Grey Knights IC

[Greyen]

Evening drew nigh. The tiny little caravan of tired, bloody mercenaries moved slowly into the foothills. Moving at the speed of the slowest foot soldier, they crawled off of the muddied track into a clearing. The blasted crater of a clearing had been formed a week ago, during the pursuit of a powerful magus. Upon the brink of his death he had broken his staff and cremated himself and his attackers. That had been one of the death blows for the armies of House Nessit, part of the Coalition that had formed to stop House Carciene and its allies. 16 Greys had been killed in that action. Now it was a safe enough, defensible place to rest.

As soon as the cart creaked to a stop troopers leaped to do their part of setting up camp for the night. The two remaining sergeants barking orders as best as their fresh rank can. Within a few minutes the two remaining patchwork tents are up and dinner is going in Cookies’ little field kitchen on the back of the cart.

Librarian lumbered up onto his usual position on the cart, the huge metal bound book clanged into position on its podium. The old dwarf clanked the book open, and began to speak, “Tonight we shall read from the names of the fallen. Those of our brethren who have fallen in the past day. We are finished with this contract. We are have nearly been destroyed in the process, but we have served with honor. Now we shall honor our fallen.”

“Shoehorn, 6 years, speared in melee.
One-eye, 43 years, disintegrated by enemy mage
Greenshoes, 2 months, speared in melee
Shale, 17 years, crushed under cavalry
Pumpkin, 8 years, crushed wrestling ogre
……”

For more than an hour he reads the names of this days fallen. The monotone drone cathartic and calming.

At the end of the reading dinner is served, manna stew with some meat chunks, the first meat bits you have seen in several weeks. Once everyone is eating Rook steps up to the dais and raises his hands for quiet. The muffled mumble stops. Rook's disheaveled and bloodied self speaks for itself, his force of personality shines through, his clear baritone carries well, uplifting spirits as he speaks. A clarion of strength Rook has carried many of you broken to the field hospital or fought at your back in many melees. There is no question as to why he leads the GReys and not some of themore senior members. Cranberry plants the slate grey standard with a thump next to him, blood still stains the ancient flag.

"Brethern of Arms, Grey Knights! We have once again completed a contract, with honor! As dire and bloody as this long war has carried us, we have carried it. I mourn for our fallen, but to mourn with out celebration is not our way.

Cookie! Breach the last cask!"

A small cheer goes up as the last 10 gallon cask of rum is brought out for the Greys. Tin cups are quickly dug out and a line moves through as Cookie hands a mug up to Rook. When everyone is seated again he continues

"To the fallen! To sucess in war! and to tomorrow!" He raises his cup to is troops and the troops repeat the toast.

"Tomorrow we begin a new path. We have been well paid. A 1000 gold bonus is paid to each survivor! Tomorrow we begin our path to Crosstown, a little way east. From there we shall rest and begin to recover our losses.

Lord Carcienne, now Emperor Carcienee has paid us well. With one small hitch. His treasury could not afford the cost of almost 100 years of paying our price. As consolation we have been made lords. The Grey Knights now own land. We are now the proud owners of Fort Simms and everything in a twenty mile radius, just northwest of Crosstown. A week from now we will reach Crosstown, a week after that we shall reach the new Grey Keep! But tonight we shall celebrate victory!" He steps back as a cheer goes up from the ranks. Caterwaul strikes up a tune on his pipes and a small party begins. It carries on into the night, no guard is posted and no one is sober at the end of the night.

----------
In the morning dawn breaks and already soldiers are about their duties, many holding their heads or muttering complaints under their breath.

A slight breeze carries the smell of life and a fresh day upon it.

Cranberry is seen out side Rook's tent he looks at each of you in turn and points at you, wordlessly summoning you to Rook for something. (This is normal for Rook, he is not one to yell unless necessary and Cranberry often works as his adjudant).

[MrScary]

It carries on into the night, no guard is posted and no one is sober at the end of the night.

Nobody is sober at the end of the night save one, the huge and hulking mass of metal called "War Machine". Though he cannot partake of the final keg, he can, and does, partake in the performing. While Caterwaule plays his pipes, War Machine taps a loud beat--his metal fist striking his great metal chest in time with the performance.

Once the revelers had drunk themselves into unconsciousness, the massive metal-man walked around the encampment, securing the perimeter. He didn't expect any trouble, not this evening...but one never knew. The Grey's had been decimated today. Yes, they had won, but at what price victory?

Hefting his gigantic hammer onto his shoulder and slinging his plain grey-painted shield on his back, War Machine stoically stood watch over his few remaining brothers and sisters in battle, ensuring that they would all live at least one more day.

****

Wordlessly, War Machine nodded at Cranberry as the troll pointed at him. His metallic muscles creaked slightly, and there was a slight clanging sound as metal grated against metal. The large warrior walked to where Rook's tent was.

"Good morn, Lieutenant." he addressed the troll, using his formal rank. It was fairly obvious that it was to be a business meeting, given the nature of Cranberry's summons.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

The dawn comes early for Mercy. She drank as much to drown the sorrows of good men and women killed - men and women under her command, ones that perhaps she might have saved if she'd been just a little faster, just a little smarter. Just a few of the thoughts that the drink, mercifully, pushed far away for a little time.

Cranberry's wordless sumons is responded with a nod. She quickly checks over her gear, and settles the rapier at her hip. She splashes a bit from her flask over her face, clearing her mind as best she can, and taking a long slug of the tepid water as well.

She gives Cranberry a wide berth as she slides into the tent. Slowly, she nods to Rook and War Machine.

Commander, War Machine. Shall we make ready for the road again, Sir?

[The_Snark]

Little Miss Murder

The night had been hell.

Oh, not at first; she'd drunk as much as any of the others, and the elf had never had much tolerance for alcohol. She normally gravitated towards the other lieutenants at the rare times like these; she was well aware that most of her company found it hard to relax around her, and the last thing she wanted to do was get them into that habit. But she'd always been aware of the hubbub about them, or rather the lack of it.

It had been too small this time; not enough music, not enough noise, not enough people. It'd been hard to ignore, so she'd drunk more than usual, enough to send her into a stupor earlier than most of the rest. Most of hers had died. Most of everyone's had died, of course, but that was none of her business. She'd always prided herself on the toughness of her troops, of every soldier who'd spent time in her platoon, but that hadn't been good enough.

Hardly comforting thoughts to dwell upon in the depths of elvish trancelike sleep, and the headache she has upon arising with the sun does nothing to help her black mood; unusually for her, it is a silent fury. She has nobody to curse at, except for herself. Cranberry receives a sour grimace of acknowledgement, and she finishes buckling on her customary dark grey, hard-ridged armor. That wasn't part of her usual ritual; she generally slept in the armor. She hadn't kept it on for the celebration of the dead.

She hangs the cruel flail on the hook over her back—no sense going anywhere unarmed, even if the war was supposed to be over—and stalks over into the tent. Her fellow lieutenants, and the Rook, get what might have originally been intended for a greeting smile; but it comes out as more of a grimace again, and she lowers her gaze a bit to stare at the ground as if not really seeing it. Miss Murder is not her usual self, not today; unusual for the elf, who generally tried to appear as unshakeable as possible.

[qube]

Firefly

As Librarian calls forth the names of the fallen camerades, Firefly listens with care. He knew most of them very well. He fixed their armor, linked the chainmails made the swords, the hammers, ... Perhaps more would be alive if he had done his job a little better... No, such thoughts were wrong: he did the best he could, each and every day. War demanded tribute.

As the rum flows, Firefly conjures before him a wooden cup, with the words 'For those who fallen'. As they toast he repeats "For tommorow" and drinks the cup ad-fundum. The cup disintegrates after taking the last sip.

Lord Firefly? What would I be doing with a lords title? ... I'm a smith, I'm a Grey. Drinking wine in banquet hall in a thing waisted on the likes of me... a fort on the other hand might be nice ... fortified walls, hidden traps on the outside, a powerfull bridge, a towering keep, a statue of everyone of us survivors on the side of the road, ending with a statue of Rook above the gateway ... in his mind Firefly is already redisigning the hole keep into a towering bastion of the supreme power the Grey Knights represent.

The combination of day dreaming of a such a fortress and the rum, proved his toll, as day dreaming turned into sleep.

----------

Firefly wakes up, at the table but with a coupple of very comferable pillows ... Apparently he created them sometime during his day dreaming and sleeping. As he wakes up, he dismisses the pillows and looks around. Most of his commerades will not wake up so easy, as they did not have the luxuary of a instant pillow power. After waking up and clearing his mind ((refreshing his power point pool)), he stretches himself, wiggles his antennea and goes for a strawl around the camp.

As he sees Cranberry calling for him, he changes his direction and speed, and walks into the tent of his high commander.
"Goodmorging" he casually says "What's on the agenda for today?"

[MrScary]

War Machine

The hulking machine-man nods to Miss. He'd always respected the diminutive she-elf's discipline. Perhaps not always agreeing with her over-the-top methods, but she definitely got results. Yes, war was hell, and soldiers needed to be tough, but not all the time.

"Miss" he acknowledges his fellow lieutenant.

Seeing Cranberry point a couple more times, he slowly swivels around to see Mercy and Firefly arriving.

He definitely liked Firefly, the smith having repaired his adamantine plating more than once over the past few years. He was an interesting...person?...to talk to as well.

Mercy was not as familiar to him as the others. She was fairly fresh, just a couple years into the Greys. She had a reputation that was nearly opposite that of Murder, so he was a bit surprised that she'd made Lieutenant. Well, it wasn't for him to decide who was promoted or not.

"I'm sure we will learn what our next mission is in time, Firefly." he says to the dromite smith.

[wadledo]

Smokey

The raptorian cleric takes another puff of his pipe as the morning sun breaks over the horizon.

*puwofff*

Stretching his wings to their maximum, Smokey hears his old joints pop, wincing as his feathers rustle in the light breeze.

Noticing Cranberry motioning to the other Lieutenants, he walks slowly over, using his longspear as a cane like always. His tall frame casts a long shadow onto the tent as he moves without a word up with the others.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

The little lizardfolk enters at Cranberry's bidding. Though all saw him drink as much as any other, he seems little the worse for wear from the previous night's binge, a tribute to his natural constitution and ability to handle poisons of any sort. Others can tell his overindulgence only by how slowly his head seems to twitch as he listens or looks for something, followed by a pained little grunt and a wincing of his emerald green eyes. His iridescent green scales seem dull as well -- as if his chameleon skin reflected his body's torment -- and his turquoise crest lay flat atop his head.

The only things that shined about his person this morning was his pride and joy: the composite shortbow Hound had given him shortly before he was killed and the mithral and green leather accoutrements of his Fleet Warrior's Array -- another gift from the former master scout before his recent death in ambush.

He nods to each of the other occupants, recognizing them from missions shared as well as by reputation, then moves plants himself to the side of the group, keeping his slowly swishing tail away from their big feet. He mumbles a morning greeting in elven, as is his tendency.

[Greyen]

As you all gather in Rooks sparse tent you see that he is fully dressed and reeady for the new day. He looks haggard and red eyed but clear headed. He rubs his graying long brown hair and stands as you enter. His cot is the same as everyone elses and the foot locker at the end is plain as ever. A small table sits in the middle of the tent and you all see a crude map drawn in black ink on a scraped sheep skin. There are a few official seals attached to the rolled scrolls lying next to it. The field lantern is shining directly on the map.

"Good morning, lietentants." He steps over to the map and studies it for a moment. "There are going to be a few changes coming up and I need you assistance with easing the transition into a garrison lifestyle while we rebuild our strength.

First of all, all of you are relieved of command" He holds up his hand to silence any remarks " This is due to the fact that i am reorganizing you. The troops that we have left will fall in directly under me for now until we figure out who our new Guard Captain will be. You six will become a small action tactical force onto yourselves. "Special Operations Squad" they called them in the regular army. Our company was once considered the same. Now we are too small to be even considered a 'company' much less a platoon for hire.

The rest of the troops and I will travel on foot at carts pace to Crosstown. There we will gather supplies and any new recruits we can muster. It will take us a week to get there and three days to do our business. Then it will take another four days to travel to Fort Simms.

Here is where you all come in the picture. Fort Simms is four days travel on horse from here. You will precede the company and make the place ready for us. Which includes if necessary, cleaning out any riff-raff which may currently inhabit it. We will be there in 14 days."

On the map (OOC- I will draw it up sometime tomorrow) you see the Valley where the last great battle was held. A road travels East out of the valley into a small mountain range. From there it travels further East into hills and then into plains where it intersects with another road. At the crossing of the roads is marked cross town. In the NW sector of the cross is a small road, finer line means smaller road you assume, which leads to a spot marked Fort Simms. Rook indicates each place on the map as he speaks.

"You all still technically hold the rank of lieutentant. But you are to conduct your business as a TEAM" You hear the inflection and underlying threat in his voice "Listen to each other and make your judgements as a good squad. i know many of you have not had the opportunity to get to work together much, now you do. I suggest you make the best effort to get along because until we have a strength of more than a hundred bodies fighting you all aren't getting a command position back. There are too many chefs in the kitchen right now. This is to partially get you out of my hair and to prove to me that you can work together as a team. I will not be entertaining any contracts until we are settled and have a force large enought ot actually do anything by die, again." His voice catches a moment at the last word, he has obviously been hit hard but the destruction of his company. He knew everyone by name and had shared bread and drink with each one at some point.

"So leave me 2 horse to pull the cart, but take anything else you may need. You leave in an hour. Any questions?" he looks at you all in turn waiting. You all know that you can speak freely in his presence and that he will listen and consider your words. You may not like his answer but his decisions are more often than not for the best.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

"Beggin', yer pard'n, Sssir," Prowl begins, "but I'm pro'lly as fasst afoot as they be a'horsse." The little lizardman's dislike of horse for anything aside from emergency rations is fairly well-known; he claims they're too noisy and very smelly, but to those who know him well, he's a bit afraid of them. Mostly of being trampled underhoof. "D'I hafta ride?"

[Greyen]

Rook chuckles at Prowls words Actually, I assumed that you and Firefly would probably share a horse with Smokey and the other three ride separately while you have a pack horse. But how ever you travel is up to you, five horses six of you. You figure it out.

Now if there aren't any more questions? This is a dismissal, unless of course you do have a question.

[The_Snark]

Miss Murder

"...relieved of command..."

What command?

She shakes the thought off as she listens, standing crisply straight as usual once more. Life was going to go on. She knew perfectly well they didn't need the lieutenants right now; they barely needed one lieutenant, really, and he'd be more of a sergeant at that. They had work to do, and a task to get to. After that... the war was over. What changes that would mean, she had no idea.

"None, sir," she says crisply, not looking away or making any move to leave until the others had all confirmed they have no questions or gotten them answered.

[qube]

Firefly

the small dromite waits for a second and then asks
"There wouldn't be a additional cart left, would there? ... I'm a really bad horserider"

[Greyen]

You will have to make do. There is but the one.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Clearly still more than a bit the worse for wear from last night, Mercy simply nods. A demotion, of sorts. Well, it's not as though your last term of command was such a resounding success. Might be nice to try working as a small team, without having to worry about covering everyone all the time.

She glances over at her companions. Prowl and Smokey would take the pressure off of her to be the eyes and ears of a group. And, of course, War Machine and Miss Murder would be on hand to take care of the most basic of the potential difficulties. She guessed that that left Firefly and herself to fill in the cracks.

No questions, sir.

[wadledo]

Smokey

"If that is all," Smokey screeches, filling the air of the tent with pipe smoke, "I will summon us a welcoming party."

Not having been here long enough to appreciate commanding land-bound troops, Smokey takes the demotion like he does all things. Puffing his pipe, he begins to walk out of the tent, ducking under the low threshold and emptying the bowl of ash and dottle a little ways away.

Rubbing some tobacco between his fingers and palm, Smokey packs it lightly into the amber bowl, asking "Does anyone have a light?"

[MrScary]

"No questions, sir." the towering adamantine plated warrior intones, devoid of emotion.

"I would need the largest and sturdies of the mounts, for somewhat...obvious...reasons." he tells the team as they exit the tent.

[Greyen]

As you all step out into what is becoming a beautiful sunny day, Cranberry is waiting. In his deep rumble he says We have horse ready in hour. He then turns and walks over to a group of soldiers and they grumblingly do as he says, going over to the pickets and readying five horses including the heavy draft.

Librarian is standing a little way off to the side, he has a packet in his hands as he steps up to the group of you. The old dwarf limps a little as he moves and is red around the eyes also. His gravelly voice carries clearly even though he speaks quietly We spoke about this last night on the road to here. Reaching into his pocket he hands Smokey a tindertwig before reaching into the leather satchel. His hand comes out with six gray leather armbands that look like htey have seen heavy wear. They resemble the standard gray armbands you already wear but are old and worn. These are the oldest Marks of the Greys, they carry some power and are all that is left of the original Greys except the Standard itself. He hands each of you one. Reaching back into the satchel and pulls out a slim gray leather bound book. Use this to report back to us. Anything recorded into this will be written in the big book. I will check it often in case you need something. In the bag is also your bonus for the battle, one for each of you. Go with honor, I will see you all in fourteen days. Librarian hands the satchel to whoever reaches for it first, is clinks heavily as it is handed over. He turns and walk back to the cart. You see Cookie cleaning up breakfast, he waves at you making eating motions. He probably has saved you all something to eat.

[wadledo]

Smokey

Smokey waves the Tindertwig over the bowl of his pipe several times before tamping it down again, repeating the process twice more before seeming satisfied with the results.
"Thank you."
He listens to the explanation and waits for one of the others to pick up the satchel, taking his bonus and moving over to Cookie after that.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Slipping out after Smokey, Mercy smiles, the first time in what seems like forever.

In response to his request, she gestures slightly, speaks a strange word, and suddenly her hand is dripping with a ball of flame. She offers it to him.

Happy to help.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

With what passes for a smile amongst the lizardfolk, Prowl nods to Rook. "Yesssir!" he says to the Commander before turning to follow the others outside.

After receiving the armband from Librarian, Prowl quickly affixes it to his arm. "I kin keep 'at in m'pack, til we're ready ta divvy it up, but I'm not carryin' 'at in m'handss," he says in reference to the satchel as he easily hefts it and leads the way to Cookie's Lair.

"Mornin', Cookie!" he beams. The two had been on many missions together, especially since Hound's death and Prowl's promotion to Lieutenant, taking his mentor's place, and enjoyed each other's company, even with the lizardfolk's preference for more rare meats.

[Greyen]

The tiefling hands each of you a tin plate with eggs and bisquits and gravy he then says Ya'll be careful out dere. I'll miss feeding ya'll, but you know you get hot mess when ya get back. We'll be ready ta scoop ya up iff'n ya fall but I dun tink you will. He starts whistling a clumsy ditty and turns to finish cleaning up breakfast.

[qube]

Firefly

As he leaves the tent, the small dromite rumbles in his backpack, and then takes out a hourglass, which he turns. "One hour. no cart. check.". Then he starts to think hmmm hammer, paper, pen, sculpting tools, dorjes, stones, Fir... FIR, I hope you're remembring all this! ... don't forget my dagger. Oh, and the potions. Fir, remind me to pack the potions, very important. In the history, great men have survived terrible ordeels thanks to good booze. ooh, and I need to make some quintessence if I have the time the dromite smiles. an inside joke to himself.

Then they run into Librarian.

"A grey band? thank you." Firefly says as he take the bandage. He smells it. ah, you can spell the ages is has been through ... the battles ... the entire history of the greys, fixated in this small relic.

normally Firefly would also take the book, but as it seems heavy he declines ...

As ideas are swirling through his head they meet cookie.
"13 day, 23 hours and 55 minutes" firefly says, as he watches his hourglass once more ... unless our time moves slower
"smells good."

[GimliFett]

Prowl

Prowl wolfs down the breakfast practically before any of the others have taken a seat. "S'whatch'all wanna do now? I'm pretty much ready ta go whene'r y'all're, but I'm no horseman, an' like I said, I'm nearly as fast as those lumbering things're anyway, yaknow? 'Specially once y'all load yer own bulk an' gear aboard, yaknow? That'll slow 'em down, a good bit, yaknow?" The lizardfolk's fast speech was something really only heard in camp. In the field he usually commanded with hand signals and gestures, plus an instinctive understanding of both his own troops movements as well as his opponents' plans. Many times, his hunches had destroyed a warparty that had thought itself unnoticed, with few, if any, casualties.

He sets the satchel on the table amidst the groups' plates. And looks from one to the other of his new squad.

[MrScary]

"Librarian, what do we, or you, know of the fort...if anything?" War Machine asks, handing his plate of food over to Prowl, who seems to be devouring everything in sight.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

Within a count of thirty the plate is as clean as its predecessor. "T'anks, War Machine," the lizardfolk says as his tongue flicks in and out along the rows of sharp teeth.

[Greyen]

The Librarian rubs his beard in thought. He replies The Greys haven't been that way for more than 70 years, the Record tells of the pass having a fortress in it. It is probably safe to assume that that fortress was destroyed in the war though. As for Fort Simms, It sits at the edge of a plateau that over looks the Crosstown region. Its said that from the top of the stone keep you can see the lake to the south and on a clear day you can see the trade tents out side of Crosstown. The Greys have no direct record of being at Fort Simms that I can find. Crosstown is the major trade crossroads for a good 500 miles. A major river and the two of the regions major trade roads intesect there. Thus its name. It has a huge transient population most of the time and is active nearly year round.

Fort Simms is reported to have a heavy wooden palisade and a large central keep. The road will take you right there. Good luck, I must finish my packing. The old dwarf turns and limps off hollering for Domino, what the in the nine hells are you doing?

As you stand there a human private Meatball walks up and salutes the lot of you nervously, he is new to the Greys, Yer horses are ready, gentlemen.....ma'ams and gennelmen, ....ladies and gentlemen...aw, hell. Yer horses are ready! Nerves take him and he runs off to help with the tent. You look over and see the five horses well packed and loaded to standard tied to a log.

[qube]

Firefly

After eating a small meal, the little dromite runs off to the smitty, where he keeps his belongings, and 5 minutes later he returns, his magical bag doesn't seem to be filled ... but then again its magic. His crystal dagger on his side, and a floating fist-sized ruby on at his side. wearning his mythral breastplate and his grey cloak. And the the newly gained grey bracelet on his arm ...

As the small critter stands before the large horse, he turn arounds, and asks ... "euhm ... can anyone ... kind of ... help me up there ?"

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Mercy nods gratefully to Librarian, immediately strapping the armband in place.

Honoured. Thanks.

At their final mess, Mercy smiles at Cookie as he hands her the breakfast.

Thanks, Cookie. You've always been good to us. It's a tough job you've got.

Settling among her companions, Mercy eyes the satchel, but initially focuses on her food. If for no other reason than fear that Prowl will swallow it first. She responds to the deft lizard's implied question.

If you're picturing staying out front scouting for most of the trip, then I guess not having your own horse makes sense, Prowl. Don't envy you the field dressings and sore feet, though. Guess we'll trust you to keep up.

She flips open the satchel and examines the Librarian's book.

If none of you want to, I can hold onto this for now. Won't slow me down.

If no one objects, she will slip the satchel into her own pack, which does not increase in size.

At the call that the horses are ready, Mercy rises and clears her own tray, and any leftovers at the table. Instinctively, she taps the bag of spell components, the sling and the rapier that dangle from her belt. Double-checking that she, too is packed and ready to go, she strolls over to the multi-talented Firefly and offers a gentle boost up onto the horse.

May I?

[MrScary]

War Machine smiles at the helpfulness of Mercy.

He mounts up on the great animal, the saddle creaking in protest at his four-hundred plus pounds of weight.

He examines the grey armband. He feels honored to be the bearer of such an artifact.

He slips the grey armband onto his right bicep, securing proudly it into place.

"I have all that I need." he replies to the group, patting his backpack, shield, and hammer.