Chronicles of the Blade IC

[Kuro Dmon]

"Chosen by history, a person becomes a warrior.
Engraved into history, a warrior becomes a hero."

OOC Link.
And Dice Link.

Spoiler: Lore Crawl

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In moments of peace, some Academics still debate details of the Sundering. Children still see it as a fairy tale, if not a doctrine to describe how Galatea came to be. Other academics, chief among them the Dwarven and Elvish scholars, hold more closely to the history of the old world, and to the idea of the Sundering. A time when Gods were thought to have abandoned the realm. When the power of magic had waned, even as monsters adapted. As if Galatea herself had been filled with a hatred for life.

All still hold faith in the idea of the Hero King, however. Be he the Last God, or merely a mythic hero; a man tore his way across the wasteland with strength unparalleled and skill unrivaled. After years of molding himself, he traveled the rest of the world, and sought out 5 Apprentices and their families, before returning to Galatea, and civilizing it. He became known through the world as the Hero King, and though his reign one day ended, both the skills and the legacy he left behind endured through the ages.

Decades later, as acculturation settled over Galatea, one of the Apprentices of the Hero King coveted the glory their master still held even in death, and sought to carve a legend of his own, by force. Consumed by dark emotion, the Fallen Knight threatened to undo the peace sculpted into place, even turning twisted blade on the Heir of the Hero. As the other Apprentices battled their former comrade, the aches of the War of Heroes hauntingly resembled the nightmares of the Sundering, with effects as reminiscent on the land.

As the Fallen Knight vanished into antiquity, the remaining Apprentices and the Heir spread to the edges of Galatea’s borders to protect and restore the land to the beauty their master had raised it to. In time, their efforts were largely successful, and some semblance of peace returned, though the region where their former comrade was claimed to have finally fallen remained desolate.

Worse, the prosperity once so hardly fought for seemed more and more fleeting over the ages. Galatea found herself struggling to maintain the peace that was paid in blood. From within, the calm was threatened by those who would forget the guidance of the heroes of old, and seek to war further amongst themselves for glory. Past her shores, invaders see a land that had never found a replacement for its greatest champions, with resources ripe for the taking. Still more unsettling are the rumors of influence from the far reaches of the east, where no mortal dare boast jurisdiction as of yet…

Galatea was destined, it seems, to be permanently bathed in blood…

Spoiler: Setting Notes

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The Algol Empire is the largest state within Galatea, and functionally remains its capital. One of the last direct links to the heroes of old, the Empire is a shell of its former self. Its current King mysteriously bedridden within its capital city Altair, much of its upper-class riddled with visions of grandeur, and ruled by a Prince with much different values than his ancestors; it nevertheless still bares a resemblance to the once glorious unifying point it was, right at the heart of Galatea.

Diphda is one of the states with lingering loyalty to the Empire. In recent times it might itself be fracturing as the condition of Galatea continues to deteriorate, and folks are stricken on how best to continue on; reclaim old ways, attempt to follow adjustments made for a new era, or abandon any sense of tradition to better survive?

The Ixion Republic is the most prominent of the forces outside of Galatea seeking to take advantage of its chaos. Having established a colony of their own in the islands to the Northwest, they move forces to and from the mainland via boat. Not just interested in resources, it’s rumored they’re fueling the raiding industry on outlying villages.

The Seiren Alliance is composed of several tribes and states that split from the waning Algol Empire. Once split and fighting amongst themselves, increasing strife not so easily contained caused most of these forces to unite under their own banner.

The Marauders of Shiver, a violent collective lead by a bloodthirsty Lizardfolk by the name of Gururu, were once a part of the Alliance, though whether or not they were worse before or after they were expelled from it remains to be seen. Their rumored headquarters so close to the Scarred Lands to the east only complicates those matters further…

Being so close to the southern shores, the Alliance also has much trouble with Pirate attacks. The most notorious of them, Alfred Crabbe, seems hellbent on surpassing the bloody exploits of the Fallen Knight, and he seems infused with a power not displayed by the others menacing the Southern Seas…

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Sitting at the south eastern edge of the Algol Empire, between Diphda and the Seiren Alliance, stands the state of Benetnasch. So named for one of the 4 Apprentices who made a home in the lands, it's a diverse grasslands not too far from the South Coast, and nestled between the Schedar and Altair Mountain ranges. Much like the man who founded it, Benetnasch's walls are welcoming to all. Though allied to the Empire, Benetnasch's location makes it unofficial neutral grounds between it, the Alliance, and all other factions involved, only ever facing attack from the occasional marauder or privateer.

And also much like the man who founded it, Benetnasch never seemed to sleep. Being so well suited to commerce and influx meant the streets were constantly full of travelers, performers and peddlers on the average day. And that assumes a competition was not also being held, adding the roar of crowds and the clashing of blades to the discordant din; Lord Benetnasch lived out his days, even in peace, engaged in battle for the sport of it, and this tradition continued to be well honored here.

The latest tournament in Central Benetsnach was being graced by the Algol Empire directly. The businesses were compensated for routes closed down, as the Prince and Princess (and their entourage) graced the streets this occasion, and the businesses that could remain open flourished under the additional activity and publicity.

This time, as an attendant granted participation ribbons to those who applied themselves in various games and duels, those who distinguished themselves were given a congratulatory medal, as well as a brief audience on stage with the current head of the Empire; the Crown Prince, accompanied by his sister, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and even more imperial soldiers.

Later that day, certain participants who had earned a medal found their dwelling solicited by a tiny bird baring a letter. The symbol on the outside of it bore an insignia magically drawn upon it (one that folks would discover matched one drawn onto the back of each medal).

Spoiler: Inside each letter reads the following message.

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"You have displayed skill quite impressive, and a moral heart. I wish to request the assistance of such a fair warrior.

Though I must caution that the endeavor will be life threatening, I promise that the cause is just for more than just the Empire, and that your efforts would be fairly compensated for.

Should you accept, my handmaiden will be waiting for you in Southern Benetsnach, at the Fresh Fare bakery in the town square, at midday.

I respect you will please keep this matter a secret. I hope to hear of your exploits soon, and I wish you safe travels should you retain your services.

-Peace be upon you, Lady Carina Guinevere Von Altair, Princess of Algol."

[ScrambledBrains]

Darvan looked over the message with a curious eye; his orders had already been fulfilled to appear at this grand gathering as the representative of the Silent Order of Diphda and as such, the elder Brothers were expecting him back soon.

That was all the incentive he needed to decide to go to this meeting.

Folding up the paper and slipping it into his haversack, he left his inn room and began to walk toward the southern end of Benetnasch.

[Alteiner]

Sieghart arrived back at his room at a local inn sometime in mid-morning, tossing the last bite of a fresh meat pie purchased at the market on his way back into his mouth. He fished the medal he'd been awarded at the tournament from one of the inner pockets of his coat and turned it in the light, examining it briefly before wrapping it in a handkerchief, placing it in a bag and storing it safely in his bag. The tournament was a good test for him, but with the festivities winding down, it was almost time for him to move on.

The bird flying in through his window and landing on his bag caught his eye immediately, as did the letter it was carrying. Sieghart took the note from the bird, quickly inclining his head out of thanks for the service and seeing the letter-carrier off before opening the envelope.

A clandestine meeting? Special orders from the imperial princess? Yet another entanglement. Honestly, he could've lived without it. Travel funds weren't exactly light, imperial lands weren't lacking in local imbroglios best solved by swordplay, and if work did dry up, it wasn't as though there weren't troubles back in the Alliance as well. Be that as it may, after months of wandering the land, slaying monsters, sleeping in stables, he was starting to wonder if his progress was beginning to plateau. At the very least, it wouldn't trouble him to hear Her Majesty out, to see if this cause of hers was truly just. It wouldn't hurt to do someone a good turn, while he had the chance.

Sieghart folded the letter and dropped it into his bag, which he hefted over his shoulder before departing and starting towards Southern Benetsnach.

[namo]

Dre'k has been pleasantly surprised to come out among the top warriors in the arena; though many in his unit had encouraged him to try, he hadn't been sure it would be suited to his style, and he had feared falling flat on his face so very publicly.
Still, medal or not, he longed to get back to the life that he knew - the simple life in the military.

He was packing his few belongings carefully when the message arrived. He was so caught up in his thoughts that the bird had to peep quite loudly at him until he snapped out of it.

You don't refuse an invitation from a Royal.
And so he shoulders his pack and his quiver, carefully picks up his bow, and goes on his way, dropping a small shower of silver coins on the counter to pay the overpriced fee for his tiny room on the way out.
He has to ask for the way a couple of times, and gets lost once, but the people are kind enough to point him in the right direction.

[Athaleon]

Fresh from the tournament and still wearing his medals from the equestrian contests, Alaric read and re-read the message, turning it over in his mind as he fidgeted with the page.

Princess of Algol. Assuming the offer was genuine, this would be a tremendous opportunity, though it inevitably meant putting himself in grave danger of a sort he was unused to, the palace intrigue sort. Still, he had to believe he truly was chosen for the skills he possessed, not those he lacked. And though Alaric was no duelist—for those contests he sported only participation ribbons, not medals—he felt confident enough in his abilities to see himself out of a trap, especially if they tried to spring something in broad daylight in such a public place.

[Arael666]

Baldret's calloused fingers traced the delicate script on the parchment, his piercing eyes absorbing every word. The chaotic winds of destiny seemed to swirl around him as he considered the proposition laid out by the Princess of Algol. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity that awaited him.

"The Princess seeks a fair warrior," he muttered to himself, his mind already envisioning the challenges ahead. The promise of life-threatening endeavors only fueled the fire within him, the thrill of combat dancing like a flickering flame in his soul.

With a decisive nod, Baldret rose from his seat, the wooden chair groaning in protest. It was a call to arms, a chance to uphold justice beyond the confines of a bustling tournament. He strode purposefully towards the door of his modest dwelling, his bare feet making no sound on the worn floorboards.

Baldret's attire, a simple yet well-worn set of martial arts robes, clung to his muscled frame. A ceremonial sash, a memento from a past victory, was cinched tightly around his waist. The wind whispered through the open window, and he caught the scent of adventure on the breeze.

As he stepped into the vibrant streets of Benetnasch, the bustling sounds of commerce and revelry surrounded him. The tournament's fervor continued unabated, but Baldret's thoughts were elsewhere. His journey now led him to Southern Benetnasch, to the Fresh Fare bakery in the town square.

The midday sun hung high in the sky as he navigated the labyrinthine alleys, his keen senses guiding him unerringly toward his destination. He approached the bakery, its aroma of freshly baked bread, made him realize he was hungry and momentarily distracted him from the gravity of the task at hand.

Inside, amidst the sweet aroma and warm ambiance, he spotted a figure—a handmaiden, as the letter had warned. Baldret's eyes met hers, and without a word, he extended the letter towards her. The handmaiden, recognizing the unspoken agreement, nodded in acknowledgment. No words were needed; the shared understanding of duty was enough.

In the heart of Benetnasch, a fair warrior accepted the call to adventure. Baldret's journey into the unknown had begun, guided by the unseen threads of fate and fueled by the chaotic fire that raged within his soul.

[ScrambledBrains]

The Fresh Fare bakery was as bustling a place as Darvan expected it would be and the warm smell of fresh baked bread and other assorted pastries was comforting, even if he had no need for their sustenance.

He spied a young woman, clearly the same handmaiden he had been told to expect, talking to another figure. Upon approaching, he recognized him as Baldret, one of the others who had participated in the various tournaments earlier.

Taking a seat at the table, Darvan pulled out the note and extended it toward the handmaiden, "Here."

[Da'Shain]

"... and that's when I popped 'im a good one right between the legs! With 'is own broken hilt!" the tall woman laughed uproariously to the meager audience still remaining in the inn's common room, most of whom were doing their best to ignore her self-aggrandizing verbosity as that of a clear drunken madwoman. The hour was late, and Freki Stoneslapper had staggered back to her lodgings in as close to the opposite of a sober fashion as she could manage, the shiny medallion from the afternoon's tournament conspicuously out of place on her otherwise roughspun sailor's attire, and the only thing about her that lent credence to her ramblings. As she tipped back her flagon for the last few drops, she dully mused that she'd gotten a much warmer reception in the bigger taverns earlier that night. In fact, she was pretty sure this was the first drink she was actually paying for herself today, after her win on the sands, but she refused to let it spoil her good mood, continuing to chuckle to herself. Ain't my fault no one here likes a good story, she told herself, only a little salty.

A few minutes later she staggered up the stairs with her eyes already closed, ready to finally turn in for the night. Upon shoving her door open, though, she found a little bird waiting impatiently on her room's open windowsill, a tiny letter clutched in its claws. Squinting confusedly at it, Freki took the letter as if in a dream, barely noticing that the bird immediately took wing with a huff back out into the night. Breaking the seal, she read the invitation within haltingly; though she was perfectly literate, still the letters swam a bit in front of her eyes before she grimaced and forced the drunken feeling down and under control. Was enjoyin' it, too ... she lamented, but as the message came clearer she only grew more confused. "Moral heart? Fair warrior?" she disbelievingly laughed to herself. Fair compensation, though, an' from a princess, no less. That'll certainly do. She resolved to answer the note in the morning, and promptly passed out.

After a morning spent paying the innkeep and frequenting a few more taverns in search of someone to listen to her stories of glory, or failing that, at least dice with, she sauntered down to the south of Benetsnach in search of this bakery. If nothing else I'll come away with a few rolls, she told herself, refusing to admit how flattered and curious she was by the invitation.

[Kuro Dmon]

Though Southern Benetnasch is only slightly less crowded than the rest of the state, and by all means still flush with plenty of folk coming and going, the Bakery was busy, yet nearly completely empty. True, the staff were certainly still bustling with replenishing food and cleaning up the last few tables, and a pair of servers were indeed instructed to greet and allow in only those with the inscribed letter.

But the rest of the establishment was empty, save for the foretold woman sitting in a table in the back to herself, dressed in a brown concealing cloak with her hood up, and nursing a cup of peach tea and a cinnamon roll. Leena looked up the first of the Chosen approached her, and her voice caught in her throat. She mimicked his nod with a smile, still somewhat nervous about the plan underway. As more joined, hesitation became a luxury she could no longer afford.

“Thank you very much.” She replies while taking it. “Baldret, Darven, feel free to help yourselves,” she adds, gesturing to the staff still running around. “We have a moment of peace to enjoy, and for your time, the food is complimentary. I’ll explain more once our table is more full, but no reason not to partake while you’re here.”

[Alteiner]

Sieghart took measured steps walking down the main thoroughfare cutting through Southern Benetsnach on the way to the town square. Never taking his eyes off the road in front of him, he cut through the bustling crowds with the same practiced footwork he'd used in his duels, sliding by a few passersby with less than a hair's breadth of space and offering brief nods of apology for the disturbance. A half-cape affixed to his coat and covering the left half of his torso kept the sword at his hip (or, at least, its hilt) hidden, and his hand was never more than a gesture away from gripping the sword and preparing the draw.

"Royal meetings are never simple, after all." he thought, taking a small strip of leather from his coat pocket and tying a bit of his long mane of silver-gray hair behind and his head to keep it out of his face. An ambush was unlikely, even in the worst case. It was broad daylight, and the letter had pointed towards a public place in the dead-center of town. Even still, it was probably safe to assume that he was being observed.

He pushed open the door to the Fresh Fair bakery and stepped inside, scanning the interior before settling his eyes on the only occupied table and closing the door behind himself. As he approached the table, he reached into his bag and produced the letter he'd received, and produced it for the handmaiden's confirmation.

"Am I expected?" he asked.

[ScrambledBrains]

"Thank you," Darvan replied curtly to the handmaiden before taking a single roll from the offered food, having to move slowly to keep the chakram on his belt from colliding with any part of the table. While he had no need of sustenance, he knew it would be rude to refuse.

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"It would appear so," He murmured to the newcomer.

[Da'Shain]

Freki paused outside the Fresh Fare bakery to take a swig from her second hip flask, the one with the really cheap stuff, before pushing her way through the door. A bit put out at first by the lack of patrons, her face lit up when she saw the occupied table at the back. Upon being stopped by a server asking for her letter, she flashed her shiny medal at him with a big smile, which only curdled a little bit when that didn't work, instead reaching into her pocket and producing the document in question. With a hard nod to the working man (Just doin' his job after all) she sauntered towards the table with her best, friendliest grin on her face.

"This the table for us fair warriors, then?" she asked. She thought she recognized the two men already there from other events at the tourney, but couldn't be sure; she gave them a nod anyway, before directing her attention at the confections on offer. "Ooh, cinnamon rolls, don't mind if I do!" she exclaimed, stuffing one in her mouth immediately as she sat down, taking another couple of sweet rolls for herself to munch on before anyone else got the chance. The cheap grog had been the right choice before this, she reflected, the abysmal taste of the former making the rolls taste ever sweeter. Cheerfully, she raised her flask in offer to the other guests, mumbling something unintelligibly friendly around the entire pastry she was still chewing on.

[Athaleon]

Alaric dismounted, leaving his impressively large (and impressively armored) steed tied at the nearest hitching post. He looked around at the bakery, emptied out for their meeting. He supposed it wasn't just ostentation—the meeting had to be held in a private place that was still public enough to make those present feel safer. As he appraised those arriving with him, and those who'd arrived already, he realized he recognized each of them from one contest or another. Capable warriors all, but an eclectic group to be sure. So this mission was to be both clandestine and one requiring a highly diverse skill set. This was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon indeed.

As he entered, he produced his letter as though it were an invitation, and politely waved away the proffered flask from one of the other warriors. He did take a cinnamon roll from the table—the morning's events had given him quite an appetite after all. As their briefing would wait for all the invited to arrive (and, presumably, for the handmaiden's escort to shepherd the bakery staff safely out of earshot), so too would his own introduction.

[Arael666]

Baldret Elan, Male - Mystic/Aegis // PsyWar/Awakened Blade AC: 28 (22 T/27 FF) DR: 2/- HP: 124/124 Acrobatics: 12 / Intimidate: 21 / Perception: 23 Initiative: +2 Conditions: -

Baldret, having accepted the princess's invitation without a second thought, found himself in the Fresh Fare bakery, surrounded by a motley crew of warriors. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air, a comforting backdrop to the unfolding intrigue. His rough-hewn features twisted into a faint grin as he recognized a familiar face, a fellow participant from the tournament. He made his way to the table and, with a nod, pulled out the letter from his robe. "Here" he grunted, offering the parchment to the handmaiden.

As the warrior settled into a seat, a tiefling woman, Freki, burst into the bakery with exuberance. Baldret observed her antics with a mixture of amusement and bemusement, his azure eyes flickering with a spark of curiosity. "Fair warriors, indeed" he mumbled under his breath, appreciating the diverse group that had been chosen as more people came and joined the table.

Leena, the handmaiden, greeted each arrival with a nervous yet warm smile. Baldret acknowledged her with a nod but remained silent, taking in the atmosphere of the bakery and the personalities of those around him. He wasn't one for unnecessary words, and the tension in the air hinted at a weighty discussion to come.

Darvan's stoic acceptance of the complimentary food drew a grunt of approval from Baldret. He, too, reached for a roll, tearing off a piece and savoring the taste, despite having no need for sustenance. The act was more a ritual, a gesture of camaraderie with his newfound companions. As he finished the last bite of the roll, wiping his hands on the front of his martial arts robe, His eyes met Leena's. His voice, gravelly and resonant, broke the silence that hung over the table:

"So, what's this task you've got for us, handmaiden?" Baldret's question was direct, a reflection of his straightforward nature. He leaned back in his chair, the wooden frame creaking slightly under his muscular frame, and awaited Leena's response with a calm intensity.

[Kaouse]

Right before the door closes, an old man rushes into the building. In his hurry, he stumbles and trips over the fair handmaiden, causing all of their held items to go flying in the air.

In a heartbeat, the man sprints into action. Using his gauntlet hand, he catches himself from falling and pushes off from the ground. While in the air, he flips several times, catching each item before they could fall onto the ground.

At the same time, he rights himself up and catches the maiden with his ungloved hand - all items held in his opposite hand.

"Sorry for all of that. Was running late. Had to do... a little research on some... interesting topics."

After handing the maiden all of her effects, he pats himself down, and frowns.

"Where... where is it?"

"Are you perhaps looking for this?" calls out a black bird, appearing almost out from nowhere, above his head.

Resting in the bird's beak, is a letter.

"You always did have a tendency to lose yourself in research. I'd swear you'd lose your head if you keep up this type of behavior. Try to make a better impression, next time. "

"Ah, yes, thank you, Quote." The old man says, taking the letter from the bird's mouth. "Now, where are my manners." He says, addressing the rest of the party.

"My name, is Dorian Grey. Please do excuse the tardiness. I got the message to meet here, is this the right place?" he says with a bow.

[namo]

Dre'k arrives slightly late at the bakery, enters and then just stands there indecisive.
He ends up waving awkwardly at everyone, and sidling over to one side, making sure there is room for his pack then leaning back against the wall, one hand on his bow.

He refuses the roll offered, despite the protestations of his stomach.
What's the etiquette for eating pastries in front of a Royal? I have no idea!
What if I make a mistake?

Ar, what am I doing here? I don't belong.
He is starting to spin out in his own head, but not much of it shows up except a nervous twitch.

With a bit of time, he manages to settle down his nerves. It's clear many are warriors here - he recognizes some faces from the tournament - so perhaps he does belong after all?

At a sign from an attendant, he shuffles forward to give his letter, then retreats.

[Kuro Dmon]

When Alaric tied his horse to the hitching post, he found it would have some company. An Axebeak, itself mildly armored, was loosely connected to it as well. It tilted its head at its new companion, then went back to poking the dirt in boredom, the debris of a few pastries sprinkled across the ground.

Inside, Leena surveyed the chosen champions with mild amusement. The air between them couldn’t be more different. While the seriousness of some had her insides crawl with trepidation, the friendliness of others helped set her nerves at ease. Freki’s air in particularly brought Leena’s hand to her lip, in a failed attempt to suppress a giggle. “It’s good to see you all are finding the place well enough,” She replies to those who had already arrived. “There’s only a few more missing; we’ll begin, I believe, momentarily.”

Getting up to check on the rest of the matters (both ensuring the comfort and privacy of those who arrived and to look for the remainder to appear), Leena found herself knocked into the air and held in Dorian’s embrace. Her composure shatters even with her landing protected by him, her face flushed completely and her breathing unsteady. It takes a few moments for her to mentally catch herself, and accept the letter from quote. Dre’k, despite wordlessly arriving in a much more subdued fashion, almost startles her as he walks past her to make himself ‘comfortable’.

After a minute of collecting the remaining letters, ensuring the staff were accounted and reimbursed for, and collecting herself by enjoying another drink and another treat, Leena finally clears her throat to address the group at large, with every ounce of regality that she can muster.

“Good-day, everyone. My name is Leena Tessie.” She starts, glancing at Baldret in particular with a small smirk as she introduces herself properly. “I am the retainer to Lady Carina, and it is by her request that we meet today. She wishes to have some phenomena to the east investigated, and seeks… help, in this matter." With a quick glance at a nearby clock, she continues. "Yes, quite a few disturbances that My Lady wishes I inquire further. Tell me, have any of you heard of any rumors concerning Aldebaran? Or, perhaps, what a Wight, if not a Revenant, is?” she asks the group at large.

[Kaouse]

Dorian perks up as something the woman says sparks recollection.

"Revenants and Wrights are obviously different types of undead. I'm sure even a child would know that." Dorian says with a smirk. However, the smirk quickly fades as his tone becomes more serious.

"That being said... Aldebaran. I had heard that they had suffered massive losses in a recent battle. I did not know the cause, nor the identity of the enemy that wrought such devastation. Are you suggesting... that it was a scourge of undead, that befell the city?"

Dorian asks the lady. Once she confirms, he continues.

"And, am I to surmise that this is the matter that requires investigation by ones such as ourselves?"

Going a bit more into a business-stoic mode, he will continue further.

"If so, we'll need to outline the terms of this contract before proceeding. What exactly constitutes an 'investigation' to the Good Lady's standards? We're not exactly signing up to go to war with a city-wide threat, after all."

[Alteiner]

Once the total of the guests they had apparently been expecting arrived, Sieghart took a seat at the table, sweeping aside his cape and sitting with one leg crossed over the other, chair tilted slightly back and one palm keeping his sword steady. Though he'd already had breakfast, he certainly wouldn't turn down a cup of tea.

Something about this arrangement struck him as odd. Weren't they moving too fast?

"Madame Tessie, take a breath. Steady yourself." Sieghart said. "We're skipping over something fundamental as to the nature of this arrangement. Why rely on warriors from outside of Her Grace Princess Carina's retinue, and why go through the effort of hiring us in secret?"

Sieghart's suspicions were threefold. First was the fact that Princess Carina was one hiring them, albeit through an intermediary. Why her? Surely, this problem of Wights and Revenants was known to someone beyond a single member of the imperial family. Were it an issue so severe as to require immediate armed response, other agents of the imperial throne would surely be aware. The most likely scenario was that someone else did know, and was choosing not to act, either because they simply didn't care about the plight of Aldebaran, couldn't spare the resources, or it benefited them in some way.

Second, and more troubling, was the use of external (and, given the secrecy of their scouting, deniable) agents. Could the princess not muster her own forces? Were there not scores of noble scions, all well-versed in their families' noble martial arts, eager to throw themselves into danger to win the favor of the imperial family? Did their presence, as freelancers, not make them the equivalent of paramours kept secret from a consort when compared to the proper Royal Guard? No, the only reason to turn to them, Sieghart suspected, would be that relying upon the empire's proper sworn swords wasn't an option.

Finally, there was the secrecy of the operation itself. This was especially troubling. Maintaining a secret from the public was likely out of the question. The situation in Aldebaran was apparently already the subject of rumor. Why hide, then, that someone was going to fix it? Unless, of course, the intention was to hide the operation from someone else, someone who, if they knew, would intervene. It wouldn't have been unusual; Sieghart himself had taken part in secret operations on more than one occasion. But, from whom would a princess of the empire hide an operation to survey an internal trouble?

"Please take no offense; I do not mean to imply that I doubt the righteousness of your cause, nor the necessity of seeking external agents to investigate this problem. However, to be blunt, people don't keep secrets for themselves. They keep them from others. I needn't know their identity, but if there is someone from whom it is paramount that this operation remains a secret, I think it would be wise were all of us to be made aware."

[Kaouse]

"I can see the logic behind wanting to keep secret any knowledge that might cause an outbreak of panic amongst the public."

Dorian Grey begins.

"And a scourge of undead, especially one based only on rumor, seems like something you'd need hard evidence of before you inform the public."

Dorian Grey continues, his face beginning to break out in a painful smile not so stealthily hiding a hint of grimace.

"Moreover, it makes sense to send a band of mercenaries. We are, after all, expendable. And if the expedition does not pan out, it's best not to let the people know of the Crown's potential failure, lest they appear weak at a time when they need to appear strong. Another reason for secrecy. Does that about sum things up?"

Dorian says, genuflecting towards the good madame.

[Athaleon]

"Not all mercenaries..." Alaric began. "Alaric Berengard, Captain, Fifth Banner of the Altairan Light Horse," he hastily added by way of introduction. He cleared his throat briefly before he continued.

"The most troubling rumors I've heard out of Aldebaran is that several of its cities have outright disappeared under invasion. Whether they are destroyed, or so besieged that no word can escape, or simply subsumed by a swift and numerous invader, I cannot say for sure. It may well have been exaggerated in the retelling, or outright propaganda, but the apparent lack of any other rumor to gainsay it suggests it contains at least a seed of truth."

He turned to add his own opinion to Dorian's musings. "If these rumors are based in truth, the natural suspects—the Marauders of Shiver, I mean—well, it doesn't sound like their way. Nor, frankly, do I think them capable of such, however much they may have wished it. A scourge of undead... is a possibility worth taking seriously."

As far as all the intrigue was concerned, he would keep his peace for now, and save any more speculating for when he had more information. It wouldn't be the first time he kept a secret simply because he was told it was secret. But if the rumors of disappeared cities were anywhere close to true? There was no way that was staying secret for long. He had a feeling that their mission and its secret would be related, but rather more specific.

[ScrambledBrains]

"Wights and revenants..." Darvan mused aloud after listening to Dorian, Sieghart and Alaric speak, his fingers steepled under his chin, "Regardless of their origin or why we have been scouted for this mission, there is no doubting it is a task worth undertaking. Such creatures cannot be allowed to roam free."

He turned and intently stared at Leena, "While I was due back at the monastery within the week, I'm sure the other Brothers wouldn't mind if I assisted on such a noble task. I'm in."

[Alteiner]

"I'm no mercenary, myself. Pardon my rudeness." Sieghart lowered his head in a short bow. "Sieghart Aetheredge, knight errant at present and former sworn sword of Duke Rowan Regulus. As I said: I speak not out of mistrust, only concern. We can all agree these are special circumstances. We're receiving a calling from a representative of the continent's most powerful family during a clandestine luncheon, like intelligence agents would. If we're being trusted to such a degree, to carry out a secret mission for an imperial princess, I want to answer that trust by asking the right questions and respecting the sensitivity of our situation.

"Is this acceptable? If I've overstepped, I apologize."

[namo]

"Oh.
I thought we were meeting the princess." The disappointment is plain in Dre'k's voice. Belatedly, he remembers he's seen the princess, and she looks nothing like the lady here.
The outburst attracts some looks, but he's used to it by now; it won't be the last time it happens, so he's getting on with it.

"I'm Dre'k, Special First Class, 29th of Infantry."
A pause. He presents his bow, horizontally.
"You have my bow."

Then he remembers a "detail".
"...well, assuming my command releases me, but I assume the Princess can make that happen."

"As for the topic of secrecy, I doubt this is how true secrets of state are handled - not that I am an expert." He gestures at the bakery, and its attendants who may well whisper some things to close ones who will in turn whisper them to others. "I think I see something genuine here, coming from the heart. But then I am a bad judge of character, so you tell me."

Odd as he may be, Dre'k at least seems to have a functioning brain.

[Kuro Dmon]

Before Leena can properly address Dorian’s terms, she contemplates Sieghart’s questions. For a moment, rather than helping steady her nerves, the query sent a jolt down her spine worse than being launched into the air by Dorian. Ironically, it would be Dorian answering on her behalf that would help her relax a bit; her lavender eyes twinkled as her gaze flitted from him to Alaric to Darvan, pausing on Dre’k as he bluntly voiced his own concern while adding his own support.

With another glance at a nearby clock, Leena started with a breath. “The reason Lady Carina will not be joining us is precisely why this meeting is necessitated.” She addresses Sieghart. “Despite her upbringing, she has very little direct influence over the state of affairs within the Empire. At this very moment, she’s stuck within the Royal Entourage, on their way home to Altair to the west.” Leena stares into her own cup, looking crestfallen. “It’s her brother, the Prince, who is currently leading the Empire. Sir Edgar, the Captain of the Royal Guard, answers to only him at the moment.”

“And right now, the rumors of the dangers of Aldebaran are just that; rumors. My Lady has her sources, but nothing substantial to allow her to attempt to divert forces from the defense of the Empire. And this is indeed,” she continues with a nod towards Dorian, “why My Lady wishes the state of Aldebaran seen directly by a member of her court. The horrible possibility of innocent people being slaughtered when we could be helping them is more than she can stand, yet her already limited reach is even more bound in these troubled times…” Leena’s aspect saddens once again, as if personally troubled by these struggles.

“This is why she would request confirmation of these rumors, in order to beseech the Royal Guard act on yet another threat. Should I able to verify the state of affairs in Aldebaran, then return home to Altair and report to Her Majesty, surely the Prince would have to allow Edgar to act. Perhaps allow Bastian or Tristy to lead a regimen of their own to the east.” She continues, brightening up at the possibility. “But no, My Lady would not ask you to give up your livelihoods to serve her. Any pardon needed would be granted by her, and I may sign off on her behalf." Leena adds, glancing at Darvan and Dre'k, before focusing on Dorian. "Nor would she ask you to lay down your lives attempting to stem a potential flood of destruction. Even encountering them would be dangerous enough, and more than enough evidence that the Empire should take action, rather than continue to gnash its teeth at the Alliance or the Republic. My task is to verify for her the state of the largest cities: Nashira, then perhaps Siam, Juno, and Crytomera, if necessary; this matter should take but a few weeks of traveling. And enabling this venture is what My Lady begs of you.” Leena finishes, standing up to bow to the group at large, her amber hair spilling out of her hood and caressing the table in front of her.

[Kaouse]

Dorian clasps his hands.

"So, this is a simple escort mission, then?" he asks Lady Leena.

"We are to keep you safe while you travel towards Aldebaran, and 'verify the state of affairs' before returning to this city. Is that the gist of things?" Dorian asks.

"If so, I'd have to ask for just a bit more clarity on the specifics of what it means to 'verify the state of affairs' before I can fully endorse this mission. There's also the question of compensation, of course. Gauche though the topic may be in light of the serious nature of this discussion, it does need to be addressed before we set out."

Dorian Grey begins to take out a pen and paper, and begins to write out terms of engagement for the deal. He'll mostly write down anything said by Leena, with focus on the specifics of their expectations, what they are meant to provide and what will be provided for them in term. The contract should also go over the pardons to be granted by the princess, or by Leena acting in the Princess's sted.

Once the contract is complete, he'll ask her and everyone else to sign it, and go about diligently making copies for everyone.

He won't attempt to alter the deal in any way, but he will try and work out a potential severance clause. After all, death and dismemberment is a huge risk on this journey, so each individual should retain the right to walk away at any point. In doing so, any compensation already earned shall by given to them, while any compensation remaining shall be forfeit, and the shares split amongst those who remain.

Compensation would be given out based on a combination of time taken and milestones accomplished, with milestones being decided by Lady Leena.

If everyone agrees, then all that remains is to prepare for the long and arduous journey ahead.

[Athaleon]

"The right to walk away at any point?" Alaric raised an eyebrow. "Mercenaries don't get such generous terms, let alone soldiers and agents in direct service of the Crown."

[Arael666]

Baldret's gaze intensified as he locked eyes with Alaric, a growing sense of recognition flickering in his weathered expression. The unfolding discussion on the mission's terms prompted a reflection on their shared past, the memories of Nashira's uprising resurfacing in Baldret's mind.

"Alaric" he grumbled, a note of acknowledgment coloring his gravelly voice. Memories of their time in Nashira began to weave through his thoughts. "You were there, standing against the oppressor, rallying the people to defy their chains."

As the recollection deepened, a rare moment of appreciation softened Baldret's stern features. Despite his aversion to intricate plans, he recognized the value of a comrade who had fought alongside him.

"I recall now" Baldret continued, a subtle smile breaking through his rugged exterior. "We faced the crucible together, side by side in Nashira."

A shared nod and a glance conveyed their unspoken connection, forged in the fires of liberation. Baldret's agreement came with a sense of camaraderie. "If Alaric's with us, count me in. We've stared down tyranny before, and this won't be any different."

As the conversation shifted back to the ongoing negotiations, Baldret, while nodding in acceptance of Leena's terms, interjected with a gruff comment. "One thing, though. I've fought undead, but distinguishing between a wight and a revenant? Not my forte. If there's a difference, it eludes me. Not that it matters much; undead's undead."

Alaric, acknowledging Baldret's words, responded with a knowing smile. "Aye, Baldret. In the face of the undead, nuances matter less than mettle. We've seen it before, and we'll face it again." Their shared history lingered in the air, weaving an unspoken bond between the warriors

[Kaouse]

"Speaking as a mercenary of considerable age," Dorian says, looking towards Alaric with a twinkle in his eye, "The terms of the contract are everything. They are an agreement between all parties involved. The clients are the wishmakers, and we mercendaries do everything in our power to fulfill those wishes. However..." and with this Dorian will once again turn to the Lady, crestfallen.

"Despite our efforts, not every wish can always be granted."

His gaze lingers on the Lady a bit before he returns to the young Alaric. "It is customary, therefore, that a third party be invited into the terms of the agreement. And that third party, my dear boy, is reality." Dorian says with a coy smirk.

"Things happen. Things change. That is the nature of reality, and it must always be taken into account. If you were tasked to climb a mountain and half way up were rendered paralyzed, do you still continue to try and fulfill your contract, knowing that it will lead only to death and failure either way? No. Such expectations are simply unreasonable. One does not live long in a job like this if they accept any mission and refuse to build in a simple exit clause. One cannot ignore reality."

[Athaleon]

"Those so injured are typically discharged from such obligations as a matter of course," Alaric pointed out acidly. "I'm not so green that I haven't sounded a retreat in my time, and known it was the right call. But I do wonder what mercenary company gives its members a free pass—ahead of time, and in writing no less—to cut and run when it pleases them, who would depend on such men to stand beside them in a difficult moment, or who indeed would hire them in the first place under such an arrangement.