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Post by DM Hawk on Jul 18, 2019 0:41:50 GMT -5
Chathin Zurn, Khazark of the Thayan Enclave at Proskur, rode through the city atop a unicorn. Adamantine mail and plates armored the steed in metal as dark as the magical creature’s coat. An ivory horn, chased in silver, rose from the unicorn’s forehead and beneath the horn gleamed eyes of scarlet that matched the robes of the rider. Runes of midnight and crimson adorned the Khazark’s shorn head in the place of silky hair. Beside her rode her second, the illusionist Torisk Haut, upon a spirited black stallion. The Red Council rode behind them upon their steeds and around the riders marched a circle of Thayan Knights as the procession made its way through Proskur. The people of Proskur cheered the sight of the Khazark and her retinue as they rode to do battle against forces they could not comprehend. Forces manifest in an inevitable tide of mysterious wild magic, surging their way. The tide would sweep over Proskur overnight unless the Red Wizards of the Enclave could halt the advance. The cheers fell behind the Khazark’s company as they rode through the gate into the rocky forest country south of the Bridge of Fallen men. Less than a league from the city Chathin came upon the line. A cadre of lesser Red Wizards stood in formation, surrounded by a protective circle of knights and swordsmen. Nearby a company of gnoll conscripts from the east kept a herd of Proskur livestock under control. The Red Wizard guided her steed around the circle and the Red Council followed. Each of the senior wizards inspected the formation. If lines had been drawn between the lesser Red Wizards their stance would have formed a powerful rune of abjuration. Perhaps they could be spared… The Khazark looked over the animals, noting their youth and health. She indicated a few weaker specimens which the gnolls removed from the herd. Several gnolls fought over the scrawny goats and cattle. Chathin Zurn paid them no mind. A knight would see to their discipline. Turning back to the circle, the Khazark pointed out a few flaws and the Red Council directed the lesser Red Wizards to adjust their stance until the formation was flawless. “Begin.” The Khazark’s command was quiet but all eyes were upon her and everyone heard. The Red Wizards in the circle began their chants in peculiar, haunting harmonization. A proud young bull in the herd vocalized a deep rumble before pitching over onto the rocky soil, the beast’s eyes rolling up into its broad skull. The life force flowed into the circle, granting the younger wizards supernatural vigor as they began their work. The Khazark turned her eyes towards the forest, gazing into the invisible palpable aura of wild magic as it creeped closer and closer…
The sunburned, peeling skin of Ambrose’s scalp ached as it lathered in sweat. The rotund War Wizard felt the warm, damp robes cling to his body has he worked his seventeenth abjuration in as many hours. Fortified as they were with spells for stamina, focus, and protection the work was taking its toll upon the wizards and clerics. Sparing a glance to the left he saw one of the younger War Wizards step back from the line, depleted. He was quickly replaced by an eager young Arcanist from Valkur’s roar but she hadn’t the training of her predecessor. How long would she withstand the strain? Behind the line, the City of Valkur’s Roar watched and waited. The Baron and his Council watched from afar, the commoners, business owners, farmers, sailors…everyone who was not standing beside him on the line. He had arrived in the city scarcely the day before after surveying the expanse of the Wild Magic as it bled from the west with the help of the Greatgaunt Volunteers and the helpful mage Shander of the unlucky Red Ravens. After engulfing Isinhold…no, Greatgaunt…the tide of wild magic now threatened to overtake Vakur’s Roar and Proskur. It also creeped steadily north towards Skull Crag and beyond that waited the High Horn. Ambrose and his small detachment of War Wizards from the Suzail Tower arrived in Valkur’s Roar seeking the High Mage and calling for assistance. Several arcanists in the city volunteered but these were untrained for the task ahead and Ambrose worried that they would not withstand the strain for long. He was encouraged however by the arrival of several priests and mages sent by the Church of Mystra and the old merchant mage Vesper of Shallybrook. Still, those he had gathered would not be enough and with the danger posed by the damned orcish Warlord and his growing horde the Suzail Tower had no more resources to spare. The War Wizard turned next to the clergy of the city but he was met with disappointment. The temple of Hoar was more interested in punishing those who caused the wild magic. In contrast the new temple of Loviatar was more interested in teaching the people of the city to embrace the suffering brought on by the Wild Magic. The shrine of Chauntea was unattended and Valkur’s Priest had been kidnapped or murdered by Umberlant fanatics last year and not replaced…and the High Priestess of the city was away to judge some beauty pageant abroad…it was maddening. He remembered his words to the Baron. We can shield Valkur’s Roar for only so long before the inevitable tide of wild magic sweeps over the city and beyond. You must do something, my Lord Baron. Now! Short of breath and consumed by his task, Ambrose could only pray to Azuth that Crownsilver would listen.
The young arcanist from Valkur’s Roar fell to her knees, spent in less than an hour. Two Mystran clerics ran to her side, the first to stand in her place and the second to pull her back into the care of the remaining clergy.
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Post by DM Hawk on Jul 26, 2019 16:07:39 GMT -5
Loristin winced as Nela tightened the sling binding his broken arm to his side. His left arm had broken along with his shield beneath the blows of a Zorastryl mace during the assault. The Valkur’s Roar guardsman had tried limping about the battlefield after the contest was decided with his arm dangling at his side. The wound sent lances of pain up into Loristin’s torso and he had gotten little accomplished other than passing out and nearly falling into a well.
The Greatgaunt healer hadn’t participated in the conflict but she now looked as worn and haggard as he did. She had cared for wounded Valkur’s Roar and Zorastryl men since the fighting ended. A crown-shaven priest of Kelemvor arrived from Skull Crag to assist the healer between offering the burial rites required by the Lord of the Dead. The wild magic was strong here, even more so than the distortion that threatened to sweep over Valkur’s Roar in spite of the victory. Thus the healer and the Doomguide were required to offer their ministrations without the benefit of the divine Power granted them by the gods.
In the days following the siege the wounded that could walk or be safely transported to Valkur’s Roar to be tended in temples just outside of the…what had the War Wizard called it? The Wild Magic Zone…. where divine blessings could still be given. Still, it was these two who were serving in the midst of the carnage surrounded by broken magic saving what lives they could with knife, needle, and tourniquet until the most grievously wounded were hale enough to be transported east. When that failed these were the two that held the hands of the dying and comforted their passing.
Loristin rose to his feet and tested the sling. That was a mistake. More pain shot through him. Nela watched him closely but they both knew there was nothing more she could do for him and there were more wounded soldiers in need of her attention. Loristin thanked her and made a show of being fine. The healer wasn’t fooled but she nodded thankfully and moved to check on a Zorastryl man who lay trembling nearby, his hands feebly covering a jagged wound across the belly. It was only Nela’s stitch work that held the man’s gut inside.
Limping towards his unit, Loristin tried to distract himself by counting coffins. There were nearly four hundred dead from the fighting, half in Zorastryl colors and the remainder in the rusty hues of Valkur’s Roar. The Valkur’s Roar boys would be brought home for burial. The foreign-born Sembian or Thayan Zorastryl mercenaries would find their final rest in the Zorastryl graveyard.
Reportedly, there were two hundred wounded, Nela had said. They would all make their way to Valkur’s Roar when well enough to leave the battlefield on foot or by wagon. Loristin’s pride refused him the wagon. Besides, now he had the prize to deliver. The spoils of war…thirty broken-spirited foreign soldiers who had the wits to surrender before they were overwhelmed once the alliance gained the momentum. Prisoners of war needed guarding and this duty had fallen to the walking wounded.
With a grunt, Loristin planted a boot in the plump rump of one of the bloated maggots that had wormed their way up through the ground. They were slowly crawling all about the battlefield. It had become a chore to keep them away from the fallen, even though they slimed about no faster than blind snails. Say what you will, this land is still accursed.
“Sergeant.”
“Corporal Holance. Prisoners ready?”
“Aye, ready as can be. Not a scratch on them but we wouldn’t know it by the moans and groans.”
“Get them on their feet. They’ll overnight in ‘Gaunt. Then we’ll march their sorry arses to the Roar for the Tribunal.”
The Zorastryl prisoners were hoisted up onto their feet. For good measure Loristin prodded one captive in the back with the butt of a broken halberd.
“Get moving.”
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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 8, 2019 23:17:14 GMT -5
Tension is rising in the city of Valkur's Roar. The cadre of War Wizards, Mystran clergy, and a handful of talented volunteers strive to maintain a barrier against the flow of wild magic. The shield still stands but those on the line have been maintaining a grueling task, testing their endurance each hour the shield is upheld. Wholly dedicated to their task they cannot afford a moment's distraction as distant shouts of protest rise in the city behind them.
The Doombringers of the Barren of Retirbution stand at the head of a gathering of Valkur's Roar citizens in protest. The mob shouts and chants before the Great Hall, causing disturbance in the city. The cries rise up.
"The Baron Must Answer!"
"Valkur's Roar is not ruled by a tribunal!"
"Two hundred Valkur's Roar men lost for Zorastryl!"
"Sons! Husbands! Fathers! Brothers!"
"Balance the scales!"
"Make them pay!"
Onlookers gather to watch the protest. A squad of Valur's Roar guardsmen line up before the Great Hall to block the mob's approach. The soldiers grit their teeth, their sense of duty being tested as the cries of the mob fuel their own anger and resentment for brothers-in-arms that were killed during the Zorastryl Siege. The priests of Hoar declare that the Barren of Retribution will not heal any wounded Zorastryl prisoners.
A bald priest of Hoar steps forward, presenting a list of names. A pair of heavy halberds cross in the priest's path.
The Doombringer pauses and eyes the guards before boldly projecting the list of names, "The Zorastryl killers must answer for the deaths the honored fallen of our city! A life for a life, starting with the traitor of the Tipsy Imp!"
"The head of Elith for justice!" The priest roars, "Elith of the Tipsy Imp!"
The Doombringers and the mob take up the chant, calling for justice.
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Post by uriziel on Aug 9, 2019 11:06:53 GMT -5
Vincent sees the crowd, and walks wordlessly into them, clad in armor now rather than his old clothes. He joins in the chants, calling for justice with people who, weeks ago, were his neighbors. Some were his friends. He bellows out with the crowd in his deep baritone “Down with Traitors! Down with murderers! I have to watch them walk around, every day, doing whatever they please! Laughing at our loss, travelling freely while my brother and friends are buried in the ground!” He joins the crowd at every opportunity, bringing with him fresh water and food. With his tall stature, he is always easily seen, often watching the guards with a sad look, knowing they’re victims in all this as well.
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Post by uriziel on Aug 9, 2019 23:15:13 GMT -5
A new day, same crowd, same grievance. This time, Butcher showed up, and the crowd was angry. After Butcher walks away, Vincent does as well, disgusted.
Vincent returns shortly after, with food for everyone in the crowd. In a motion to keep tensions down, he takes his sabre and dagger off of his hip, and approaches the guards with a small care package with water, bread and a bit of meat for each of them.
"Remember, we're all in this together. Shag the people who keep hurting us. We gotta take care of each other, cause ain't no one else doing it. Anyone ever needs help, you leave word with Talbot for me. I ain't some mega rich sod living in a mansion, but I'll do whatever I can to help you." He rubs the back of his head, still the awkward man he has always been. "My brother loved this city. It took us in after Arabel... I'll do anything I can to keep any of you fed and sheltered."
When he's finished handing out food, he walks off without further words.
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Post by DM Hawk on Dec 4, 2019 16:02:23 GMT -5
Following the Planarnaut Parade, things have quieted around Zorastryl Keep. The Planarnauts haven't been seen since they paraded before the people of Suzail and Valkru's Roar.
The parade seems to have taken the edge off the unrest in Valkur's Roar for the moment and the people of Suzail have been willing to give in to the celebration and revelry of the festivities. Planarnaut dolls and other trinkets have passed through the hands of spectators but are now finding their way to shelves and boxes as the Cormyrian people return to their daily lives...while glancing nervously to the west.
In the taverns there are rumors about an incident during the parade as it reached Valkur's Roar. Tavern goers speak about a woman confronting a neglectful Planarnaut father. Some mention a mugging or stabbing of a Planarnaut by the crowd of onlookers. Others talk of a lovers' quarrel that broke out in the parade. One account describes a Planarnaut backhanding a pregnant woman and leaving her on the cobblestones in tears as he returned to the pageantry and cheer of the celebration. An amusing rumor speaks of a long haired woman revealing a parading Planarnaut suit to be occupied by two gnomes, one standing on the shoulders of the other to make the appearance of a tall, swaggering hero.
The Western Reach Task Force traffic to and from the keep has diminished and there seems to be fewer of them about. However there is hushed talk between idle guards in Greatgaunt and Valkur's Roar that something is stirring. The Task Force is planning something.
In the meanwhile, a ragged and exhausted line of War Wizards, Mystrans, and mages from Valkur's Roar stand just outside the city on trembling legs, maintaining a wild magic shield, buckling against the weight of the inevitable tide.
The edge has been taken off of the unrest in Valkur's roar. While no longer threatening violence, unease is rife. Merchant vessels are diverting to other ports, such as Suzail, Marsember, and Moonever. Some shop keepers have closed their doors, seeking to relocate east towards a more stable market.
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