Post by Richter on Jun 13, 2014 21:56:58 GMT -6
"...So that's what we're dealin' with, here. Right bloody mess, only kind I ever be gettin'." Cadan remarked as he sat in his throne room, with Mary seated not far away from him.
As far as throne rooms go this one was pretty sparse. It was more of a meeting room that just so happened to have a throne in it. Silver rather than gold, it was fairly impressive all the same - even if uncomfortable. This room was placed on the highest level of Kasorymor's fort in the capital city, the seat of his rule and nominal HQ. In truth, he didn't usually stay there much, but in instances like this it was handy for diplomacy and top level briefings. In this case, he had just got done briefing the Sea Queen on matters of this secret society, and the princess.
"I see." She replied simply. The woman sat with arms folded over her chest, normally comely features marred by a frown that tugged at her lips and the corners of her eyes to instead make a visage of solemn contemplation. Cadan, however, was as unreadable as ever, for his mask did not leave his face once. Eventually she broke the silence that hung between them. "So, what do you plan to do?"
"Well I ain't goin' myself, that's for sure, and I'm not sendin' anyone from the clan. Those lot will be expectin' me or one of me lads to show up in that frozen hellhole an' start diggin' around. An' I'll bet money they'll be expectin' it, if things past have been any clue in to their information." Kasorymor replied, voice still rather bitter at everything.
"That leaves few options, does it not?" The queen asked, wondering what his idea was.
"Not overly. I'm gonna grab me one of those lot from Draanmor and have them go poke around. No one will see that one comin'. Probably the first one of their kind'll have ever been that far north since they got the boot centuries ago. Ought to do them some good to see something beyond their cursed little port of call."
"So you send them to yet another cursed port of call, and one to which they are not even adapted?" Mary retorted, raising an eyebrow.
"See? Not even you expected it!" He says, with a heart laugh that momentarily breaks the flow of conversation. "'Sides, those lot are survivors, they'll do just fine. Good men, for the most part, really like their coin but they're honest enough. Don't like liars and thieves much in those parts, either can get a man or 'is family killed when you're livin' in a land like that. We can trust 'em." The margrave assured Mary.
She didn't seem convinced, and thought it over for a few minutes. "You sound like you have someone in mind already."
"I got an idea. Lad named Mayze Gralon. Met 'im a couple years back when I went down to those parts to hunt. Stories always tellin' that awful monsters live in the wasteland and mountains, didn't find one. Hired him to guide my lads on the trip. Folks tell me the boss of Torrzal keeps 'em handy for special jobs. This sounds like a special job to me." He said, smiling behind his mask. "As one of the only clans to not spit on 'em for being rogues, don't think they'd turn me down."
"Ah, so your slumming is finally coming in handy? The first good news all day." Mary quipped, smirking, as she could feel the old man scowling even if it wasn't visible.
"Didn't have to bring you into this at all, you know."
"Yes, but I dare say you need my support."
"Don't let it go to your head. Best be watching your figure, now."
"I can manage." She said with a quiet chuckle.
"Bah. He'll be here shortly. I'm sure you can show yourself out." Cadan said and stood up, heading for the window to peer down at the cramped courtyard of the fort. Space was precious in his city, and even his yard was pretty cramped as a result. A quick scan didn't reveal the figure he was waiting though to be amongst the few bodies below moving down the roads.
"Indeed. I shall return later." Mary said and headed for the door, the sailor gave a wave of goodbye without turning around.
A short time later...
A man dressed in a slouch hat, combat boots, and a knee length coat of coarse tan walked into Cadan's throne room with hands in pockets. He looked a lot like a bandit himself from the way he dressed, but back home, this was the usual attire of the wasteland farmers. The hat protected them from the sun, the boots kept their footing secure and socks free of sand, and the coat kept the skin safe from dust and debris thrown by the wind - though his was much more valuable than typical outerwear Boars sported. From beneath the hat's brim his eyes moved around the room, stopping on the taller gentleman standing at the foot of his throne. They exchanged nods of acknowledgement, before the new arrival walked over and offered a hand.
"Marshal Mayze Gralon, of Clan Torrzal, at your service." He said, a slight accent in the way he spoke.
Cadan took the hand and gave it a shake. "I remember. Margrave Cadan Kasorymor...I'll skip the titles this once an' just assume you remember 'em all from last time."
"All 11 of them?"
"Every last one. If'n you can't recall 'em by heart I ain't doin' it right." Cadan said, and they both shared a laugh before pulling their hands back. The pair helped themselves to a seat.
Mayze laced his fingers atop the table. "You mentioned something of a mission? Much danger?"
The sailor nodded. A folder sat unopened on the armrest of his throne until now, where it was taken and tossed over to the southerner. He caught it deftly and flipped it open to peruse. It had some details omitted, for the purposes of safety, but the basis of what he needed to know was there. He was to go to Fafian, find anything left in the ruined city related to its destruction and anything prior to it, etc. Basic stuff.
The marshal put down the folder and nodded once he was done reviewing it. "I don't like the idea of the cold, but the price is right. And money or not, the Viceroy 'strongly recommended' I consider your offer, if you get my drift. You don't say no to a woman like that." Gralon flatly noted, explaining he had less choice in this matter than he really should.
That didn't matter much to Cadan, since if anything it further supported his plan reaching fruition, but he did know how he felt. "Tell me about it. You cross 'em one time, an' they'll be on you for a month if you're lucky. Least you can avoid the one back home, I'm stuck with the lass Lamont stuck me with."
"My condolences."
"Eh, she has 'er moments. Ship's waitin' at the dock. Gold's waitin' on the ship. Best get walkin' if you want your advance." Kasorymor said, his eyes examining that coat that the frontiersman was wearing closely.
"Where'd you get that thing? Looks like you skinned and lashed together a hundred toad skins." The sea lord finally inquired.
"Close. Mountain troll. Skin as rough as gravel, taller than a man, can eat one whole too. Ah, but they hate the light. Was not easy to best, I can assure you." Mayze recalled, a half-smile on his face while he told the tale.
"Looks right nasty."
"They're monsters, sir, they are not pretty. But rest assured, those are scales, not warts."
"Bah."
"I would dare say you're jealous, Lord Kasorymor."
"You'd best be kidding, that thing wouldn't look out of place on a stray dog...alright, well, I admit it's gotta sorta rustic char-...okay, fine, ya got me. I'm none too happy the gits escaped me when I went huntin'. Lotta walkin' and climbin' and you wind up with the pelt to show for it." Cadan complained, but in good nature. As a man who hunted dangerous game himself, he could respect the accomplishment even if he missed it himself. Supposing of course, it was a true story. Tall tales were something their kind did well.
"I do not think it'd suit you anyway. I have no image to maintain, save that of a soldier. If that will be all?" Gralon asked, pushing himself to his feet. Cadan raised a hand, stopping him.
"You've been in the Barriers before, so you know cold, yeah?"
He nodded.
"Yeah, no, you don't. Fafian's cold even in summer, an' it snows every month but, and unlike the mountains, you got no warm mountain caves or valleys to duck into, and little cover from a wind cold enough to cut to your bones faster than an axe. You'd best bring food and dress warm. Now you can ship off, keep your head on straight out there. It's a strange place, and some say it's cursed."
"Sounds more like home by the moment. Good day." Mayze quipped and headed for the door.
Sometime Later...
Before day's end Mayze had taken the ship Cadan charted for this journey and was on his way north before the moon was even high in the sky. That said, the trip would be long even with Clan Kasorymor's advanced ships. They would have to travel far, out of safe seas and around the dead parts of Alternia to reach Fafian's harbors. The waters around that clan's coastlines were treacherous, iced over in winter and full of floating ice in the other seasons that could bring ruin to a careless crew. But if there was ever a careless crew, it was not one from the clan of seafarers, who could navigate any storm and pass any danger.
But the trip was solemn, the air so thick with anxiety it could be cut with a knife. Sailors were a superstitious lot, and the stories of the Fafian region were grisly. Everyone had heard a story or two, if not more, about strange things happening in the frozen plains or in the ruined cities. Looters sometimes eked out a living picking at the bones of dead villages and cities, most report a feeling of unease the whole time, and some don't return at all. Perhaps that was why Cadan really sought out Mayze. Draanmor was also said to be cursed, and you could fill a book with its legends alone. He didn't flinch at all as they pulled into a cold harbor town and docked.
When they finally arrived, the marshal pulled his coat tight around his body and buttoned it up to fight the pervasive chill. As he moved to the gangplank a crewmember put a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, we'll be waitin'. But try to be quick about whatever you need to do. Place gives me the creeps." The sailor said, looking around cautiously, as if expecting something to happen.
To his credit, Mayze seemed more composed. "My thanks. I'll be as fast as I can."
With that, the sailor let him go and gave a brief salute as the bandit stepped down the ramp and onto into the port, whatever its name may be.
As far as throne rooms go this one was pretty sparse. It was more of a meeting room that just so happened to have a throne in it. Silver rather than gold, it was fairly impressive all the same - even if uncomfortable. This room was placed on the highest level of Kasorymor's fort in the capital city, the seat of his rule and nominal HQ. In truth, he didn't usually stay there much, but in instances like this it was handy for diplomacy and top level briefings. In this case, he had just got done briefing the Sea Queen on matters of this secret society, and the princess.
"I see." She replied simply. The woman sat with arms folded over her chest, normally comely features marred by a frown that tugged at her lips and the corners of her eyes to instead make a visage of solemn contemplation. Cadan, however, was as unreadable as ever, for his mask did not leave his face once. Eventually she broke the silence that hung between them. "So, what do you plan to do?"
"Well I ain't goin' myself, that's for sure, and I'm not sendin' anyone from the clan. Those lot will be expectin' me or one of me lads to show up in that frozen hellhole an' start diggin' around. An' I'll bet money they'll be expectin' it, if things past have been any clue in to their information." Kasorymor replied, voice still rather bitter at everything.
"That leaves few options, does it not?" The queen asked, wondering what his idea was.
"Not overly. I'm gonna grab me one of those lot from Draanmor and have them go poke around. No one will see that one comin'. Probably the first one of their kind'll have ever been that far north since they got the boot centuries ago. Ought to do them some good to see something beyond their cursed little port of call."
"So you send them to yet another cursed port of call, and one to which they are not even adapted?" Mary retorted, raising an eyebrow.
"See? Not even you expected it!" He says, with a heart laugh that momentarily breaks the flow of conversation. "'Sides, those lot are survivors, they'll do just fine. Good men, for the most part, really like their coin but they're honest enough. Don't like liars and thieves much in those parts, either can get a man or 'is family killed when you're livin' in a land like that. We can trust 'em." The margrave assured Mary.
She didn't seem convinced, and thought it over for a few minutes. "You sound like you have someone in mind already."
"I got an idea. Lad named Mayze Gralon. Met 'im a couple years back when I went down to those parts to hunt. Stories always tellin' that awful monsters live in the wasteland and mountains, didn't find one. Hired him to guide my lads on the trip. Folks tell me the boss of Torrzal keeps 'em handy for special jobs. This sounds like a special job to me." He said, smiling behind his mask. "As one of the only clans to not spit on 'em for being rogues, don't think they'd turn me down."
"Ah, so your slumming is finally coming in handy? The first good news all day." Mary quipped, smirking, as she could feel the old man scowling even if it wasn't visible.
"Didn't have to bring you into this at all, you know."
"Yes, but I dare say you need my support."
"Don't let it go to your head. Best be watching your figure, now."
"I can manage." She said with a quiet chuckle.
"Bah. He'll be here shortly. I'm sure you can show yourself out." Cadan said and stood up, heading for the window to peer down at the cramped courtyard of the fort. Space was precious in his city, and even his yard was pretty cramped as a result. A quick scan didn't reveal the figure he was waiting though to be amongst the few bodies below moving down the roads.
"Indeed. I shall return later." Mary said and headed for the door, the sailor gave a wave of goodbye without turning around.
A short time later...
A man dressed in a slouch hat, combat boots, and a knee length coat of coarse tan walked into Cadan's throne room with hands in pockets. He looked a lot like a bandit himself from the way he dressed, but back home, this was the usual attire of the wasteland farmers. The hat protected them from the sun, the boots kept their footing secure and socks free of sand, and the coat kept the skin safe from dust and debris thrown by the wind - though his was much more valuable than typical outerwear Boars sported. From beneath the hat's brim his eyes moved around the room, stopping on the taller gentleman standing at the foot of his throne. They exchanged nods of acknowledgement, before the new arrival walked over and offered a hand.
"Marshal Mayze Gralon, of Clan Torrzal, at your service." He said, a slight accent in the way he spoke.
Cadan took the hand and gave it a shake. "I remember. Margrave Cadan Kasorymor...I'll skip the titles this once an' just assume you remember 'em all from last time."
"All 11 of them?"
"Every last one. If'n you can't recall 'em by heart I ain't doin' it right." Cadan said, and they both shared a laugh before pulling their hands back. The pair helped themselves to a seat.
Mayze laced his fingers atop the table. "You mentioned something of a mission? Much danger?"
The sailor nodded. A folder sat unopened on the armrest of his throne until now, where it was taken and tossed over to the southerner. He caught it deftly and flipped it open to peruse. It had some details omitted, for the purposes of safety, but the basis of what he needed to know was there. He was to go to Fafian, find anything left in the ruined city related to its destruction and anything prior to it, etc. Basic stuff.
The marshal put down the folder and nodded once he was done reviewing it. "I don't like the idea of the cold, but the price is right. And money or not, the Viceroy 'strongly recommended' I consider your offer, if you get my drift. You don't say no to a woman like that." Gralon flatly noted, explaining he had less choice in this matter than he really should.
That didn't matter much to Cadan, since if anything it further supported his plan reaching fruition, but he did know how he felt. "Tell me about it. You cross 'em one time, an' they'll be on you for a month if you're lucky. Least you can avoid the one back home, I'm stuck with the lass Lamont stuck me with."
"My condolences."
"Eh, she has 'er moments. Ship's waitin' at the dock. Gold's waitin' on the ship. Best get walkin' if you want your advance." Kasorymor said, his eyes examining that coat that the frontiersman was wearing closely.
"Where'd you get that thing? Looks like you skinned and lashed together a hundred toad skins." The sea lord finally inquired.
"Close. Mountain troll. Skin as rough as gravel, taller than a man, can eat one whole too. Ah, but they hate the light. Was not easy to best, I can assure you." Mayze recalled, a half-smile on his face while he told the tale.
"Looks right nasty."
"They're monsters, sir, they are not pretty. But rest assured, those are scales, not warts."
"Bah."
"I would dare say you're jealous, Lord Kasorymor."
"You'd best be kidding, that thing wouldn't look out of place on a stray dog...alright, well, I admit it's gotta sorta rustic char-...okay, fine, ya got me. I'm none too happy the gits escaped me when I went huntin'. Lotta walkin' and climbin' and you wind up with the pelt to show for it." Cadan complained, but in good nature. As a man who hunted dangerous game himself, he could respect the accomplishment even if he missed it himself. Supposing of course, it was a true story. Tall tales were something their kind did well.
"I do not think it'd suit you anyway. I have no image to maintain, save that of a soldier. If that will be all?" Gralon asked, pushing himself to his feet. Cadan raised a hand, stopping him.
"You've been in the Barriers before, so you know cold, yeah?"
He nodded.
"Yeah, no, you don't. Fafian's cold even in summer, an' it snows every month but, and unlike the mountains, you got no warm mountain caves or valleys to duck into, and little cover from a wind cold enough to cut to your bones faster than an axe. You'd best bring food and dress warm. Now you can ship off, keep your head on straight out there. It's a strange place, and some say it's cursed."
"Sounds more like home by the moment. Good day." Mayze quipped and headed for the door.
Sometime Later...
Before day's end Mayze had taken the ship Cadan charted for this journey and was on his way north before the moon was even high in the sky. That said, the trip would be long even with Clan Kasorymor's advanced ships. They would have to travel far, out of safe seas and around the dead parts of Alternia to reach Fafian's harbors. The waters around that clan's coastlines were treacherous, iced over in winter and full of floating ice in the other seasons that could bring ruin to a careless crew. But if there was ever a careless crew, it was not one from the clan of seafarers, who could navigate any storm and pass any danger.
But the trip was solemn, the air so thick with anxiety it could be cut with a knife. Sailors were a superstitious lot, and the stories of the Fafian region were grisly. Everyone had heard a story or two, if not more, about strange things happening in the frozen plains or in the ruined cities. Looters sometimes eked out a living picking at the bones of dead villages and cities, most report a feeling of unease the whole time, and some don't return at all. Perhaps that was why Cadan really sought out Mayze. Draanmor was also said to be cursed, and you could fill a book with its legends alone. He didn't flinch at all as they pulled into a cold harbor town and docked.
When they finally arrived, the marshal pulled his coat tight around his body and buttoned it up to fight the pervasive chill. As he moved to the gangplank a crewmember put a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, we'll be waitin'. But try to be quick about whatever you need to do. Place gives me the creeps." The sailor said, looking around cautiously, as if expecting something to happen.
To his credit, Mayze seemed more composed. "My thanks. I'll be as fast as I can."
With that, the sailor let him go and gave a brief salute as the bandit stepped down the ramp and onto into the port, whatever its name may be.