Within the Pass of Ruin (Open Roleplay Thread)

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster Darkharp spends his days among the Orcs of the pass, a small campsite of cold stone is where he sleeps and studies books stowed in his packs. He plays songs and sings in the tongue of orcs for the younglings, fully aware of his status as a mistrusted outsider. When he can he speaks with adult Orc warriors, laborers, elders and cavewives, knowing that the more you see a thing the more normal it becomes. He occasionally makes the walk to Cloudstone where he is officing out of a room at the Unicorns Door, and keeping supplies for writing. News from the lands beyond this cold stone desolation can be more easily learned there, and there are humans and others to mingle with. Alizarin messengers become a common sight at the entrance to both Cloudstone and the Pass of Ruin as the Bard, Alyster Darkharp begins to slowly establish himself as part of this location.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

In the harsh place known as the Stonelands, life was not comfortable for Alyster Darkharp. Discomfort and hardship that the Lordmaster
of Alizarin hadn't known in years was the new normal since he arrived in the Pass of Ruin eight days ago. It -was- doing him good
though. Despite his uncomfortable sleeping and working arrangements, he felt better than he had in years. Age seemed to not lie so heavily
upon him. He was eating a much leaner diet of hard tack and less choice rations because he refused to take food from the mouths of Lord
Urbucheks people. They didn't like him much, and that was normal. He was an outsider in their settlement, but by staying there and making
himself visible to them on a daily basis, what is an outsider can become accepted. He thought of his friends in the tamer lands away south
and deep down, longed to be there among them. He knew what he was doing here was important though and he had simply come too far to walk
away without accomplishment. He had set out with the hope of being accepted by Lord Urbuchek as an advisor, but eight days after the
harrowing journey to get there, nothing had occured. A test? Perhaps.

He hadn't so much as seen the Lord of the Pass of Ruin in all those days, and he sheltered on the cliffs alone. He had fashioned a
temporary desk from the salvaged timbers of broken shields from Darkhold Zhents, it was a motley affair but he could sit at it, and
write on it. So that was what he did. Planning, formulating ideas on paper for the time when he could present them. Working for the Orc
Lord even in what was seemingly exiled to the shabby rows of huts that most of his people lived in. He supposed that Urbuchek had larger
matters than the impatience or comfort level of one volunteer advisor, even if that person had fought with and for him on the journey
North.

On the sixth day, some of the younglings from the tribes had gathered around his desk, like a mob it seemed to him. Some of them did
look angry, others curious, others still seemed afraid of him. They had pelted him with questions about everything from wether the
soldiers of Cormyr would come and fight them, to if their Lord was planning to invade to the South. Eventually he had quelled their
questions, for he spoke their tongue fluently. He had played songs for them, tried teaching them a few words in the common tongue,
and most of all, he had joined in to their laughter when they found the alien words of that tongue to be funny. These were children,
not monsters. The next day more had come, and he had continued to play and sing for them. He had them repeating phrases in common,
and then in orc. This was how it started, he had to gain the trust of the children, of their guardians the elders and cavewives.
This was a slow climb to the foot of the proverbial throne of Urbuchek.

In the cold wind he had begun to first use his scarf to keep his face warm, but had eventually arrived at a cathartic moment and dug
within his satchel to withdraw his old black mask. He had worn it for over a decade and none had seen his face save for close friends
and occasional lovers. That mask had -been- his face to all of Cormyr and he had found power behind it for the first time many years
ago. He needed some kind of power again and perhaps the old mask still held some magic. Not arcane magic but the magic of mystery and
of gimmick. The magic of a bard.

He put that mask back on now. He would again wear it and be less Alyster Lang of Shallybrook, and more Alyster Darkharp. The faceless
and small minstrel who had captivated crowds and become the most famous bard in Cormyr. To remove that mask it seemed had caused him
to fade into obscurity, strangely. He was back now though. The black cloth mask felt like an old friend come home as he pulled it around
his face and covered his mouth and nose. His dark glittering eyes peered out at the Pass of Ruin and saw it in a new light.

The Orc children predominantly wished to be warriors and some were fierce and powerful even at their young ages. He did what he thought
he must to fit in with them. He fought them. He was no warrior but his life had not always been carefree and bereft of violence. He played
at battle with the young warriors and taught them simple strategy. He mixed this with short lessons in word correlations to the
common tongue.

The Elders and Cavewives watched. Alyster watched them. He watched it all. Although fluent in orcish, this long term exposure was teaching
him even more. Slang, dialect, expressions, words he hadn't known. Language was one of the keys to culture and it was a battle of culture
he had come here to fight, at least on one hand.

He was back. A strange place to find himself. The Pass of Ruin was where the rebirth of Alyster Darkharp occured and brought him forth
from a death he never knew he had died.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster watched his young orc students, all sitting in various poses on the rocky ground in front of the ramshackle desk of old shield planks. He was proud of how far they had come in a short time, all being able to speak the Alizarin Creed in common, as well as strings of other commonly needed phrases.

"Never stop Learning", they all spoke in unison upon his prompting. Their young voices rough, but still easily understood even through the thick accents they carried and might always carry with them. He wasn't sure they meant what they said yet, but some of them might take it to heart and go on to become something that their people badly needed; scholars. In all his days he had never truly met an orc scholar. He had met educated and well spoken orcs who had been raised in or lived long in human society, but none were scholars. Yet. They were all dressed in rags now, and he wondered if he might instill some pride in them by providing them with uniforms of a kind. He had tested those who were interested in his teaching for arcane talent, and of the 16, 3 of them had the knack. More would come, he knew, and more would have the ability among those with a thirst for knowledge. Some of them might be blood mages, others true wizards, and maybe with luck, one who could weave the arcane energies in song and truly become his apprentice. He hadn't had an apprentice in some years, not one that was truly his own and not a student of the greater Academy. He thought it would be nice to have an apprentice again. Turgamika hadn't visited him or spoken with him since he arrived here, and he longed for the company of another bard in these cold lands. He had thought it would be different when he came here, but he had known it also might be just like this. He had in truth hoped that he might take her under his dark wing and teach her more of music and bardic lore than she could have learned among the tribes. At least he thought. It might be that she was more learned than he was. It was difficult not to assume that she was less so, because she was an Orc. He found himself once again striving to shrug off the notion that he knew anything about these orcs, these people. Perhaps it might be wiser to apprentice himself to her. He could learn far more in that way, if he would just toss his foolish pride away and submit to the truth that he was here to both learn and teach. He would write her a letter and leave it with a guard to pass on to her.

"Go back to your play children, and come back and see me here when the sun sits low in the west, at that time I will continue as I have in the days before now to tell you the stories of Cormyr and it's history. You should continue to learn about your new home and how it came to be. You should consider in your free time how you, yourselves, might fit into this Kingdom peacefully.". The younglings, all 16 of them ran away into the rocky maze of the pass, either to play or to visit their mothers in the huts above.

Alyster reflected upon the days behind, the days ahead, what had been and what yet may be. He knew that Lord Urbuchek had heard word of his efforts to teach the younglings in the pass, he knew that it probably pleased him that someone was doing something besides fighting or stoking tribal divisions in the horde. Still, Alyster wondered when the Orc Lord would visit him, or summon him. He knew that there had been one who had challenged Urbuchek for leadership of the horde, but that challenge had not yet been answered to his knowledge. He assumed that once that matter was wrapped up for good or ill, news would come to him. For the time being he felt safe enough here. The orcs grudgingly allowed him free reign to wander through the settlement as he desired. Before anything changed he needed to have the textbooks being made at Alizarin brought to him here so that he could begin a proper school, in whatever limited capacity he could in these conditions.

He relaxed in the absence of his pupils now though, alone with his thoughts among the hard, cold stones. His magical pipe cradled in his hand as he smoked what little tabac he still had, a reminder of the civilization that he wanted to bring here.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster quickly put to paper what was fresh in his mind after reading the scrolls he had seen. The information was important so years of training to sharpen his loremasters mind paid dividends now. His precise writing filled the parchment as he put down exactly what he had read. Lord Urbuchek needed to know this information as quickly as possible. The small room at the Unicorn's Door held his writing materials which he had deemed to important to be left to the open air of the pass of ruin, so he did his important correspondence from here for now. When he was finished, he rolled the scrolls and traveled back out into the Stonelands, invisible and heavily warded, making his way back to the pass of ruin to pass on the information. Perhaps this would be a decisive moment in his relationship with his new Lord. He could only hope.

[styxxbone1]

*Two dwarves are seen stepping over the border of the Orcish occupation. No weapons drawn, they simply observed the scene. One dwarf was seen reading the sign with the posted proclamation to the other. Which seemed to send the "other" into a shuddering, foaming at the mouth rage only a Gut Buster can experience.

They soon left headed for Cloudstone.*


styxx

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Oct 26, 2020 14:04:33 GMT -5 styxxbone1 said:

*Two dwarves are seen stepping over the border of the Orcish occupation. No weapons drawn, they simply observed the scene. One dwarf was seen reading the sign with the orc "barons" proclamation to the other. Which seemed to send the "other" into a shuddering, foaming at the mouth rage only a Gut Buster can experience.

They soon left headed for Cloudstone.*


styxx

//Did you see the updated, or old signs? For quite some time now they should have been altered, to reflect the most recent developments (such as the lack of mention of anyone being a Baron)

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

The days were getting easier, his fortitude was increasing. His play at 'warriors' with the young orcs when he wasn't teaching them math, reading, and speaking common and Dethek runes, had rekindled old strength and sharpened his personal ability with knives and shortswords. The classes were going better as well. These young orcs were starting to grasp that they needed to be the cultural change. They were adapting very well, and Darkharp had sent to Alizarin and had his servants bring the two younglings from the tribe East of Greatgaunt that he had taken in a month back. Installing them as teachers aides had worked extremely well. Glesh and Shazra had been placed on an accelerated track to become models for the other students. Using their education as a baseline he liked what he saw and in another month with them helping, he would increase his primed students to 18. From those he would choose the three brightest and then have five apprentice level students that could pass on what they had learned to others.

Education needed to be exponential. This was a culture without true scholars in the sense that Orcs did not form Lorehouses or Academies, at least they had not -yet-.

Alyster smiled behind his black mask as he tutored one of his new students on simple melodies on the harp. Khan had the ability to become a musician, and he seemed to enjoy learning the skill. Alyster felt less a stranger to these people, these orcs, each day. Each night he slept with and woke up in the presence of the tribes, he became more at ease with the Orc peoples, and with their culture. Things were proceeding apace and he had much to discuss with Lord Urbuchek. In addition to the education of the younglings, Alyster had begun to collect and compile reports on information and news that he believed a Lord should be kept abreast of. Urbuchek had learned much in his time in Cormyr, away from his people, but was paying the price now in the form of a challenge from an influential young Orc warrior. He had temporarily traded some influence over his own people for what he had learned from the Cormyte Nobles he had visited. When would he completely form his court? Alyster supposed that would be something he must get to eventually, at least past the entourage who stayed with him, could they be made into retainers for Urbuchek? Only time would tell, but he found himself pondering what this early settlement would look like a year from now, or ten years from now? Would it exist at all? He planned to see that it did. What he had begun here already would change the future, even this very minor education he was giving these few younglings could play to their advantage, were he to leave tomorrow and never return. He would stay though and see this play out. He had founded a school once, and he would do so again. All that he needed was for Lord Urbuchek to dictate exactly what kind of students that school would produce. He was ready to start a new chapter in his career, in this unlikely place; the Stonelands.

Many years ago he had learned the tongue of the Orcs when he was apprenticed to Bastion. His exposure to limited doses of Orc society in Skullport with Bastion had given him an edge here. The tongue had always come easy to him and he had always felt somewhat more at ease with Orcs and half-orcs than many because of it. Facing what human society considered evil in the Orc culture was not as difficult for him, and among Orcish culture, these orcs following Lord Urbuchek were polite company compared with some tribes. He went through the motions of instructing the apprentice, Khan, almost mechanically. His skill at musical instruction had been sharpened by years of personally teaching novices at Alizarin. If the world was a forge, it had tempered him for this role. He was going to try and make a difference in the lives of the next generation of Orc citizens.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster huddled under his blankets in a tent that seemed to do little against the frigid winds which howled through the Pass of Ruin, his ink bottle resting on a few hot coals to keep the liquid from turning to black ice in a bottle. His quill dipped now and then to keep the script strong as he laid it down on the parchment spread out before him at the ramshackle writing table he had fashioned within his canvas dwelling. His personal accounts of the days within the pass were growing into larger and larger bundles of parchment, and he supposed it was near time that he returned to Alizarin to have them bound and made easier to manage.

In a margin he jotted down ideas now and then for a song. This was how it happened sometimes, writing the day to day happenings and the history greased the mental wheels of creativity. The scratching of his quill the only music to write to, but it was enough. The flickering light of a few candles cast the inside of his tent in a light that mentally carried him to the fires of the orc warriors, where he envisioned that someday they might sing these words in their harsh tongue.

Verse 1

A tale is told, a song is sung
All hail, the Lord of Ruin has come
He rules over a poisoned land
And in this place he takes a stand
Where ashen snow falls from the skies
Where mourning mothers wail and cry
The Lord of Ruin must rise above
And try to do what must be done

Chorus

He chased the falling stars abroad
He quenched them in three streams of blood
He forged a keening blade to wield
He knelt before a King of Men

Verse 2

Never can he walk away
Never can he sheath his blade
So long as he holds his oaths true
A tree may grow from stones anew
His heralds beauty is unveiled
Her heart is pure beneath cold mail
The hearts of foes hers to command
This daughter of the hinterlands

Chorus

He chased the falling stars abroad
He quenched them in three streams of blood
He forged a keening blade to wield
He knelt before a King of Men

Outro

His warriors know not if this path
Will lead them into ruin and to wrath
They follow strength into the night
The falling stars their guiding light


The night sounds of the settlement were all around him, harsh voices in the tongue of the orcs, grinding stones, crackling fires. He loved this land, somehow. This poisoned land as Urbuchek had described it, was a place that he was, if not comfortable, at least content. Things were simple here on a basic level. Politics were a concern that are only distant at this time, everpresent but far away in the freezing night. Here the dangers were evident, venomous scorpions, Zhentarim raiders, simple exposure to the elements; these were things that were easy to recognize as the danger.

He almost lamented that his actions in support of this new Lord would someday, if all went well, bring politics to this place like an invading force to chain and whip the orcs.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster passed through the grey cold lands between Cloudstone Valley and The Pass of Ruin, past the site of the new well thaat Urbuchek had gained through the help of the Druids. He reflected that things were changing, slowly, for the better, at least for now. Acceptance came more each day in the pass, his strategy of being everpresent in the settlement was paying off, at least he thought so. Young orcs played near his tent, sat transfixed by his songs, and a few of them even sang with him now, in the broken common they were developing. Some of them spoke the tongue fairly well, but all had learned -something- and that was encouraging. The cavewives and the elders didn't snarl or frown at him nearly as much, and some of them would have extended conversations with him that bordered on friendly.

This area was not overly dangerous as far as the Stonelands went, but the scorpions found here were sometimes large and deadly, so he most often moved about invisibly. There was also the chance of attracting the attention of bulletes near here, so he walked slowly and quietly to minimize his risk. The caution needed in these lands was becoming part of day to day life, and he was a known name in Cloudstone Valley now because of his performances there, and his daily business. Things were moving apace, but he was being pulled in a few directions. Taking on a human apprentice was probably not the wisest thing at this point but no sense throwing an opportunity away. Young Custodio was well liked, enthusiastic, and he had learned through observation that the young man was talented. He wasn't the type of material that Alyster normally worked with, but variety is the spice of life. Experiences at this point in his life were sustenance. Living in the world of Orcs, teaching this young human, dealing with various intrigues, getting to know those in Cloudstone Valley..all of this things offered incredible variety for his own enrichment. He was learning, he was teaching, he was making progress despite adverse conditions. Living in a tent was not comfortable, but it had become tolerable and there was a comfortable night in the Unicorn's Door now and then.

His thoughts dwelt on Pollyanna, the beautiful hin adventurer that he had come to know well and considered courting. That now seemed a distant possibility, and one probably better pushed off to some other time in his life when he was more settled. The Pass of Ruin didn't seem to be an attractive place for ladies to visit him in. The distance to Valkur's Roar was immense for one of his means. She had not come here seeking him and that said a great deal. As much as he liked her, his heart simply was not in it now. It had seemed a good idea when working with her towards the rescue of Mynian, but now it seemed an idea better fleshed out later. Large Wheels were turning in the Forest Kingdom and distractions of the heart could make one careless.

He turned his thoughts to other more immediate things as he wound through the fallen boulders near the mouth of Dead Man's Pass, careful to be very quiet and cautious. The Orc called 'Face' had followed him out to the pass on his invitation, and had been seen camping in and near the pass lately. He felt that was a good move on his part to involve Face here and now. He had long had a friendly relationship with the Half-Blood, and besides that he was large and strong, and more intelligent than generally percieved. He could become a good friend and could also be useful in times to come. Such a persona might be welcome at his side and gain him further acceptance in the Pas of Ruin. He never thought of it as using people, though others might have termed it as such. He had a formula that he depended on. It didn't work with just him, his work at education needed a strong right and left hand to assist. It had worked with Himself, Ailren, and Mynian; it had worked with Card, Mirrir and himself. It had worked with himself, Ailren and Sharteel. Now he needed a new set of hands to assist and make his dreams a reality. Could Face be one of those? He wasn't sure yet. He just knew he needed some assistance, preferably in the form of Orcs or Half-Orcs. That could make assistance complete.

He needed to get back to his tent now and write letters. The life of a meddler was never as idle as it seemed.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster watched the parchment burn, the wax seal of Alamor melting in the firepit just outside his modest tent turned library. He burned all of his letters lately, it was a good habit to keep, sharpen the mind by taking the words to memory, keeping discretion by leaving no paper trail to follow. These were simple protocols that all meddlers should hold to. Memory being the sword and discretion the shield of the shadows that lurked around the edges of events. The weapons and armor of meddlers.

Seemed like events were moving him along again, and he needed to get to the reach soon and speak with those who had entered into a brief but fruitful partnership with him in the quest to liberate Minister Copperhand. Was the explosion connected? Do I even have time to juggle this ball? Yes., he decided. He decided that he would leave soon and take a few days in the Reach as he watched the last bit of parchment curl up, blacken and burn. If nothing else he would see beautiful Pollyanna, he hoped.

The bard moved over to the cracked, but still servicable mirror he kept in the dressing area of his tent, along with his small trunk of clothing and personal effects. Staring back at him only slightly distorted, was the countenance of a halfling that was trimmed down significantly from two months ago, he had lost at least 15 pounds and felt good. His hair was graying at the temples and streaked moderately with the same gray, he didn't look as much old as he did distinguished. He drew the black cloth mask over his nose and mouth, leaving only his dark eyes visible beneath his wide brimmed hat. He cut a handsome figure in the reflecting glass, at least he thought his mother would have said so. All clothed in gray and black, just like his hair. He brushed some clinging ashes from the fire pit off of his well tailored coat, straightening it before walking away from the mirror and packing a few needed items into his satchel. He strapped on his magical belt, it's baldric holding a sheathed silver dagger of exceptional craftsmanship. A gift from the Baron in Valkur's Roar. Opposite it was the bone scepter that signified his rank as the Lord Master of Alizarin, and near that a small quiver of darts which were coated with the dangerous venom of the scorpions so common in this land, also tucked into the dart quiver was a long feather quill of snow white plumage, an older affectation which reminded him of his one time mentor, Ardaan the Sly. The quill worked in the more mundane fashion for writing letters, but it was also useful in psychography, or sometimes known as automatic writing. When the owners blood was shed with it's sharp tip, it could be asked to produce notes upon legendary persons or items. It was useful for a Sage. His coat was fashioned of a Greater Robe of Oghma and offered a similar casting each day, among other things. Ironically he thought, he wore a coat now, in the camp of Urbuchek, that he had been given as a gift after helping to evacuate and protect the Temple in Arabel during Silver Rush, during a battle fought against many of the orcs in this same horde now. His clothes were old, broken in, and suited him perfectly. He owned several outfits that were custom fit for specific purposes, stealth, combat, sagecraft, bardic performance. He slid several magical rings onto his left hand, wearing them over the black glove, tucked a green periapt into the collar of the coat, tucked his magical pipe into his cloak pocket, his thumb passing over the inlaid metal lightning bolts on it's side.

He was ready to head out into the night and away south into more civilized lands. More civilized intrigues.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

In the evenings within the settlement at the Pass of Ruin, a fire burns outside of the tent of Alyster Darkharp. He can be seen speaking around the fire with any orc elders who accept his invitation to sit and talk. He seems to be writing down the words of the elders within a large tome. These talks sometimes do not last long, but occasionally span on deep into the night. Sometimes the sound of his quill scratching the parchment is the last sound to be heard after all other sounds have died down and all is quiet.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Deep into the night within the pass of ruin a nightfire burns near the tents (yes tents, the amount of books has grown larger and larger)of Alyster Darkharp. Serious discussion with Elder orcs seems to be an almost daily event when the Bard is in residence, which is most of the time. What began as an occasional conversation where Alyster took notes has grown into more of an event. Each night two to five elders visit the Bard around his fire and spend hours talking while he listens and takes notes, often asing them to repeat things or asking questions about this or that. Slowly a tome is filled with something that the elder orcs are telling him. Simple Dethek runes down the spine of the tome read 'The History of the Orc Tribes of the Stonelands'.

Other activities around the fire include the sharing of drink, tobacco, singing and laughter. Watching the scene one could almost forget the harsh and unforgiving race that the Orcs are.

[Deleted]

Alyster is a common visitor to the Pass of Ruin in the last two tendays, often staying for several days and setting up a full office. Orc Elders come and go from his tent and many younglings linger about, some of them reading, or at least trying to read books on Alyster's shelves. Sometimes accompanied by Sylus Stormcrown, and occasionally visited by Borghild Longsword. Alyster seems to be busy writing more than anything, only stopping for meals and fellowship with other residents of the pass.

Time in solitude allows for pipe smoking, cooking, and academic research and writing. The canvas of his tent fighting it's tethers in the howling winds of the stonelands was music to his ears.

[EDM Community Theatre]

This past month, correlating with other events elsewhere in Cormyr..

"I know Orrkenheimer is in these parts. Won't you let me pass to talk to Orrkenheimer?" the cowled figured, tall, spoken to the Pass of Ruin guardian. The vibe they gave was no good, no good at all.

"State your business to enter beyond just meeting with one mere orc of us. Your stink is not welcome right now," simply cited the orc guardian.

The cowled being tilted its covered head and eyes within the hood gleamed red, "You don't want conflict, you don't want the blood of your newborns on your hands, so you will assist me getting by.."

The orc guardian gazed ahead and simply repeated.."I dont want blood...I don't want conflict...yes...you pass now..."

As the stranger approached in the settlement to look around the orcs: their quarry could not be seen. The child orcs are ever curious, noticing quirks about the stranger.

An elder seems cautious and untrusting as the stranger specifically exclaims, "A rather talented orc is here I'd like to meet, Orrkenheimer. I bring a great reward to...have an audience."

The cowled entity broadly proclaims but the residents do seem collectively offput by the cowled beings presence. They leave in due course..

In current time..

Shaman would whisper of sightings of other cowled "beings" on the outskirts. The orc known as Orrkenheimer is kept more under secrecy. The lone hooded individual that can get past the Guardian makes a presence that skirts the Alizarin Academics as best it can but it must understand it'd be noticed in time. Though tracking them down seems a rare luxury.

Whomever they are leave the resident shaman with an intense visage.

[baogur]

How busy the summer had been...

The threat of the rakshasa remained as one of many concerns still on Vudash's mind. However, there was still work to do - so many duties to attend to. For today, he could at least focus on things to do in the settlement. A bit of hunting gave Vudash a little relief, and he manages to bag a few snakes and a bear to share with the tribe. He hands them off to the cooks then spies Darkharp among his books. Curious enough, he approaches and asks if he could assist with anything.

[Deleted]

Jul 11, 2022 18:51:21 GMT -5 baogur said:

How busy the summer had been...

The threat of the rakshasa remained as one of many concerns still on Vudash's mind. However, there was still work to do - so many duties to attend to. For today, he could at least focus on things to do in the settlement. A bit of hunting gave Vudash a little relief, and he manages to bag a few snakes and a bear to share with the tribe. He hands them off to the cooks then spies Darkharp among his books. Curious enough, he approaches and asks if he could assist with anything.

The bard smiles as Vudash approaches and bids the younglings to address Ambassador Vudash in the common tongue he has been teaching them.

Over the next couple of hours Darkharp goes over several textbooks with him to show the language, writing, and math he is teaching the younglings at the pass. Among a make-shift classroom composed of old bookshelves, a tent, and the ruins of an old tower, he goes over a plan with Vudash to continue his teachings in the common tongue for the more advanced of the linguistics students.

Darkharp himself works with those newer to his classroom, or struggling to grasp the language. The power of education rises exponentially with the help of Vudash, who all of those at the pass know and trust. Alyster steps aside and watches with approval as Vudash works with the younglings, and since he is the one teaching, even some of the young adult orcs join in the learning.

In the evening he continues to train with the younglings, fighting with them with hands, feet, and wooden weapons to build trust and friendship. Among settlements in the Stonelands, the Pass of Ruin was a place of peace, even when training for violence.

[EDM Community Theatre]

Several days has passed since Ontangos aftermath.

Orkkenheimer rests deep and at peace within the pass of ruin once more.

Upon his re-acquisition, a local elder would be seen tearing up briefly as Darkharp and Vudash were escorting this brilliant and talented Gondsman.

His work to make toys for children continue to progress and his dream of days of destructive weapons are long behind him, and despite the kidnapping this won't change for the male orc.

His dream of keeping a defensive community shall resonate in the years to come. Sometimes, he might even be witnessed at Alizarin Academy to study under the escort of Vudash or even Darkharp.

The kids seem to play with dolls and action-like figures of the heroes involved to purge Ontangos rakshasa tribe...perhaps others might get so 'lucky' to acquire such a doll..

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster arrives in the Pass of Ruin on the evening of 20th Kythorn. After speaking with the guardian at the entrance to the pass, he travels into the Orc Settlement. Within a few hours he has a large tent set up, a cookfire, and some comforts arranged. He appears to be establishing on a piece of ground for an extended stay among the Orcs at the Pass. He greets Younglings and Cavewives, along with the Elders and warriors. He carries with him many satchels of books, parchment, and other scholarly implements.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster grappled with the writing of this letter. It was a matter of great importance but somehow writing it and sending it off to Eveningstar where Sy or Borghild might receive it and fulfill his request felt frivolous. He dragged the quill across the parchment with a feeling of foolishness for his lack of observation. He was supposed to know more than others, supposed to be a great scribe who spent his days writing out the lore he made the focus of his life.

After writing he looked down at the note and read it back to himself

“Sylus or Borghild, if either of you travels near to the Pass or Ruin could you bring me several bottles of ink? I seem to have gotten here and neglected to bring more than the few watered down drops you are now interpreting.

Yours truly, Alyster Darkharp”

[davenutninja408]

Jul 21, 2023 14:11:53 GMT -5 Masterbard Alyster Darkharp said:

“Sylus or Borghild, if either of you travels near to the Pass or Ruin could you bring me several bottles of ink? I seem to have gotten here and neglected to bring more than the few watered down drops you are now interpreting.

Yours truly, Alyster Darkharp”

Collecting the note while relaxing in Eveningstar, Sylus makes his way to back through the Blueleaf gate and collects the requested materials from the capital. He heads back to Eveningstar and begins his trek up the snowy mountainside towards the Stonelands.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]

Alyster hunched over a large tome within his tent, his candlelight perhaps the last lingering flames after the dying down of the night fires of Lord Urbuchek’s people. He sometimes wrote late into the night so this was not abnormal.

Thoughts passed through his overactive mind as he wrote, thoughts of great and possibly terrible events for Cormyr which lurked just below the calm surface like some immense Kracken. Troubling posturing from Arabel, differences between the Steel Regent and the young Crown Prince who would if he was right, soon come into his own Kingship, some decisions had already been made by the young King, and they lie at the heart of the swirling events.

The existence of Lord Urbuchek incensed and infuriated the Lady Lord of Arabel and many other Arabellan and other nobles throughout Cormyr, most notable the Forest Lords. Alyster thought that if Urbuchek was allowed to do as he had asked and go after the Kings Forest Orcs himself, that might help placate those Forest Lords, but he couldn’t foresee an event that might lead to the acceptance of events by the Lady Lord Herself.

“Beware the Lady of the Caravan City” he spoke aloud, the words of bards which had filtered across the land in recent moons. The red cloaks, the protests at the battle of the bards events, the demeaning dolls and propaganda peddled at the events. These things upset Alyster, but he understood that this was the war of words, and fighting it at this point was preemptive. There would be blood, he was certain if that and his words or anyone else’s couldn’t stop that. Something larger had to happen to end this brewing skirmish. Alyster feared what that larger event might be, and he knew deep down that this would be no skirmish if swords were drawn.

For now he felt safe here, perhaps ironically, back with the Orcs of the Pass of Ruin. As safe as he felt anywhere these days. He knew that Sylus would arrive soon for company, and this was good since he was running out of the little ink he had managed to trade for with the Orcs.

[baogur]

Vudash returns to the Pass of Ruin one night, dragging along a beaten bear's corpse. Not much else could be brought home, aside from the hefty pack of goods bought from the human cities. Delivering supplies to the Pass was not easy without a caravan or hired help to bring things in bulk, but that was a small price to pay for what could be managed on his own.
He drags the bear over to the food troughs, where the butchers would come to prepare it later. From his bag, he adds in a sack of potatoes and a sack of carrots. Half for eating, half for seeding in the Pass' piddly beginnings of a crop field. Hopefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a tent still lit with candlelight and approaches with his bag of holding in his arms.

"Hey, Hinsage. Delivery."

Speaking curtly as usual, he unpacks the bag and neatly stacks the contents by the tent entrance. A hefty jar full of ink, a foot-long stack of parchment, fifteen leather book bindings, twenty quill pens, and five full sets of paintbrushes of all thirty-seven sizes. Once all was placed down, he headed off to report to Lord Urbuchek.

[Masterbard Alyster Darkharp]