Weep Not Poor Children - Part I

Crown's Bulwark - 


 * ''Where once stood a simple wooden gate amidst an equally simple palisade crafted from wooden stakes thrust into the ground now stands something entirely different. That wooden palisade has been replaced with a stone wall ten feet high that runs flawlessly around the contours of the bluff that the freehold of Crown's Refuge stands upon. Featuring a handful of carefully placed watchtowers and an outer ring of parapets, that simple aegis has been upgraded into a formidable bulwark indeed.


 * ''The only passageway through this palisade wall is that which is known as Crown's Bulwark; a set of two vast wooden gates, reinforced with iron, that acts as the barrier that lets the people of Crown's Refuge enter and leave in times of peace, and keeps the horrors of the Wildlands out in times of conflict.


 * ''The worn trail that lead up the southern side of the bluff and towards Crown's Refuge becomes cobbled road at these gates; a guard station set on either side of the space between both gates allowing a sentry of four female guards clad in half-plate of deep scarlet to keep watch on what leaves and what wants to come back in.

"A holy weapon with which to do the Light's work." Griedan answers the guard in a clear, earnest voice, his power flexed at the man's direction. "There's far more afoot to be concerned about."

"I understand that, Master," the guard says, giving Griedan a small smile. "But, the law is the law. There are other weapons you can bring along." He is talking to Griedan, holding his hand out for the warmace the man carries.

A butch huntress stands on a crate, directing the hunters gathered here to join the search, and Taran and Mysra are near her, talking to one another.

"More presssentsss for Mysssra?" the Syladris asks of Taran, perking up, "Mysssra very much likesss the finger cssymbalsss you gave to her!" Mysra smiles brightly, "Myssssra ssshould cook for you more often. A nicsse meal isss a good way to sssay 'thank you', yesss?"

Taran nods, but turns as Griedan turns the glow on. And then looks down at the dragon. "...Your fashion sense is getting stranger," is all he says about it.

...Yes, it's almost a certain bounce in Tahvron's step as he makes his way south towards the Crown's Bulwark. Yes, it is raining outside (which seems to be a personal pet peeve of his, a particular subject of friction between him and Mother Nature), yes, he is wet. And yet somehow cheerful despite that. He stops when he reaches the group, offering each in turn a nod of greeting.

Gried draws the weapon from its sling across his back and hefts its considerably light weight as if contemplating something. "Then you will have to do two things." Griedan tells the guard. "Firstly, you will have to explain to this woman why then there is one less man to go search the wildlands for her child. And secondly, that will need to be returned to Viscount Varal Valoria, as it is loaned from him for when I have need to venture out to the wildlands." He states, setting the argentite warmace's head down on the ground and extending the handle towards the guardsman.

The guardsman grunts over to one of his fellows as he takes the warmace away, and the other guard tosses a flanged mace to Griedan. "You can bring this. We'll see the mace delivered to Lord Varal."

Elsewhere, little teams of hunters are gathering for the search, being organized by a huntress looking ready to go out and kill something.

Mysra looks between Taran and Griedan. "Mysssra likesss it," she remarks of that argentite dragon the latter man is sporting, "It isss very pretty."

Taran shakes his head. "I am a little ....tired of religion just now, is all," he says to Mysra, and then reaches over to give Griedan a slight familial whack on the back of the head. "Don't be an ass," he says, amused. "You have weapons other than borrowed maces to bring to bear, use those if you have to."

The bulky huntress is the first thing to catch Tahvron's eye--and an appreciative eye it is, at that--but then it moves more to Griedan. "Oho?" He calls out. "What's this, now? Not trouble so soon, I should hope?" He grins his recognition at Griedan.

Griedan's helmet protects him from the brunt of Taran's assault and he regards the man levelly, a grin splitting his features. "Aye but 's no' th' same. This thin' feels like a toy." he says, reverting to his usual accent. Mysra recieves an appreciative smile (and look) in response. "Glad yeh like it, meh friend."

Tahvron, he gets an awkward bow. "N' trouble realleh, save fer... ne'ermin'." he tells the nobleman.

"Ssshhh...." Rasps a forked tongue from behind an uplifted talon. A pair of smoldering eyes rise to regard the heavens with empathetic concern as one more Syladris moves with her serpentine stealth to join the gathered party. "Sssave your tearsss." The rain patters lightly down, dampening her face with apparent sorrow as it spreads likewise over the earth and all who dwell upon it.

Lowering her hand to join the other in fidgeting with her vest, Tshepsi reluctantly turns her attention to the business about the gate. It's in silence that she approaches.

"You are welcome," Mysra replies to the towering glowy-man brightly, before tilting her head at Taran, "Tired of religion? Why?"

Taran sighs. "As if it is any less capable of crushing a man's skull in your hands, Griedan, really. Buck up and let's be off." He makes a face at Mysra. "Religious people wanted to set fire to someone last night. Oddly enough his name happened to be Taran. I am *quite* tapped out on the religious front today." But he still has a smile for Tshepsi. "Hello, Lady."

Tahvron waves away Griedan's bow and smiles. "We'll be outside the walls soon enough. Bows are only troublesome and overly-formal anyway. 'Save for'?" He glances at the huntress once more--though, this time, more appraisingly for *practical* matters. "Nothing that needs my assistance--what of it that there is--no?"

The guards did not feel like letting me carry the warmace Lord Varal lent to me for just such a purpose outside of the gates." Griedan tells Tahvron with a look of mild irritation on his features.

As Tshepsi speaks up and approaches, Griedan definitely takes notice, his light-brown eyes watching every swish of tail she makes to propel herself in their direction. "May Sh' greet yeh warmleh, Tshepsssssi." he greets her with a deep inclination of his head.

"May Ssshe watch usss all 'warmly'," Tshepsi echoes softly back her own greeting. Her head bows the rack of horns just slightly forward to all, tail slithering over its own length to bunch in tightly beneath. The gentleness in her voice grows taut with severity as her chin lifts a notch - and another - to regard the guards with skeptical slits for eyes.

"Hisss maccce...it hasss itsss purpossse, asss he sssaysss. Why did you take it from him if it isss not yoursss to take?" Scales glide smoothly over one another as her height builds into a stiffened rearing. "He isss not going to ussse it on you."

"It has been replaced, Lady Tshepsi," the guard says. "It is law, he cannot carry that mace at his station. It will be delivered to Lord Varal as we wait for confirmation that he did lend it to him."

Tahvron steps back a pace, black eyes fixing curiously on Tshepsi and her conversation with the guard, though he doesn't interfere just yet.

Griedan sighs and reagards Tshepsi as he stands just slightly behind her and to the side, watching the confrontation between she and the guard.

"Fassstheldian lawsss..." Tshepsi hisses, disdain rippling through her posture as muscles shift and writhe to bear her around and offer the guard her back. "Tricksssome, sssuch a bargain..." She can be heard to grumble further but disputes it no more. The Syladris matches her height accordingly to stand somewhere in the middle of their differences - benign once more.

"Mysssra," She addresses next with a mustered smile, "Wisssh you really to join usss? It may not be ssso fun. Sssome placesss it isss not sssafe to dance." Reaching out to take the hand of the fellow Syladris, the Archmage passes a curious glance over the others and Tahvron is given a double-glance of failed recognition. "I hope the bad light doesss not return while we are gone."

"Mysssra hasss a weapon," the goldscale replies as Tshepsi takes her hand, using the other one to gesture to the flanged mace at her hip, "Mysssra hasss been outssside before. Ssshe promisssed to help find the missssing children."

Griedan heft the one-handed mundane weapon in his hand, similar to Mysra's and stands by. I'll come with yeh still, o'course. Will b' glad t' 'elp."

Taran half-bows to Tshepsi. "I will be going too, Lady. I will try to help keep them safe. Shall we go, then? It's been a while."

The huntress raises an eyebrow at the group. "So you five, huh? Have the Archmage with you, then." She sits down on her crate. "I'll be having you look up north, by the Dragonspine. We need someone that way, now."

Tahvron offers a polite nod to Tshepsi as her glance passes over him, accompanied by a slightly-knit brow. "Bad Light, Lady? What 'bad Light' is that?"

"Th' Church o' True Light." Griedan answers Tahvron. "Th' 'uns what came in 'ere an' slew th' a num'er o' th' Archmage's people, Syladris an' Wildlan'er alike." He approache the huntress and bows his head at her. "Will d' our utmos' t' fin' yer son, Miss." he promises.

"Many eyesss are better than few," Tshepsi conceeds, releasing Mysra's hand from her grip. "Even if the eyesss unssseen aren't telling..." Looking intently at Taran for a moment, she lurches forward towards the gate. Her tail's tip lingers briefly behind to pat Griedan's booted toe with reassurance.

"The bad light that burnsss what it ssshould not. Poorly it ssshines when it triesss ssso hard." Tilting her head back to gaze at the sky in adoration. "But not all Light isss ssso bad." The fondness is aimed fleetingly towards the draconic icon that glows from Griedan's chest. "Ssshe knowsss." The huntress is given consideration last, but none the less thoughtful.

"I am to underssstand that offssspring are ssspecial to thossse who bear them. Sssomething ssso ssspecial isss never forgotten - not even by the Sssyladrisss - and that which isss not forgotten isss never truly lossst." Palid lips twitch in their corners, masking the fangs from view as she smiles slyly and resumes her motion out.

Drakesreach Sierra - 


 * ''The Drakesreach Sierra: A rugged range of rocky hills that feature an irregular and jagged profile, distinguished by the ashen rise of the snow-tipped Dragonspine Mountains to the far north, and the transformation of rolling plains into more somber auburn grasslands and bleaker lapidarian terrain that stretches between the foot of the mountain range to the north, the lush Verdigris Forest to the south, the crystal waters of the Jadesnake to the west, and the dry lowlands to the east.


 * ''Aubern becomes granite as smoothly as night becomes day upon the higher flats of the Drakesreach Sierra; the harsh grasses and the thorny brush give way to firmer rocky soil, and the shade of ashen sweeps over the ground below, the stones that crunch underfoot offering a bleak yet welcoming change from the uphill trek.

A while later, and to the north, fog drifts over the base of the Drakespines. Shadows seem to move strangely sometimes out here, and the cracks on the shattered mountainside gape open. Mysra has been silently following along with the group, hands clasped in front of her and amber eyes looking every which way.

Griedan frown at the appearance of the fog, and especially the strange shadows flitting about within its cover. "Tha's no' nat'ral." he comments more to himself than the rest of the group.

Taran slants a look at Griedan. "For the Wildlands it is not too off from the normal. Remind me to show you Magefall sometime." Out here, far from the bustle of the city, the bard seems...rather more alert and aware than usual. Possibly moreso than anyone has a right to be. The dark and the fog seem not to be much of a concern at all...but the broken mountain does catch his interest.

Tahvron ahs quietly at the explanation of the 'Bad Light', nodding and falling into an easy stride along with the rest of the group. He squints at the fog as it comes into view, shading his eyes from... the moonlight? as if it will help him to see better. "Perhaps," he agrees with Griedan. "Or something nearby is not."

Silence emanates from Tshepsi as well, save for the occasional crunch of insect legs that disappear between her lips. A stash of similar forage not yet dined on creates odd bulges beneath her vest. The garment was good for something, in her eyes. While the others remark on the mountain, she looks on distrustfully to its broken shape. What was sleeping had indeed awakened and made a rather large mess of things when roused from its slumber.

After some quiet moments of contemplation, she weaves delicately between shards of stone, laying lowly to caress the soil with her fingertips. As they pass over a leaf rather out of place for this terrain she pauses and starts to dig a little hole with her hand.

Griedan watches Tshepsi as she moves forward, peering at the hole she starts to dig in the ground. "wha' 'tis is Tshepsi?" he asks. A smirk is awarded Taran as well. "Think what that I'll pass on that offer, aye."

Taran studies the mountainside, then Tshepsi. "I see a way in, Tshepsi," he says quietly. "Shall we go, or what is it that you do now?"

Tahvron watches Tshepsi digging in the dirt a moment, that black gaze keen with interest before it slides away once more to the mountain. "Perhaps it would not be amiss to find out if the fog *is* unnatural before charging, mm?" he suggests. "Despite a knowledge-level of *nil* of what goes on out here, if the stories are indicative of anything at all, even things as mundane as a little fog can be dangerous--no?"

Mysra - quiet, reserved, almost like she's not there.

The Archmage moves not, frozen as she lays on the ground. Some of the edibles retrieved from her vest still wriggle as they now hover over that hole, engulfed by a hand. Embraced by and blending with the fog, she might disappear were it not for those eyes. The creature's human traits prickle one by one along the length of her arms until the icy void creeps beneath her flesh. Voiceless words shape her mouth, expelled by a frost as delightful as the fog. Noiseless voices seep from the darker veins that feed this earth, kissing her ears and washing over her eyes.

Keeping motionless for the time being, the Syladris whispers into the ground beneath her hands.

In breathless silence, Griedan watches, waiting to see what exactly this odd behavior from Tshepsi will manifest.

Taran laughs silently - the gesture more noticable from the slight shaking of his leather cloak than anything else - and he leans on his staff to watch with curious interest. Receiving no answer--but also discovering that whatever else they may do, it won't be immediately to charge into clouds of funny-looking fog--Tahvron falls silent, and his attention focuses once more on Tshepsi.

Mysra watches the Archmage as well, tilting her head in curiosity.

Leg by wing, the broken bugs are deposited reverently inside the hole and the tattooed tip of the milky tail creeps of its own accord to sweep the mound of dirt back over the contents. "Ssshhh..." Breathes Tshepsi from her vantage point, fingers trembling as they work to mend what earth she'd disturbed. "Sssleeping it isss no more." A mixture of glee and worry, eagerness and fear distorts her face many times over as she stifles a sound into her palm. Her task of burying the offering gets abandoned with a powerful surge from her tail that sends her in a half circle around the spot.

"Dancing mountain, sssaid I. Our likenesss from eggsss sssaid you." Tshepsi's right index finger lunges accusingly through the air in Griedan's direction, eyes afire with unbridled excitement. "Ssshhh..." Warns the quivering Syladris a second time and she twists to gaze steadfastly at the mountain's girth.

"Offssspring are ssspecial."

Griedan isn't sure what to say to the finger pointing in his direction and thus remains silent for now. His gaze follows the Archmage's however, up towards the mountain as if looking up there for something... anything.

Taran reaches out to put a hand on Griedan's shoulder. "Wait," he says softly. Then, just loud enough for the Archmage to hear, "When you are ready."

The Driscol's gaze flicks between Tshepsi and the mountain every so often, but not particularly expectantly. He doesn't know what to expect--from his vantage point, it looks very much like Tshepsi is giving her bugs a very dignified funeral fit generally only for higher nobility... but whatever. One does not argue with the Archmage.

"Did you sssee it, too?" Tshepsi whispers back, inching closer and with growing height to grip at Taran's shoulders. "Where there isss birth, there isss hunger. /You/ know. Careful now we all mussst be." Those final words are spoken with more sobered expression, riled energy contained for the time being. "When darknesss isss born, it doesss not sssleep in the night."

There, in the relaxing depths of her eyes a fire yet burns and her ribs heave the yearning of a cry wished to be set free. No, Tashep. "Sssilent you mussst remain."

Griedan looks back and forth between Tshepsi and Taran, confusion marring his tanned features. "I dunna un'erstan' wha' yeh mean." Griedan whispers to the pair of mages.

Taran studies Tshepsi thoughtfully. "I remember," he says. "Lady, remember the Song. Don't let it go. Griedan, be ready; we go into darkness." He turns on his heel, then, keeping the staff firmly in hand, and heads for the broken mountain...and one of the fissures within it.

An interesting turn of events. Aware only that *something* is out of place, Tahvron doesn't actually equip that rapier hanging by his side... but one hand does stray closer to it, twitching the hem of his cloak out of the way should he need to get to it.

"Why doesss Tssshepsi like egg makersss?" She riddles to those puzzled, releasing her grip on Taran as he moves on. Something devious flashes therein on the grin that's to come. "Becaussse it isss alwaysss a sssurprissse what isss inssside!" Wringing her hands together, she butts up alongside Mysra and nudges at the mountain's shadow with a horn. "Like finding the berriesss in a pie! Only that isss not really a sssurprissse becaussse you can sssmell it, but..." Letting the poor attempt at a comparison die with dignity she stops there, winds after the others, and plucks a beetle from its nest of doom between breasts.


 * Pop*Munch* goes the beetle. Sweet, sweet sigh goes the Tshepsi.

Gripping his own weapon, Griedan nods his head at Taran. "Darkness 'olds n' fear fer me." he assures his brother-in-law, pointedly ignoring Tshepsi's snack and where it's plucked from despite his proximity.

Return to Season 8 (2008)

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