." He explained.

The King gave an approving grunt. "Then I name you Thorgrim Black Hand, Master of Beasts." It was a great honor for the Black Hands - they were the smallest of all orc clans.

The War Council reconvened, all its member races represented, and once more began plotting the city's defense. Anyone capable of wielding a weapon had already been conscripted, barriers had been built to reinforce the walls and fortify the streets, and every possible measure had been taken to insure the city would not fall. Just as the Council saw fit to adjourn, the horn sounded once, then twice, then a third time. The Enemy had arrived.

They bore no torches and sounded no drums as they marched from the North. Great war machines left clefts in the earth as they rolled towards the city. The siege began without an announcement or any sort of negotiation. The pale Lutheri were here to kill, not talk. As soldiers rushed to defend the walls, the first barrage of catapult fire struck the city. Commanders rushed to their posts and civilians to the city harbor, furthest away from the gates. The Last Battle of the Alliance had begun.

Elomir and his soldiers were dispatched to the western wall, where the fighting was expected to be the mildest. Commanding a force composed almost entirely of conscripts, frightened men and women who had never before wielded weapons, and supported only by a few dozen veterans, he was expected to hold the flank and remain there. There was not time for an inspiring speech - the hail of arrows had already begun, and everyone cowered beneath their shields or what cover they could find as the rain mercilessly beat down on them, some of its barbs sharper than others. Finally, the siege ladders reached the walls, and the chaotic melee broke loose.

The Prince struck the first blow, his long sword piercing the gut of the first Lutheri to scale the walls. The creature, unarmored, pale as moonlight, and gaunt as a corpse sputtered feebly before the light faded from its eyes. The beast fell, careening off the ladder and crashing into its gathered allies below. Scores more of their grunts clambered upwards, most slaughtered before they could find their footing until there were simply too many to stop. Soon the stone walls ran thick with blood and water as defender and invader alike fell. Just as all seemed lost, a hooded figure ascended the stairs and a jet of arcane flame washed over the wall, putting the nearby ladders to the torch. The flames billowed, even as the rain came crashing down upon it. Before the heroic mage could speak, an arrow from beyond the wall caught the words in his throat.

While Elomir's force gained a moment's respite and licked their wounds, a new wave of ladders came forward. Evidently, the enemy had realized this was the weak point of the defense, and a number of their shambling behemoths led the charge in this fresh assault. Blades and spears ripped men and Lutheri alike to bloody tatters, gore streaming down into the streets below and the blood soon became ankle deep. Still, the forces of the enemy were boundless, stretched as far as the eye could see across the valley.

The siege continued like this, essentially unabated, for sixteen straight hours. Fresh troops were cycled to the front until only weary ones remained, and the number of casualties was becoming unbearable. Now, Elomir was surrounded by the survivors, and it was hard to tell who among them hadn't held a sword before today. To the last man, woman, and child, they were smeared with blood and wearing the battered armor of the fallen if it was still serviceable. For the moment, Elomir's portion of the wall was not under attack, and that gave its defenders the best vantage point from which to watch the gates fall.

The great Red Gate of the Capitol came crashing down after one final blow from the rams, and the Lutheri hordes rushed inside. The cry whirled down the ramparts. "The gate has fallen! Retreat!" Elomir's soldiers looked to him for guidance, and he raised his unbroken right arm, sword clutched in its hand. "To the harbor!" He shouted. One of the minor lords who had fought beside him cast him a curious look.

"Milord, aren't we supposed to reinforce the market?" He asked.

Elomir shot the man a dirty look. "The city is fallen, Lord Redding. Would you rather die on the streets, or save what we can?" He replied.

The lord blinked, suddenly realizing what the Prince had in mind. "Men of the Alliance! Rally to your Prince!" He bellowed, apparently content to live another day. They would deal with their shame another day, if they lived to see it. They did not wait for the men on their east flank, the elves under General Curindir, to join them for the retreat. When Elomir and his men disappeared, the Lutheri climbed over the wall, sweeping like a horde of locusts onto the elves unprotected flank. Within minutes, they were overwhelmed, and the Silverleaf banners flew no longer.

Around them, the city was in chaos. Civilians fled further inward or clung to the retreating soldiers, hoping for protection as the cannibalistic barbarians rampaged across the walls and into the city. Smoke filled the air and roaring flames burned across the city, its former beauty marred by the destruction overtaking it. Around him, Elomir had gathered perhaps a hundred men, followed by maybe half as many civilians, and they passed by the marketplace they had been ordered to defend. They grabbed whatever supplies they could find before setting the neighborhood to the torch, hoping it would stem the enemy advance. Their act of cowardice now complete, they made all haste for the harbor.

People were already fighting to board the fleet of merchant ships and men-of-war docked there. Women pushed their children aboard and were left behind, deserters carved paths onto ships with their swords, and men dashed the brains of other men out with rocks to insure their place on one of the escaping vessels. In less than a day, the noble people of the Alliance had resorted to savagery. Elomir gathered his men about him and shoved a path forward, boarding the Divine Wrath, and raised anchor. Behind them, dozens more ships overflowing with refugees set sail, and on land, the Alliance fell when King Ereglar's head separated from his shoulders.

Leading the fleet, Prince Elomir stood at the prow of his ship, Lord Redding beside him. They were sailing westward, into the open sea. Lord Redding coughed into his hand, then spit some blood overboard. "Milord, there are.. there is no land to the west." He said hesitantly.

The Prince frowned. "Not that we know of, and not that the Lutheri know of. Perhaps we will find peace on some far shore." He replied grimly.

 

[Vudukudu]

Prince Elomir, standing beside Lord Redding and his ever-present attendant, Lady Cadragon, had the greatest viewpoint from which to watch their kingdom and home fall. The command deck of the Divine Wrath, the last vessel to depart the harbor, was raised high enough to see most of the port. Hundreds, if not thousands, clamored at the water's edge, begging for a ship to turn back. Some fought over rickety rowboats, while others simply dove into the water and attempted to catch up. Most floundered, especially those in armor. The fatigue of battle coupled with the added encumbrance was enough to send most burbling to the bottom of the harbor, and others simply didn't know how to swim well. But that only covered the fortunate, attempted escapees who had the luck to drown instead of suffer.

Most of the people of the Alliance were still trapped in the harbor district as the Lutheri swarmed over. From the Divine Wrath, Elomir witnessed firsthand as they swept like a great white tide, rising out of the flames, and crashed down upon the trapped people. His people. He considered commenting, damning their brutality, but his throat ached for lack of water and over-use. The screams, he decided, were worse than the sight. At this distance, albeit not a great one, seeing the specifics of the carnage was impossible. The screams, though, they carried over the water, where they intermingled with the weeping of the survivors.

The Prince sighs loudly, and turns to look at Lord Redding. Anthony Redding had been the third-born son of the Redding family, and like many third-born sons found himself pursuing a life of battle. He'd never had a great mind for tactics, something he readily admitted, but there were few swords he would rather have at his side. The man had an art for killing, or perhaps it was an efficient cruelty. "It is over then, my friend." Elomir finally spoke, his eyes downcast. Lord Redding nodded once. "Indeed it is. And where will we go?"

Elomir frowned, and turned to look seaward, the smoke of his city rising behind him. "Cadragon. Fetch me a map, and the captain of this ship. An ale, too." He ordered. She was a rare thing. Loyal to a fault, humble, protective, stupidly, stupidly rash if not given orders. She reminded him of a Marsh-Lander war hound. "Port Alexius sent word two weeks ago, saying that a splinter force of Lutheri had set up camp outside the city. Given the number of siege weapons they brought to the Capitol, I have no doubt the Shining City may yet stand. Even if it has fallen, perhaps we are not the only ones to flee rather than die for our banner. If the city stands, we pillage what supplies yet remain and anyone of use. We leave our wounded to die on Alliance soil, and we make for the West."

Redding is a fighter, but one with a heart nonetheless. "Your majesty, I.. must we leave them behind? For the Lutheri?"

"Better that they die near a temple to their Gods than upon an empty sea, Lord Redding. And many more will wish they'd stayed behind before this odyssey is over." The Prince murmured.

The Divine Wrath, propelled by sail and oar, picks up speed. The juggernaut has a clear lane ahead of it, and it makes its way to the front of the group, a pristine Alliance banner raised high.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

The pack was heavy, far too heavy to carry any moderate distance, but Ralin lifted it onto his shoulder nonetheless. The main deck of the Divine Wrath was a babble of confused, weeping, and afraid people. Many were nobles and rich, those that had enough status to board a ship, while many more were soldiers or cityfolk that were lucky enough to escape the slaughter on the docks. Ralin scanned each face expectantly, looking for the ever-present small grin of Galinduil, his Elven master. All he saw were faces dirty and tired, and he shuffled his way towards the command deck. He's probably with the prince. He thought, halting at the grim-faced royal guard that guarded the steps leading up.

"I'm Galinduil's apprentice, is he here?" He asked expectantly.
"No, not that I know of,"
"Maybe he's on another ship?" Ralin's face was crestfallen as he clung to what hope was left.
"How am I supposed to know?" Was the placid guard's reply, and his tone made it obvious the conversation was over. Ralin turned away, moving back into the crowd until he was back at the portside, looking out at the other ships that seemed to cling to the Divine Wrath like dirty ducklings to their mother. As much as he could hope, he could not push aside the inkling of doubt in his mind. Was he in the library? Was he left behind at the court? Ralin's questions were only answered by the churning sea, and he sat down on a nearby crate, resting his lute across his knees. The old elf was the least of his problems; he was adrift on a ship without a course, led by a madman, and swelling with refugees.

Opening the top flap of his pack, Ralin dug inside until he produced the book he sought; The Kingdoms and Fiefdoms of Ereglar and Her Neighbouring Provinces and Territories. It was a book of maps and charts, compiled from multiple cartographers, and all organized meticulously. He flipped to the section on Ereglar's western shores. It was just as he had expected; the capital on the coast, Port Alexius to the north, along with several other smaller port towns scattered about, and to the west open, uncharted sea. The cartographer had appropriately drawn a sea serpent crushing a ship, making the voyage to come all the more ill-boding. If the kingdom was in ruin, and its head severed, then where else was there to go? Ralin traced his finger along the sea to the west, passing the serpent and shutting the book quickly; he would ponder it another time. For now, he belched over the side as the ship heaved over a wave.

 

[CaptainMcNoob]

Gareth's brown eyes did not leave the sight before him, the people trying to swim through the ocean towards the boats, the people huddled in fear on the docks, pushing against each other until some began to slip down into the waters, the screams and begs for them to turn back, to get them. Of the fires breaking out across the city, painting it aglow. His eyes swept the crowded docks, but they stopped on an all too common sight, a woman holding a small child in their arms as she begged. He couldn't hear her any longer, her words snatched up by the sea and the chorus of other cries for salvation, but he knew them, nonetheless. She held her child, as he held his, her shivering body against the cold steel plate of his armor and the blood that was smearing her face that had once stained that armor. He wanted to look down, he needed to look down, but he couldn't. Gareth couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman, could they have saved her? Yes, yes they could have. There had to be a way. Maybe if they had held a few moments longer, if they, if he, hadn't retreated. They were dead because of them, because of him. Because of him, a child was going to die. Because of them, so many would lose their lives. How many fathers would never get to hold their daughters again? How many sons would wait for a mother who was never coming? How many people say huddled in the burning city hoping, praying, that someone was coming for them, someone would answer their screams.

"Adeline," Gareth said, his voice unrecognizable to himself, "Take Katie and go inside."

As the moments ticked on, Gareth tore his eyes away from the crowd and to the woman besides him who looked so much like him, tall and full figured with long dark hair that fell down her shoulders in waves, but just like him, she was staring horrified at the docks, "Adeline!" Gareth barked, his voice raw from the smoke, exhaustion and the pain that he was not going to let show. His voice seemed to rouse her as Adeline jumped and her dark eyes met his, "W-What?"

"Take Katie inside, clean her up," he said with what little energy he had left, "please," the word almost came out as a croak as his voice broke. Adeline met his eyes for a moment longer before taking the struggling girl into her arms and moved through the thick crowd of people upon the boat towards the cabin. Despite having so much to do, despite knowing he had to arrange a message to the other boat under his care so he could tally the total number of survivors and supplies, he couldn't. He was so tired, so very tired. He didn't want to, he didn't want to see her again, but he found his eyes turning back to the docks, to the woman clutching her child to herself. What was her name? What was the name of her child? What did they use to do for a living? Did they have more family? What were their dreams? So many people, left behind, so many of their people. He tried to take deep breaths, but each breath brought waves of pain as his ribs brushed against the caved in section of his breastplate. He couldn't anymore, this would never again happen. Never again.

For the sake of his sanity, Gareth turned his back on her and her child, turned his back on their people just as they all did the moment they stepped on the boat and headed towards the stern. He pushed the door open and walked down the steps, the wood groaning under his large armor covered frame, but he wasn't heading towards his quarters, where Adeline and Katie waited, no, he was heading further down to where the supplies lay. Barrels of water and food lay everywhere, stacked high to make as much room as possible, but he passed. Passed the crew and refugees huddling down there, trying to escape the screams and their guilt. To the very last door, the door that sectioned off his families personal supplies and outside of it, one of his men to ensure no one broke in. Tired and exhausted, Gareth couldn't tell who it was behind that mask but as he passed him, through the now opened door, he gave him a clap on the shoulder and then closed the door behind him. The room was larger then he expected, dimly lit by the lantern on a table. He stumbled forward to one of the chest and opened it, coins met him. Silver and gold. Coins.

He reached in to grab a handful and and then let them slip back through his fingers. How many people was this? How many people could have have brought along if he had left this chest behind? One, maybe two. How many more chest held clothing? Finery? Paintings? How many more people... how much more food, could he have brought? Instead he brought this. A single gold coin lay on the flat of his hand, the last of the handful he grabbed earlier. He turned it over and over, the light flickering off the surface as it shined, almost mocking him with its luster. The mother and her child flashed through his mind and his grip on the coin tightened until his knuckles were white. This was not worth their lives. This piece of worthless metal was not worth a life. Disgusted with himself and the world, he threw it across the room and watched it bounce against the wood and cling against the floor. That was a person. A person he could have save, he should have saved and now they were dead. Because of that.

He felt so weak, his legs threatened to give out, so he let himself fall to the floor, his back pressed against the accursed chest. His breath ragged from the metal that dug deeper and deeper into his ribs and the woman's face continued to sear into his mind. He could have saved more.

 

[Epiphany]

The last passenger aboard the Divine Wrath wasn't properly a passenger at all. A soldier inspecting the stern for lingering Lutheri spotted instead an orc clinging to the hull. Blood-soaked leather did little to disguise her armored muscles and it was the savagely crafted halberd clenched in one fist that finally decided him on alerting others. Orc though she was, and with the ship overfull with survivors as it was, they would likely need every fighter they could keep. Ropes were brought and in the end a brave sailor went down a line to tie a line around the warrior to haul her up, for she'd been through too much to manage the act herself.

Once properly aboard the ship, sense returned to the stunned warrior and she lifted her eyes to the crew before rising to her feet with a respectful nod. "Thank you," she said, for if orcs cared little for courtesy, she'd spent enough time around humans to know they were different. "I am Vrutha of the Skullsplitter Tribe. Give me a post and I will stand it."

Her eyes shifted from face to face, learning them as quickly as she could. These people were perhaps the only people left alive after the Lutheri victory. She would learn them, come to know them and deliver them from anything that threatened them. For before she went into the water, Vrutha had secured the boarding of several families of orcs onto another ship. Her race survived. And for their sake, she would show these humans all an orc could do for them. And if a time came when the humans considered putting anyone off their ships, Vrutha would see to it that her people survived. One way or another.

 

[fickleglory]

Passed along, a care package between soldiers as their commanding officer's keep sake. She fights, but the adrenaline is starting to fade until she is finally on the boat. When she is safely boarded the men who had escorted her, the same men she had made weapons for used them to push away crying women and begging men. They were a wave of soon to be fodder. Harriette was not standing when they left her. Her face was pale and drooped heavily. Slowly she crawled to the railing and watched the fire, she watched the light reflect off beautiful swords. Now they are dirty with the blood of the innocent. Her fingers dig into the fine wood and she bites her lip. Harriette felt her chest breathing more heavily, she looked at the other passengers who cried amongst themselves or stared silently. My weapons were supposed to protect our people. What was the point of making them in the first place? Wasn't good always to prevail? Not this time.

"Dad." Harriette lifted herself on shaken knees. She shoves through the crowd looking for a place to gain height. "Dad," she said. Harriette pulls herself upward with some rope to look amongst the crowd. "Greg Maloh!" she calls. The blonde woman's messy hair flails with the wind. Her hand runs through her hair looking at each face. "Greg!" her eyes dart with no order, "Greg Maloh!" her voice squeaks, "Mal-" blank faces stare at her.

Harriette felt embarrassed to be seen. She knew this was nothing but vain, she knew full-well he was not alive. But what of her mother? She assumed as much. She dropped from her perch and sat against the short wall. Again, her breath intensified. She fit her soot covered thumb into her mouth and bit down. It felt too real. Panic flutters into its bird house and nestled into the pit of her stomach. Her eyes honey eyes welt and teeth clench in place trying to obtain control over herself. She hiccups; the handle is broken. Everything came at once. Rough hands quaked as they cradled her head. She bent forwards to hide away, but it soon became a rocking motion. There would be no peaceful burial, like they requested. There would be no grandparents to her children. There would be no storytelling or the lovely songs. She didn't think the Lutheri would even grace him with a silver platter. She ignored the others, if she were to grieve she preferred to get it all out now.

 

[The Fluffiest Floof]

Emilia had kept herself near the prince at all times. Be it during the heated battle or now, on board of the ship. The fight had been cruel, the sights would surely have been able to turn a grown mans stomach inside out. But not Emilia´s. Even when concentrating on the fight, there was only one thing she had eyes for. The prince. More than once was it her blade that kept an enemy off his back. Not that he would notice. Not that she needed him to. It was not attention, that motivated the maid to fight with the same flaming dedication only few could.

Not a second was she doubting his decision. Many, many men were in doubt to leave behind their fellow warriors, to just run from the fight. Not Emilia. It was her masters order. His word was above anything, without flaw. If he said it was the right thing to do, only a traitor or idiot would ever dare to doubt him. And so, still as close to the prince as one could be, his personal maid came onto the ship. From that point, it was the usual game. Existing, without being noticed. She was her masters shadow, until ordered otherwise.

Soon, she had orders to follow. Being tasked to collect and bring a few things, Emilia quickly started to get them. First, the ale. The easiest task. She brought it fresh from the keg, perfectly served. Barmaidens could get jealous at the way she so easily did it. Then, the captain. That, too, was not a hard task. Soon, she had told him where to go and the man was on his way. The last part, however, proved to be a bit more difficult. A map. Now, sadly, the ship only had old maps. Unacceptable, she would ahve to tell the prince later. But she did not give up so easily. She actually found a map. In the hands of some young man. With a stoic expression, the maid, that looked more like a warrior in her attire and the blade on her hip, approached him. "You there. Hand out the map. Prince Elomir has requested for one and yours seems to be the only one up to date."It was not a question. SHe made it very clear that he was giving her the map, one way or another. At least by now, the princes personal maid could be distinguished.
ShakinMcBacon
Vudukudu

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

Wiping his foul-tasting mouth, Ralin rose back up from the bulwark to answer Emilia.

"My map? You mean my cartographer's compilation? I suppose, if he absolutely requires it..." Even if she was the prince's puppet, he didn't like the idea of having to give up one of his books. His eyes darted from the blade on her hip to her grim face. He had seen her before on his trips to the castle, always by Prince Elomir's side like a mangy dog clinging to its master. Galinduil had always referred to her as Elomir's "grateful slave", and it seemed an accurate enough description. How he missed the stubborn old fool. Reluctantly, he held out the book for her to take. Whether he would see it again or not was unknown, but he doubted the prince would think of returning it. "Can I have it back afterwards? At least long enough to make a few copies of some charts of interest?" It was unlikely his request would be respected, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

He turned away to pick up his lute, and as he did so summoned an invisible barrier behind Emilia, at ankle height. Enough to make her stumble or trip, but not fall overboard. If this was the last he would see of the book, the least he could do was make it worthwhile. Holding his lute, he sat back down on the crate and strummed a melancholic chord.

The Fluffiest Floof

 

[The Fluffiest Floof]

Emilia waited for him to give out the book of maps. "That is not for me to decide. I will carry your bidding to the prince and he shall see if it is to be fulfilled.", she replied. With that, she took the maps and turned on her heel. However, as she was walking back to his majesty, something made her trip. She wasn´t as clumsy as to fall or drop the maps, but she stumbled. Turning around, she could not spot what it had been. Had a man next to her held out their leg to trip her?

It didnt matter. What mattered was the fact she had the last item she was asked to gather and thus returned to the prince. As she placed it down, she was as bold as to inform him of the situtation. "It seems there are no up to date maps in the ships possession. However i found a book of maps in the hands of a civillian and was able to claim it in your name. However, said civilian has asked me to bring a question to you. That question was, if they could have the book back, at least to create copies." She slightly bowed her head. "If i may say, my humble opinion was, if we were to really reach lands unknown, somebody with the ability to cartograph would be surely useful, would they not?"
Vudukudu
ShakinMcBacon

 

[Vudukudu]

The Prince and Lord Redding had turned quiet upon dismissing Cadragon. It was difficult to speak, watching the fires burn from afar. Up close, it had been a sort of personal tragedy. At a greater distance, they could see the Capitol in its entirety burn, watch as boulders slung from catapults demolished the city's great domes. This, not the carnage on the docks, was what killed the Alliance.

Elomir cleared his throat, and began to hum quietly, a tune nearly anyone would recognize. "Where now the sword and the scepter? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk? And the bright hair, flowing?" He began, singing low and quiet. Redding quirked an eyebrow, then joined in. "Where is the hand on the harpstring? And the red fire glowing? Where is the spring and the harvest? And the tall corn, growing?" By now, a few other voices on the deck had joined in. It was fortunate, for much of the song was intended to be two separate parts. Most would naturally gravitate towards balancing it out, and it was a common enough dirge that no one ought to have trouble joining in.

"They have passed, like rain on the mountain. Like a wind, in the meadow. The days have gone down in the east, behind the hills, into shadow. Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning? Or behold, the flowing years, from the sea returning? Where now the sword and the scepter? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk? And the bright hair, flowing? Where is the hand on the harpstring? And the red fire glowing? Where is the spring and the harvest? And the tall corn, growing?"

Things got quiet after that, as most with the presence of mind to appreciate it morosely turned their gaze downward. They'd just sung the funeral song of every Ereglar king of the last thousand years. Redding was the first to speak, as Cadragon returned with the requested ale. "Your majesty." He murmured, nodding towards the faithful servant. Elomir shook his head and did not turn to her, and Redding took the mug. When she returned with the captain, he remained silent, letting his rage simmer as he watched the Capitol burn, getting further away by the moment. When she brought the book, he finally acknowledged her. "You are released from service for the day, Cadragon. I've no further need of your sword nor hand. Bring the book's owner to me, then get some rest." He said tiredly, taking the tome from her and giving her a quick nod of thanks.

Elsewhere on the deck, a perplexed pair of soldiers eyed Vrutha. "There's no post to stand, Skullsplitter. And no one to give orders except the Cursed One." One replies, shaking his head. Referring to an orc by their tribe name was typically reserved for its chief. "Find yourself a place to sit. Rumor is we're headed west, so make it somewhere comfortable. Might spend the rest of your days there." The other chimes in, then the pair wanders away.

Nearby, the weeping blacksmith's cries are pitied by a veteran clad in dented, bloodied armor. His sword, hanging at his hip, bears the signature mark of Harriette's forge. "Quiet now, lass." He said, patting her back firmly. He knew what had happened to her father, and knew that someone else ought to be responsible for telling her. The man who'd given the command ought to bear that burden. "Find your way to the rear deck. Tell the guards your name, and that Arthur sent you. You hear me?"

 

[fickleglory]

As people's voices rose it stilled the sobbing woman. Her shaken body steadied as she finds comfort from the soldiers hand. She looked him over, but did not recognize him. Her honey eyes glance at his hip and noticed what he carried. She couldn't be surprised, however it felt surreal what weapons made it out and what didn't. It was one of her older pieces. Please tell me you did not use that against our own people. Her heart felt a tear, threads breaking piece by piece. Imagining men had to push away refugees. Her soot covered hand smudged over the tears on her face. It was not a flattering appearance, but this was not a flattering time.
She gave him a quick nod, not to waste his time. With knees weak and arms heavy, Harriette stood. Her breathe was uneven, but managed to exhale and soothe herself. The woman's hand rested on her and felt her heart beating hard. She hiccups before speaking, "Thank you for your company, Arthur," her hand rested on his shoulder. The woman gave to him a feeble smile. "When I am in a more appropriate condition, please find me." she gestures to his sword. "It will need maintenance, and I can only expect dangers from here" she pauses and looks into her bag. Did she even have maintenance tools? No. Great, this made her want to cry even more. The woman stoped her second tantrum and looked to him, "My apologizes Arthur, I didn't bring everything. I'll have to improvise, later." She bowed to him and from there followed his instructions.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

Hiding a small smile as Emilia tripped, Ralin continued to play. It was a sombre array, coming off the strings with its own volition, as if the lute itself felt the solemn mood of the ship and its forlorn passengers. Hearing a familiar, oddly appropriate song from above, Ralin matched the rhythm, adding small triplets of notes between verses. Continuing after the voices ceased, he stopped suddenly, slightly red in the face. He had never really played with so many people around, and he shied away at the curious glances he received. Putting the lute down, a sudden urge came across him, and he dug out the quill and inkwell, as well as carefully cutting off a piece of sizable parchment. He licked the quill's nub and dipped it into the black ink. Setting it against the slightly yellowed surface, he dated the paper, wrote his name, and the location as simply "Disembarked from the Capitol harbour".

Day one of the Divine Wrath's voyage. The city is lost. Any seaworthy vessels have been filled and set out to sea, and we sail into mystery. Those left behind will perish, as will more upon the ships. They are far over their capacity, and rations will likely be slim, lest they disappear within the week. I was able to save many of my books, but still more have been left to the mercy of the Lutheri. Galinduil is missing, likely dead; I am not naive to deny it. I know not what will come, one can only wait. To see such devastation is chilling, and I pray I do not meet the same fate.

The last dot was placed with a sense of finality, and he rolled up the paper, placing it carefully into a pouch on the pack. He would likely be on this ship for a while, so he may as well keep himself occupied. If the journal wasn't enough, there were always his studies. Studies, it seemed an odd word now, being without tutor nor master. It was a bittersweet freedom, one he wasn't sure whether to embrace or fear.

 

[CaptainMcNoob]

Gareth walked through the dim hallway as it slowly shifted back and forth, the wood creaking as the boat tipped back and forth which was something he was certain he was never going to get used to and sorely missed solid land beneath his feet already. The smell of salt and blood was an unpleasant combination but the taste was even worse. It seemed, iron and salt didn't quite go together as well as poets liked to believe. But they tended to miss a lot, Gareth mused, he had yet to read a poem epic that detailed how men lost their bowels in death, but, he supposed, it certainly ruins the picture when the brave hero who sacrifices himself to save the world has such mundane things to do such as shitting themselves. Gareth stopped at the end of the hall and pushed the door open with a wince as the old hinges groaned in protest and the light split out of the open window and into the hallway.

The tall, slender form of Adeline was pacing back and forth, her fist gripped tightly and Gareth had a feeling if she was left to it, she would wear a hole straight through the boat which, while amusing, wasn't exactly what they needed even if it did promise a nice, deep sleep, drowning wasn't how he preferred to go. Gareth stepped into the room, his armor clanked as the floor board creaked and Adeline's face snapped in his direction. Even from a distance, he could see her azure eyes flicker with several emotions, he made a game of trying to name them: concern, annoyance, hope, and even, mirth.

"Are you okay?" Adeline asked, her voice soft, like a gentle breeze, but the undertone of power remained. A woman born to rule and, if Gareth were honest, she was always better at it then he.

"I'm alive," Gareth answered, his voice like two granite boulders who had failed to work out their differences, his own blue eyes traced the bundle on one of the small beds, "Is she?"

"She's sleeping," Adeline said before her voice took on a much sharper turn, "I washed her face."

Gareth winced, his brow furrowing as he recalled pressing the side of her head against his bloodied breastplate to keep the screams from reaching her ears. He doubt that helped her fears, and his shoulders almost slumped as the sinking feeling that nothing he ever did, from now until the day he met his end, would ever be good enough. It seemed the world was dead set on make everything have a cost.

"My apologies," Gareth said as brought his hands up to try and start removing his armor, a futile effort as his plate had required assistance before it had become dented beyond recognition, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take the pressure of the warped metal digging into his ribs as he was already certain one or two was cracked.

"Here, I'll get it," Adeline said with a huff as her small hands make quick work of the straps, more practiced then they ever should be at removing armor, but the last few years had turned warriors out of many of those who should never have seen war, "The basin of water still has some in it, and I can get a chance of clothing out as well," she said as she worked.

Gareth knew why she was doing that, like it or not, he was the leader of this boat, whatever the hell its name was, the knock to his head that took both his helmet and his wit likely took the name of the boats along with it. People wouldn't like seeing the person who was supposed to be in charge caked in dried blood, wasn't quite the trust building image people needed even if the majority of people on board both the ships given to him were filled with his own people. Which brought up the thought that he needed to take a censor, find out how many of his people made it, which of his people made it, as well as how many extras they have and what they could do... How he was going to reach out to the other vessel was beyond him, this was his first time near an ocean, much less, sailing on one, but the captain likely knew.

Each piece of armor was gently set down on the floor as the last thing they wanted to do was wake up Katie as neither of them were sure how much sleep she would get under normal circumstances should the nightmares start to sink in. The same night terrors that Gareth knew would plague his dreams for, well, probably the rest of his existence. Freed from the last piece of the plate, Gareth helped in pulling the chain hauberk over his head quickly followed by the gamberson and the linen shirt beneath.

Free of the blood, Gareth dipped his hands into the cool water and looked at his reflection. His long hair, so often tied back into a neat tail, was matted to his head in dried sweat and blood, his face had splotches of red that he could feel every time he spoke or smiled as the caked blood didn't give quite as much as the flesh underneath wanted. He splashed his face with the cool water, letting the liquid run down his face in streams as he massaged out the dried blood before running his wet hands over his chest working the sore muscles and cleaning the blood from his skin. Finally, Gareth dipped his entire head into the thin basin, letting his hair flow through the water before slowly retracting and wringing out his hair as close to the surface as he dare to make as little noise as possible. As clean as he could be without a proper tub, not that Gareth intended to use one, they had limited water and a few small basins like this would have to make due for the people to clean off the blood from city's fall.

As he moved over to the bed, Gareth tied his hair back into a tail, once more, the damp hair clinging to the flesh of his back which created quite the uncomfortable itch whenever he craned his neck. Slowly, with more delicacy that a man his size would normally be capable of, Gareth lowered himself onto the bed to take a look at her. His katie, she looked peaceful as her head was buried into the pillow. Her long red red hair, so much like her mother's, was flared out across the sheets. Gareth brushed a rogue lock out of her face and tucked it back behind her ear, "Adeline, what was the name of the boats again?" Gareth asked, more at peace at this moment then he had been in months.

"The Wave Rider and," Adeline paused as her brow furrowed, "the Providence, which we are on."

"Providence, of course it would be," Gareth said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The Gods could rot for all he cared, but it seemed fate still had its sense of humor.

"I'm going to start taking a censor, find out who is on this boat with us, take a final count of supplies and speak to the captain, see if we can't get a message to the Wave Rider so it can do the same. I want a final tally of supplies by nightfall if we can manage," Gareth said, explaining his plan to his, admittedly, much smarter sister.

"As good as any place to start," her soft voice answered, "I was thinking about turning the room next to ours, the larger cabin, into something of a nursery for all the children. Keep them out of the way and entertained," she said. She didn't ask, she stated. It was a tone Gareth had long since gotten used to and when it came, he quickly moved out of the way.

"I'll be sure to check for anyone with child experience for aids," Gareth said, which wasn't just for her, but for his own peace of mind. His sister was more a force of nature then anything and he had no doubts she would be doing it all herself if she felt she had to. He took one last, long, look at his little girl before placing a light kiss on her temple, "I love you, I'll be back," he whispered against her hair, a grunt of annoyance as Katie, in her sleep, rolled away was his only answer.

New linen shirt, a dull brown, pulled on, Gareth exited the cabins and found himself back on the deck. The city was disappearing from view, but the smoke was going to be visible for many leagues. A grim remainder of his failure. His blue eyes scanned the deck, taking in the crowds of people still squashed together yet to slowly disperse throughout the ship in favor of watching their home burn. Some, Gareth could see, still didn't believe it. Others were enraged and it was as if they were determined to burn the moment into the minds for eternity. A shrill voice caught his attention as he peered to an older man, cloaked in his robes as he gave his sermon. Simon, the old cleric and closest thing to a man of the Gods his people had and as cruel as it was, Gareth was none to pleased to see the old lecher and wouldn't have wept if the old man hadn't managed to make it. He couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to, he knew the general gist. The Gods were watching, the Gods would take vengeance, the Gods would look after their people, so on and so forth. Because they've been doing a damned fine job of it already. Gareth didn't see the point in a speech right now, the people needed time to grieve, tomorrow, when the city was no longer in sight, he would say something to restore hope... and he only hoped he knew the words when the time came. His eyes went back to the old cleric, if he wasn't careful, the old lecher was just as likely to use their fear as a weapon to increase his standing on the boat and increase his chance with young women because the Gods took care of their own, indeed. If worst comes to worst, Gareth was sure he could find some enjoyment in tossing the old man into the ocean and seeing if his Gods would come to his aid or not.

"Sergeant Ahgen," Gareth barked and a crisp voice answered, "My Lord?"

Gareth turned his head to look at the man who had, just last year, been a fresh faced youth but whose face now littered with scars. Ahgen had an uncanny ability to be right where Gareth needed him no matter the situation or how dense the noise, a useful, if not often, disconcerting ability, "Can you write?"

"No, my lord, but my lass can," Ahgen said, the pride in his words making him stand even taller.

"A lass? Meet her in the capital?" Gareth asked, his eyebrow raised and the corner of his lip lifted when the blush crossed the young sergeant's face and for a moment, just a moment, he looked like the boy he once had, "Aye."

"Get her and do some rounds. I want a full list of everyone on the boat, crew included. I want their names, their proffession and," Gareth paused hating the pain it may cause but it had to be done, "a list of other family they have on the boat."

Ahgen smashed his fist to his chest and clicked his heels, "Aye, My Lord."

"Ahgen," Gareth said before the sergeant could turn away, "If you can, get a list of family they have that they believe may have made it on. I'll do what I can to check the other boats," a fools notion, it would be like looking for a needle in the haystack with the added benefit of the needle not even existing, but Gareth could help it. If he could give them even the tiniest shred of hope especially when it was in his power to make the attempt, then he had to do so.

The young sergeant turned on his heel and made his way to his crowd, no doubt, to find his lover. Gareth turned his attention back to the crowds. People around looked at him, and he knew that look in their eyes, they had questions that wanted answers, but Gareth had no answers for them, so he did what he always did. He crossed his arms across his large chest, stood straight and set his mouth into a grimace. In his experience, it had always been enough to scare away people from pestering him. When he had the answers, he would give it. All he could do was watch them and wait for his sergeant.

 

[ithinkcat]

Katherine leaned against the side rail of the ship on her elbows as she watched the fading horizon fill with a blanket of black smoke. The vile smelling combination of blood, smoke and spray had finally passed, but nausea had been quickly replaced by annoyance. The people that had clung to her and brought her aboard had dispersed when Katherine no longer gave them her attention or words. Some of them hadn't been as keen as her to watch the nightmare play out as the ship sailed out to sea. Now, most had either all gone below to claim a spot before anyone else could or sat huddled together on the deck mourning in their various ways. Behind her was a church priest, well advanced in his years, proselytizing at the top of his lungs to a group near him with the self-importance of a primarch. "Behold, children of the four. The wolves have jumped the fence! Their mouths drool for lamb today and they will feast." he announced.

One of the women sitting while clutching her two young sons questioned him through her tears. "Bu-why would the gods do such a thing? Why would they put us out to slaughter?"

The old man adjusted his robes with a grin. "Fear not, my pretty, for the gods have not forsaken us. The gods have spared the lambs with pure innocent fleece, and have chosen me as your shepard." Several men and women were all too quick to affirm his words, much to Katherine's disgust.

The woman from before became even more distressed by the priest's words, though. "But my mother. She didn't even make it to the capital and she never did anything wrong." Katherine sympathized with the woman. She wasn't looking for a justification to be aboard that ship like so many others were. She just wanted to know the gods still existed. That they still honored their words. That we weren't just cattle to be sorted and butchered on a whim.

The clergyman cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but I don't decide who's worthy or not. Just follow me and-" Katherine rose from her slouch and stepped up to the group, her approach causing the man to pause. His eyes widened at the sight of her snow colored hair. "A-ah. Paladin Katherine. Of course you would be one of the chosen ones as well." he said with the look of a child caught with their hand in the cookie pot.

Katherine glared down at the man, her golden eyes seeing through his scheme with a righteous gaze only a templar of Orrix could pull off. "The gods didn't abandon those people at the docks, priest." Katherine scolded. "It was us who abandoned them. We had dozens of decades to prepare for another invasion of the Lutheri. We had years after they began their attack to build ships, scout for a land safe to flee to, and start sending people there. No, this was the failure of mortals. We best remember that so as to not repeat our sins." The priest looked around nervously at the small crowd trying to read their reaction to Katherine's counter. She could see his mind ticking, contemplating how to turn her words back against her, but she wasn't in the mood for a debate with him to see who would walk away discredited on their theological understandings. She just wanted him to shut up.

Before he could finish his thoughts, she turned to the people all hanging their heads in shame now. "Perhaps we should take a moment, in silence, to remember and honor those we failed." she suggested, speaking the 'silence' part directly at the priest. Several in the group nodded. The priest shot a scowl at Katherine before lowering his head in defeat. Thankfully, it wasn't worth the trouble of escalating their doctrinal sparring for him either.

Katherine relaxed her domineering expression for something more soft, and let out a sigh of relief. Having finally broken her watch away from the fallen capital, she had time to actually take in what was around her. The gaggle of people looked grim, and they were packed tighter than she had originally thought. The ship wasn't that big. Sure it was large enough to be a merchant vessel, but it was nothing like the line ships the royal navy had. To her surprise, though, the guards manning the ship all seemed well disciplined. Despite their wounds and the crushing feeling of defeat, they attended to their duties with urgency. Perhaps staying busy was their way of coping.

Amid the ship's crew, Katherine noticed Phillip Ahgen wearing the standard armor of the other knights, though his helmet was missing. She had met Phillip just a week ago. He had come to the temple distressed over the coming siege and she offered him words of comfort. The next day he came, again, distressed over his family and invited her to share a drink. She entertained his request, knowing full well his true motives. Afterall, the soldiers stationed on the walls were not likely to survive the coming siege. They shared a couple drinks the next couple nights, but Katherine never let the man several years her junior take his advancements any further.

She saw Phillip taking an order from a large man, clean in his appearance. It was obvious the tall man was Phillip's lord, but to her surprise Phillip came running over to her. She hadn't even seen Phillip until now, much less known that he had made it out of the battle alive, but apparently he knew exactly where she was. She guessed it wasn't exactly very difficult to notice her, what with the hair and all, but she hadn't noticed him, or anyone really. Maybe there were others she knew that had made it aboard and she just hadn't noticed. As Phillip approached her she greeted him, though still a bit shocked to see him. "Hi, Phillip. I didn't know, it's good to see you."

Phillip interrupted her awkward attempt to say hello. "Heh, it's good to see you too Lady Katherine." Phillip had a bad habit of calling Katherine lady like she was some noble woman. He thought he was flattering her, but Katherine was really just being polite by not spitting on him every time he said it. She was nothing like a delicate noble woman and she didn't really care to be seen as one. "My lord, uh, Lord Manderly that is, would appreciate it if you could help us take census of everyone aboard the ship."

Katherine wasn't thrilled to be called on in this dire situation to do...clerical work. It didn't matter, though. She didn't have anything to write with. "Sure, Phillip, but I don't have paper, ink, or quill to write with. And I'm not going to memorize everything."

Phillips looked at her puzzled. "Uh, well I don't have any of those either." he replied.

Katherine massaged the stress from her face before responding back. "Okay. I'll go get some from your lord." Phillip then escorted Katherine to the lord standing stern, overlooking his ship with his arms crossed. She couldn't tell if Phillip always took such menial tasks so seriously or if it was because he was in her presence and was trying to impress her still. When they reached the lord Katherine looked up at him. Katherine wasn't small, but the lord still stood quite a bit taller than her. It did nothing to intimidate her, though. She had fought Lutheri that made the lord look like a kitten, and size wasn't always an advantage. "Lord Manderly, if you want me to write down everyone's details then you'll need to give me something to write it with and something to write it on." she said plainly.

CaptainMcNoob

 

[The Fluffiest Floof]

Emilia listened to what the prince told her next. Released from service? She hated those words. Not that she would ever openly complain. She couldnt, not against her princes orders. If that was what he wanted from her, she would have to follow it. "As you say. But should you do need something, just call for me, Sire. I am always ready." With that, she turned on her heel yet again. She was already thinking about what to do in her freetime. Not that she had specific ideas. Probably go below and find herself a sack filled with sand, that she could train her blade skills on.

Seeking out the owner of the map yet again. "You there. Map guy.", she said, as she made clear who she meant. "You are to go to the prince. Without delay." It was not a question. It was an order of the prince, that she had carried to him. And it was known this woman was not accepting disobedience towards the prince.
She did not even wait for the man to carry the order out. She simply left, towards one of the lower decks. SInce now, she had freetime. Whatever she would end up doing with that.

 

[Epiphany]

The condition of the Divine Wrath, of its people, its crew and soldiers and sailors and survivors was as shocking as it was disheartening. Vrutha marveled at the breakdown in the chain of command, at its disintegration when two soldiers admitted to having nowhere to place her or use her.

Not that the chain of command had ever been terribly important to an orc. Vrutha had spent a few years among humans, though, and fighting alongside humans. They liked their plans, liked giving and receiving clear direction. It was disorienting to see how completely that had failed here.

Despite their suggestion, Vrutha didn't go looking for a place to sit. Instead, she passed a grief-stricken human woman with admirable arms heading the opposite direction, and she made her way to the front of the ship instead. In no hurry and with no intention of being a threat, Vrutha didn't push and shove her way through the throngs of people as she might have otherwise. Instead, she let the natural flow of traffic carry her forward until she was within sight of the command deck where the Captain of the vessel might be. Though she suspected any surviving human royalty would have coopted it for their own command post.

Vrutha found a spot to stand near a set of guards flanking the stairs leading upwards. Close enough to draw glares but not close enough to actually be pushed back or threatened by anyone stupid enough to threaten an orc. Instead, Vrutha leaned the Skullsplitter poleaxe against the railing, cradled the shaft in the crook of her arm and leaned against the railing herself.

She had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Vrutha had never sailed a ship and could not contribute that way. But a warrior was always needed, sooner or later. If she stayed close to the place of power, sooner or later they would call and she would be the one to answer.

So, the orc ignored her aches and wounds, old and new, and concentrated instead on the snatches of conversation she could overhear from above. Who knows? She might learn something useful.

With so few orcs left, her people would need every advantage to survive.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

Ralin had just rolled up the parchment when the obnoxious servant abruptly returned, abruptly ordered him to see the prince, and abruptly left. An audience with the prince? What for? Was the situation that dire, that the high-and-mighty Prince Elomir required the counsel of a lowly apprentice? Regardless, he gathered his things once more, the pack on his left shoulder, and lute on the right, and mad his way back to the stairs up to the command deck, and back in front of the still grim-faced guard, who eyed Ralin with an obvious distaste.

"What is it now? Can't find your mother?"
"The prince has requested my presence,"
"By who's order?"
"The royal maid, Emilia,"
"Fine, but I'll be keeping my eye on you," The guard stepped aside reluctantly, allowing Ralin up the steep steps. Approaching where Elomir stood, the ship rolled again, causing him to stumble. Righting himself and entering a deep bow, he addressed his liege.

"You requested my presence, m'lord?" He asked, his tone bordering on obsequious. He didn't particularly like the man, but the number of well-armed men around him suggested he keep things proper. After all, if he got friendly with the prince, his chances of survival on this divines-forsaken ship could drastically improve.

Vudukudu

 

[CaptainMcNoob]

Gareth examined the huddled people, his mind moving onto the next step, anything to keep it away from the burning city that was, thankfully, out of range of scent now. There was simply too many people for them all to sleep comfortably, he'd need to sort out what blanket, pillows and padding they had and distribute them to the woman and children first. The men, himself included, could rough it. Food, food was another concern. He wasn't worried about the amount, right now, as they were likely sailing down the coast, but feeding this many people at once was always difficult especially since his Quarter Master had fallen before the siege and he had no one to replace him. At best, he could throw one of his men-at-arms there and hope for the best, but there was nothing more important then logistics, he couldn't afford that going tits up. The boat likely had a chef, but they would need help. Perhaps something basic, a soup or stew. Easy to make in large quantities, filling and warming. Many weren't hungry yet, their minds still in shock, his among them, but it wouldn't be long before they started focusing on issues they could fix, things they could resolve rather then wallow in their misery and the only thing worst then people with too much free time on their hands was people with too much free time on their hands and an empty stomach to boot.

Movement through the crowd caught his eye, it wasn't Sergeant Ahgen returning early, and empty handed, that caught his attention it was the woman next to him. Few people had stark white hair that were as young as her. Gareth eyed her and assumed she had to be the 'lass' he mentioned, although it seemed they had very different definitions of what constituted a 'lass'. His 'lass' looked like a warrior, not in how she was dressed but in how she carried herself. Confident with sharp eyes, she reminded him of one of the great snow cats that used to prowl that mountains of his home, beautiful, lean and incredibly lethal, the scar on her eye only adding to it. If she was young Phillip's lass then he had greatly underestimated the youth, if she wasn't, well, the boy was ambitious, he'd give him that. As she drew near, she met his gaze and never looked away which was impressive, Gareth hadn't met many that did so nearly as boldly in a long time. He would need to keep an eye on her as should things go wrong, she could prove useful in helping them. It was almost comical how his Sergeant trailed after her like a lost puppy, he had asked the sergeant to do so as the presence of an officer of his men-at-arms would go a long way of ensuring the proper authority of the situation and defuse any problems, but perhaps it was his fault for choosing Ahgen, he was still a shade too green but Gareth didn't have a whole lot of men left to be picky with and despite perhaps not being fully ready for the position, the boy was sharp. Sharper then most of his men and eager to prove himself. Gareth raised a dark brow at her words, perhaps it was just his imagination as her tone gave no indication of it, but he could almost imagine her putting her hands on her hips to berate him as if he was some errant school boy and not an Earl of a fallen kingdom, which, he supposed, had about the same weight in authority and prestige at this point.

"Is that so?" Gareth answered as he uncrossed his arms and shot his Sergeant a look, a soft reprimand was called for, nothing too harsh as this wasn't the time and he wasn't in the state of mind to do anything more, "You have my apologies, when I assigned my Sergeant," he started stressing the boy's rank to ensure Ahgen knew his disappointment in him, "to the task, I had believed him capable of searching the lower decks or approaching the captain of this ship for the necessary supplies. It seems I overestimated him," Gareth said, pinning the young man with his eyes, he wasn't truly upset,or even annoyed, but it would prove a useful lesson and the only casualty was bruised ego, "or perhaps it was just the need to impress a beautiful woman which has been something all men struggle with."

He shifted his attention back to the white haired warrior, "I have many talents, unfortunately pulling quills out of my arse isn't one of them," he looked between them, "But I am sure the grand adventure of finding something to write with and on is well within your capabilities, if it is something so dire, the great 'Lord Manderly' whom no longer holds any lands can assist you assuming I am ever told the name of the one who was roped into aiding us."

ithinkcat

 

[Vudukudu]

Elomir was admittedly less than pleased with his servant. Of course, most could be forgiven for a lapse in judgment in this time. After all, the world as they knew it was ending. Still, he expected the presence of mind required to suggest the owner of the maps she'd provided be allowed to come forward. He was not a particularly kind man, but he did not see himself as a thief. The owner of this book would see his property returned, though he supposed it would be repeatedly borrowed.

When the young man arrived, Elomir couldn't help but scoff at his tone and bow. "No need to bow so low, Ralin." The Prince replied, arching an eyebrow at the boy before him. He knew his name, something he supposed would surprise the young mage. Elomir kept a close eye on the court, whether or not he was present. Spies were always available, for a price. Based on appearance alone, this was Galinduil's apprentice. "I simply wanted to thank you for having such a text on your person. I expect we'll be requiring it for some time, but you may keep it when it is not in use. After all, another set of eyes, dedicated to the cartographic arts, may prove useful in the weeks to come." He continued, holding the closed text out to the mage. He'd seen enough, as had the captain.

"I did not see you on the walls, nor in the expected deployments." Elomir said, nodding slightly before dropping the book into Ralin's hands. "Fortunate, given our need of maps and mages. I suspect, however that leaves you with a question on your mind, and one I bear the burden of answering." He said solemnly. "Galinduil is fallen."

He gave the boy a moment to process before elaborating. "He was posted to the Silverleaf's portion of the wall. He kept it protected from arrows for six hours before his will failed him. Exhaustion proved too much, and the next volley took him from us." He finished, one hand signing the symbol of Valian the Divine as a blessing. "You may find it beneath your talent, but I've need of capable men. I assume you must be well-read, and if you brought books I presume you had the foresight to keep a quill on your person. I plead, most humbly, that you begin an inventory of this ship. A quartermaster below decks has already been assigned to counting supplies, but I've need of another to survey the ship's population. A list of occupants by name, profession, age, and organized by family would be ideal."

The royal guards, atop the stairs, eye Harriette curiously until she mentions her name and that of the soldier who sent her. "Aye? Maloh?" One says, a tremor of hesitation in his voice. "Onward then. The Prince ought to have a moment for you." He says, then nods sternly to reassert his own sense of confidence. The two men step aside, permitting her to continue up the stairs and onto the deck where the Prince, captain, and a half dozen lords of various ranks stand.

 

[fickleglory]

Harriette made her way through the sea of refugees. She took the sleeve of her shirt and licked the fabric. Harriette tidied her face from smudges and tears. As she wiped the last of the dirt her eyes met another woman's. She was an ork. Harriette glanced at her bust then her fat axe. She took note of the weapon; she'll have to tend to that sometime. She continued on her path, but could help but make a double take. She looked over her shoulder and watched the other walk away. She liked the ork's braids, they were much more tight than her own.

When she arrived she followed the instructions of the soldier who comforted her.
"I am Harriette Marsha Maloh, Arthur has sent me here." Her face was less welcoming, and redness still stung her eyes. The small fluctuation in the man's voice made her stomach feel like a cold rock had been dropped in it. She nodded to the gentlemen that let her pass. Harriette walked up each step, her footfalls were heavy. She felt embarrassed at the sate of her appearance, her hair was weighed down from sweat and grease, while her hands were dark from dirt, and clothing singed from fire. Frustration gnawed at her ankle as she felt like a mutt herself. There was no pride in being the royal smith when your work failed a whole kingdom. Not to mention she was going to present herself in front of those with higher status and the Prince, Elomir. When she arrived to the top, Harriette kept quite until attention is brought to her.
"I am here to ask of my father, Greg Maloh." She bowed. "I apologize for the inconvenience, your highness." she looked to him with a face that demanded nothing. Plain, but eyebrows slightly upturned.

 

[ithinkcat]

The lords response soured Katherine's mood further. Among the things she didn't want to deal with right now, sass was near the top of the list, not that she had ever dealt with people in the past being difficult all that well. Oh divines, I guarantee you have some in your cabin somewhere. You could just go get it instead of having me run some fetch quest before doing what you actually want me to do. You're probably one of the few people that actually thought to bring any along. Katherine thought to herself. Fortunately, she knew better than to say anything like that to a nobleman. Land or no land, he still held title and that was the heart of political power and influence within the alliance. While Katherine had some influence of her own due to her ties with the Church, clergy members always had to be careful not to step on the toes of the civil leaders for the sake of peace. Most priests just stroked their egos a bit, but that wasn't Katherine's style. Perhaps she lived up to the Black Templar stereotype a bit too much, always strait to the point and inflexible beyond reason...but politely.

She thought of what the proper response should be for a couple seconds, but it was all in vain. "My name is Katherine, lord. I've not met a lord yet that didn't have something hard stuck up their arse. Maybe you just haven't checked deep enough for one." She said with a little bit of her annoyance detectable in her tone. She paused briefly having stunned herself a bit. She had thought what she was going to say wouldn't have been so hostile, but it was. She had meant to use some humor, since the lord had attempted some himself, but her mind just wasn't very sharp at the moment. Sure, she genuinely thought what she had said was hilarious, but the lord sure wouldn't. Maybe she was more tired than she thought or maybe the shock of everything was clouding her thinking. It didn't matter anymore. What was said was said.

There were two options. Apologize, but what she had said was true, or dig the hole deeper. "Pull one from you arse or your cabin. It makes no difference to me, but you and the captain are the most likely to have any paper and ink. Forgive me if I thought the captain might be busy, you know, sailing the ship, and that you weren't so busy just...standing there." Katherine glanced over at Phillip just long enough to see his face slightly paler than usual before locking her eyes up at the lord's awaiting the worse case scenario.


CaptainMcNoob

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

After Elomir finished, Ralin nodded quickly.

"O-of course, sir, I shall see to it," He bowed quickly again, and turned away, passing a blonde woman in his haste to leave. Back down the stairs, he went and leaned against the bulwark, staring into the churning sea. Galinduil had fought? The old elf had told Ralin to stay behind to protect the study from thieves, which even then he thought was odd because thieves had never been an issue beforehand. Not to mention he had told Ralin he was working with the healers, not on the walls blocking volleys. He swore softly under his breath; he should have been there, been there to assist in the shield, been there to draw his sword, been there to die with the man that he had such a quiet admiration of. Instead he had been there in the study, idling in safety while the city slowly crumbled.

He decided to keep his mind off the matter by doing what the prince had asked him to, so he cut a fresh piece of parchment, produced his quill and inkwell, and left his pack and lute in a corner. The inkwell he levitated beside the parchment, and he used a book to put behind the paper to give it a solid back upon which to write. Starting with the members of court he recognized, he started with the noble families, many of which had survived with most of their members. The commoners were a tad harder, but he managed to round up some assistance in the task, and the quill moved across the page for a better part of an hour, taking him both below and above decks, until he was more or less left with the lone female orc standing below the raised deck.

"Excuse me, could you provide me with your clan and name? Perhaps an occupation as well?" He awaited her response with an arched eyebrow and hovering quill nib.

Epiphany

 

[Vudukudu]

Once the young mage was sent off, Elomir found himself with another visitor. Apparently, he hadn't been clear enough with his guards. He was to see no one he didn't specifically invite, which meant that someone had recommended she come. One of his veterans, perhaps? He wondered how many of them had survived the day. Of course, he had to maintain the image that his retreat had not been a planned decision. That's why his ship was undersupplied, why a great number of people who would be in the company of a Prince were dead in the Capitol, and why he'd told his last surviving battalion only that "The Alliance would live another day" before they were separated to fill out other parts of the defense. Even Cadragon and Redding were uninformed of his subterfuge - Elomir had read the scouting reports, seen the way the siege would go. Only his personal legionaries, those who'd pieced together his cryptic messages of the last several days, were aware of his betrayal. Hopefully most of them had made it to the Divine Wrath. He would need loyal men, loyal to the Alliance and their Prince. Their king, he supposed. The word sounded hollow in his head.

The name 'Greg Maloh' drew his interest, rather than his ire. "On this day, the inconvenience you've caused me is but one of many. One is to introduce themselves before they bow, Harriette." He chides. Her father had mentioned his daughter before, and Elomir hoarded information. "But you may smile, child, and stop your mourning. I do not let things of great use to me perish, and your father is of extraordinary use to me. He is in the bottom deck in a private infirmary." Elomir says, reaching into one of his pockets. He produces a brass key, then offers it out to her. "You may see him, though I must insist you return the key. Further, you should know that he's likely delirious. His right arm was crushed by a Behemoth in the Markets, and several ribs are likely cracked. The magi and physicians have told me he is unlikely to survive amputating the arm in his present condition, but I suspect they underestimate the characteristic bastard toughness of the Maloh line. I have no doubts he will survive. After all, if Lutheri blades cannot kill him, how could a physician's knife?"

He left out the part about personally ordering her father to lay down his life. He'd instructed Sergeant Maloh to cross the Market to set it aflame, something they'd both understood to be a suicide mission. Still, the man unflinchingly obeyed the order, and when he returned without his shield and his arm a mangled mess of flesh before collapsing unconscious at the Prince's feet, Elomir was prepared to move heaven and earth to preserve him. Loyalty and dedication do not go unrewarded.

fickleglory

 

[fickleglory]

Harriettes' head hung feeling embarrassed of her lack of etiquette. However, she promptly raised it and gave the prince his respect. She was confused for a moment as he began speaking. They took a moment to sink in. Her eyes stared at the key, and then shift between him and his hand. He's alive! Harriette made a mixed cry of joy and laughter. Then her hands cupped her mouth. The paleness of her face returned from color then shifted to pink.
"Yes, your highness, thank you! Oh, thank you!" When Harriette received the key she smiled, "You have my gratitude, thank you!" The woman could barely contain herself. She bowed again, "I will return it straightaway, when I've finished seeing my father."

When she was excused Harriette turned around with a graceful step, but her pace quickened to the stairs. The woman looked over her shoulders to the group behind her, when their line of sight was lost to her Harriette dashed to the bottom deck.

After she reached below she stopped in her place. Did she even know where the private infirmary was? Harriette looked over her shoulder to where she had left. She can't go back now, that'd be embarrassing. Her eyes glossed over the doors. Guess she was going to figure it out.

 

[Epiphany]

Vrutha had stood silently next to the guards warding access to the Prince. In the hours she'd stood by them, she'd made no move past them whatsoever. Eventually, they'd grown used to her presence, even begun to ignore her. Those who came to meet with the Prince typically averted their eyes from the tall female orc, for her people's reputation was fierce and the human tolerance for those who weren't like them had never been great. And so, in a strange sort of way, Vrutha found herself with a bit of unexpected privacy in the midst of the ocean on a ship packed to the gills with too many people.

The snatches of conversation she overheard were largely unhelpful. Few sounded like opportunities to prove her worth. When the young, tall human scholar swept by her to take a catalogue of those who remained on board, she'd ignored him at first. But by the time he came around to her, the orc had grown tired of waiting. Instead, she leaned against one railing, her great polearm balancing against her shoulder, and her crossed arms went with the unforgiving look on her face. By the time Ralin came to her, his presence finally registered as that incessant figure moving from person to person. Leading her to conclude that his business with her was the very last business he had to conduct. But of course. Why would an orc expect anything different from a human?

She toyed with not answering him, using his ignorance of her identity as leverage. The human male had orders to collect the names of all aboard and he needed her help for that. But then, reason overcame her ire. He was young and her name was little enough. She had little to gain in an exercise of power with him.

And so she simply bent her head in acknowledgement and said, "I am Vrutha, of the Skullsplitter Tribe. You ask my occupation?" She clasped the great Skullsplitter itself and rapped its haft sharply against the deck of the ship while giving voice to a loud "Haroo!" Setting her polearm back against her shoulder, Vrutha gave him what was meant to be a reassuring smile. As reassuring as tusks could make it anyway.

"I am my tribe's champion." And chief. And shaman. And sole survivor. "What is your name and profession?"

ShakinMcBacon