Grey Knights IC

[GimliFett]

Prowl

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HP: 81/81; AC: 28, t 20, ff 19 (AC includes Skirmish bonus and Expeditious Dodge bonus)

Prowl's tongue flicks in and out several times and he seems eager to move again. "Ah'll git back ta' hoofin' it, ch'all! Easy trails, non?" he calls over his shoulder as he takes off ahead of the group once more.

[Greyen]

The road down this side of the mountains is not nearly as steep as the way up. It proves easy riding as you all see a slim wisp of smoke in the distance.

By nightfall this wisp of smoke turns out to the from a raod side inn. It is a large wooden building with several out buildings and looks to be the only thing for miles.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Mercy smiles at the prospect of a night in an actual bed. Even if she has to douse it with ice and steam to kill all the bugs first.

You know, these roadside inns can be hotbeds of counter-revolutionaries, bandits and cults. For the safely of our troops, we should definitely spend the night up there, to make sure it's safe.

[Greyen]

As you approach the inn yousee that is is fairly empty. A boy comes out to take the horses. An old dog lays sleeping on the walk outside the door, its greying muzzle twitching with its legs in doggy dream land. Opening the door a wash of warmth and light warms your soul. The smell of roast meat and warm bread and pies filles your nostrils strikes hard. Warm food and a dry bed are rare treats for soldiers at war.

The first thing you notice as you step into the inn is the symbol of Fharlanghn carved into the far wall. The innkeep stands at a bar to the right and a large fire place burns in the center of the room, open on four sides, its heat warming the large great room. There are a few guests who look up at you as you walk in. A tired looking middle aged woman walks by carrying a tray. Just sit anywhere dears, I'll be over in a minute. Please keep you weapons in their holders here, we don't need any more trouble here.

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For those with mage sight -

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The symbol glows with abjuration/enchantment magics. Fairly strong emanation that covers the room.

For those with a knowledge religion or history checks of DC 15 or higher

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There are many roadside inns such as this. They are small temples to the God of Roads, Fharlanghn. Often run by a retired or semiretired priest of the same. Many look down heavily on trouble within their walls. Many of them readily survived the war as the householder often was able to repulse any attacks on his domain with the assistancec of his god.

[qube]

Firefly
(ooc, sorry didn't immediately knew what to post, and when I did I didn't have time ...)

Firefly dismounts his horse and takes his belongings, including the frying pan, with him.

"could I get some water please, and some vegtables? and a seperate plate?"

As he sits in the table a small piece of cloth appears in his hand, and he starts to clean the disk. At regular times he drops the cloth in on the plate, and the cloth dissapears, as the grease and such remain on the plate. Then a new piece of cloth appears in his hand ...

[Greyen]

As Firefly begins to clean and polish the shield its quality begins to show through. Finely made with beautiful engraving that could not be seen under the grime. When he is finished it was obviously a knight-errants shield as a the remains of the knight's crest can be seen in green and black (other wise unidentifyable). The shield is a piece of art, obviously masterwork if not better. All it need to be useful is a new set of straps.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

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HP: 81/81; AC: 24, t 16, ff 19

The little lizardfolk watches Firfely's work with keen interest as he lazes near the fireplace. "Nice work, hm, Firefly?" he inquires.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

After she has turned over her horse to the boy, Mercy goes to stand before the horizon symbol of Fharlanghn. She murmurs prayers of thanks for a day of (relatively) safe travels, and touches the symbol reverently.

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(1d20+7)[18] Knowledge religion[/roll]

Mercy smiles at the overworked waitress as the warmage steps into the inn to rejoin her companions.

Don't worry, we've seen enough trouble today. And no hurry - our needs will keep. But we will be wanting to arrange for some rooms after dinner, if that's possible.

Rolling her shoulders to release tension, Mercy wanders over to stand behind Firefly. You've got a good eye, firefly. I'd have never pictured that under all the mess.

[wadledo]

Smokey

Smokey lights up, standing in the shadows of the central fire with the others.
"Don't bother with a room for me."
He motions vaguely upward.
"I'll just us the roof, if you don't have any objections."
He looks to their hostess and Mercy, a slowly spreading cloud of pipe smoke spreading out through the room.

[The_Snark]

Little Miss Murder

Surprisingly, Miss Murder acquiesces to leaving her weapons in their holders without comment or even a scowl. An inn that had lasted this long requiring patrons to go without weapons had the means to ensure those weapons probably wouldn't be needed, and evidently the old soldier knows it. She even removes her gauntlets.

Then again, her armor has enough edges to give anybody starting a fight with her a nasty surprise, and she hasn't removed that just yet. Still, she looks as relaxed as she ever does, sitting at the same table as Firely. "Reminds me of Packrat," she says, a rare hint of a smile creeping onto her face as she watches them.

[Greyen]

The barmaid brings round drinks and food shortly. It is hearty fare, roasted venison, potaotes and carrots. Veggies are brought for Firefly with a puzzled look and a shrug.

The innkeeper sees Mercy paying her respects and comes to stand beside her saying Thank ye miss, he is a good master and deserves more respect than he gets. Now that he's out from behind the bar you can see that he wears a wide leather belt with Fharlanghn's symbol as a buckle.

As he ambles over he says to the group I got three rooms avail able one with 3 beds the two others with two each. He nods to Smokey Jes' don't be leaving a mess up there. There's already a platform up there, if you need anything you do need to come inside though. We old folks don't like to get up there much. He chuckles to himself, Specially not since last time. Room, board and board fer your horses, let me see five gold outta cover ya. I'll have the baths warmed if you throw in a another. And the donation box is on the bar if you like. We don't got no whores nor do we truck with 'em here so none of that please. He drops three brass keys on the table. Your rooms are on the left.

Oh, yeah...I'm Chired, and thats my wife Lacey, our nephew Garth is taking care of your horses. Let me know if you need anything else.

-------------------

It is a quiet night at a wayside inn. A few people get up and go to their rooms, keeping to themselves. The touch of the war can be seen on everyone as no one is without a weapon except the family of the hostler. The few other travelers look to be traders or soldiers returning home from the battle.

[Greyen]

As you all turn in a feeling a relief and relaxation comes over you. The past day was done, Hill Giants and all. The War was done.

As you turn into bed for a well deserved rest.

@Prowl, Smokey, Mercy, and Little Miss Murder

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(OOC- If you sleep for an hour or 8 it is the same)

As you begin to fall asleep a mild tingling sensation comes from the armband you wear. The brassard feels more natural, almost warm. The feeling passes as sleep overtakes you.

You stand on a field, your armor is heavy, the day is warm. Drips of sweat roll down the back of you neck, down the small of your back, forcing a slight shiver. You have been on the field for a few hours, practicing the specific calls and movements required of you. You are the standard bearer for the Grey Knights. Fist of the Emperor, one of ten companies of honor, the Colour Guard. The ceremony will begin shortly. You look to your side down the rows of troops gathered at you beck and down the line. Today is the dedication of the Colour Guard. The months and weeks of training are finally over.

Pride fills you as you realize the momentous occasion at hand. You are the Standard Bearer of the Greys. Chosen for your height as well as your skill with the polearm itself. Many cannot wield the cumbersome spear and crossbar with the guidon attached, like an over heavy boar-spear, but it has become your weapon of choice. The power the flows from the collection of flag, spear, and spear head, matched with the shared might of the armband that you bear on your left arm carries you. You are the first of the Fist to meet the charge, the point of the Emperor’s spear. Shock troopers all of you. Your company is one of the most mismatched in all of the Companies of the Sun, the Colour Guard. But the job of shock trooper is one of the most difficult and wearing on a person’s sanity and health. It takes all kinds to be able to withstand the fearsome pressures of war.

The Black, Knights of the Stars, stand motionless in their black enameled plate to your left. Their discipline and honor are the greatest of the companies. Each of them is a great specimen of humanity, their halberds gleam in the sun. The Emperor’s personal guard. What many do not know is that they are all eunuchs, gelded by the emperor himself. Their loyalty is unquestioned.

On the other side of you, the rest of the companies stand in formation. Each of their standards flapping in the wind, all of them dressed in their full regalia. . First the White, The Pure, Guardians of the Family, those who guard the empress and the heirs. Next is the Red, The Blood Fist, the heavy infantry feared for their viciousness in battle, heavy infantry and many of the berserkers. Then the Orange, their brilliant flame decorated robes flapping in the wind, War mages, the heavy artillery of the emperor. Yellow, Spear of Lightning they call themselves, they stand mounted on griffons, lances held upright. Green, the Green Heart, the healers, and support folk of the regiments. Blue, The Wave, their light armor and swaying walk marks them as the elite sailors and captains of the Emperor’s navy. Indigo, the Hidden, only a single indigo armband much the same as yours marks their “uniforms” no two the same, scouts and assassins. Brown, Earth Breakers, the shortest of the companies, mostly dwarves and gnomes, those who break walls and the siege masters.
A thousand men stand behind you in shining mithril plate, spiked shoulders and elbows, helms carved in unique likenesses of demons or the faces of death. Each wears an armband the same as yours. The power in a thousand men reverberates through you, the courage of all is the courage of one. You stand ready. Behind the companies are the regular armies of the Emperor, more than five hundred thousand people are represented here, some just with a commander and a guidon, others with their full company.

In the distance a horn blows the first command ‘Attention’. The sound of a hundred thousand boots stomping the earth in unison is thunderous. The Flag must never fall. Silence, then the next horn call sounds…


Blackness and a feeling of intense pride at being chosen…the feeling of time passing.

The horn call sounds...CHARGE! You leap forward, your great boots carrying you forward into the fray. The gathered might of the enemy before you, howling and rattling their shields. You lower the spear, the guidon streaming down the shaft. IN what feels like a second and a lifetime you crash into the front rank, your momentum carrying you through the body of the hobgoblin as the spear passes through his armor and shield as easily as soft butter. Blood sprays into the visor of your helm. Your bring the haft around into the orc behind him, his face crumpling as the weighted butt bursts his skull. Spinning and freeing the point of the spear the hum of power crackles to life with the taste of blood. You slice through the leg of another hobgoblin them bring the head up again from groin to shoulder of the ogre behind him. Bloodlust floods your mind as the point of the spear claps thunder as it shatters the shield of the next enemy. You vision narrows to a slim red tunnel with death at the end.

In the distance you hear a horn call sound, the mages are calling death. You drop to the earth.

Blackness and the feeling of pride in the strength of arms...again time passes.

Untold years at war, you have forged your name in blood. Today is the end. The goblinoid hordes have massed for a final confrontation. Today is the day when both sides, whittled to only the greatest of their warriors who have survived. A horn call sounds…

Blackness and a touch of trepidation…

The spear comes up into the belly of the great worg, but something feels wrong, your instincts tell you something is wrong. Suddenly you snap your head around to see it. Great whirling blades scythe through the troops, “where the..” crosses your mind as you drop. The spear falls slower the tip is cut off with a wrench, you can feel the power break. But the guidon must never fall. You stand swiftly with the fell who survive, already the ground was slick with black ichor and blood, now it is beginning of a lake of blood. You plant the butt of the spear marking the place as you draw your seldom used sword. The trolls, war trolls, are coming, hot on their heals is the war chief, Grimmnaught. His Worg slavering eyes aflame. You stand strong, many of your brethren have fallen, but you will stand strong. The horn calls out...

Blackness and fear and loss…

You feel separated as you rise above the battle field, pulled by some unknown force. You fight it, looking down upon the fallen. The spear, the guidon was broken, you can see one of your brothers standing in death, supported by the seven spears piercing his body holding the flag by hand. The guidon must not fall. You remember pulling the flag from the crossmember, the shaft having been knocked over from where you planted it. You remember carrying the flag over your head and fighting with your sword until the spears pierced you.

A horn sounds...Victory!

Blackness washes over you one last time with the final feeling of intense loss almost failure, The Flag must not fall!

You awaken in a cold sweat. The dream is clear in your head. Never to be forgotten.

@Warmachine

Spoiler

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As you begin to go about your nightly watch of your comrades a mild tingling sensation comes from the armband you wear. The brassard feels more natural, almost warm. You stare at it for a moment as you feel detached from yourself ...
You stand on a field, your armor is heavy, the day is warm. Drips of sweat roll down the back of you neck, down the small of your back, forcing a slight shiver. You have been on the field for a few hours, practicing the specific calls and movements required of you. You are the standard bearer for the Grey Knights. Fist of the Emperor, one of ten companies of honor, the Colour Guard. The ceremony will begin shortly. You look to your side down the rows of troops gathered at you beck and down the line. Today is the dedication of the Colour Guard. The months and weeks of training are finally over.

Pride fills you as you realize the momentous occasion at hand. You are the Standard Bearer of the Greys. Chosen for your height as well as your skill with the polearm itself. Many cannot wield the cumbersome spear and crossbar with the guidon attached, like an over heavy boar-spear, but it has become your weapon of choice. The power the flows from the collection of flag, spear, and spear head, matched with the shared might of the armband that you bear on your left arm carries you. You are the first of the Fist to meet the charge, the point of the Emperor’s spear. Shock troopers all of you. Your company is one of the most mismatched in all of the Companies of the Sun, the Colour Guard. But the job of shock trooper is one of the most difficult and wearing on a person’s sanity and health. It takes all kinds to be able to withstand the fearsome pressures of war.

The Black, Knights of the Stars, stand motionless in their black enameled plate to your left. Their discipline and honor are the greatest of the companies. Each of them is a great specimen of humanity, their halberds gleam in the sun. The Emperor’s personal guard. What many do not know is that they are all eunuchs, gelded by the emperor himself. Their loyalty is unquestioned.

On the other side of you, the rest of the companies stand in formation. Each of their standards flapping in the wind, all of them dressed in their full regalia. . First the White, The Pure, Guardians of the Family, those who guard the empress and the heirs. Next is the Red, The Blood Fist, the heavy infantry feared for their viciousness in battle, heavy infantry and many of the berserkers. Then the Orange, their brilliant flame decorated robes flapping in the wind, War mages, the heavy artillery of the emperor. Yellow, Spear of Lightning they call themselves, they stand mounted on griffons, lances held upright. Green, the Green Heart, the healers, and support folk of the regiments. Blue, The Wave, their light armor and swaying walk marks them as the elite sailors and captains of the Emperor’s navy. Indigo, the Hidden, only a single indigo armband much the same as yours marks their “uniforms” no two the same, scouts and assassins. Brown, Earth Breakers, the shortest of the companies, mostly dwarves and gnomes, those who break walls and the siege masters.
A thousand men stand behind you in shining mithril plate, spiked shoulders and elbows, helms carved in unique likenesses of demons or the faces of death. Each wears an armband the same as yours. The power in a thousand men reverberates through you, the courage of all is the courage of one. You stand ready. Behind the companies are the regular armies of the Emperor, more than five hundred thousand people are represented here, some just with a commander and a guidon, others with their full company.

In the distance a horn blows the first command ‘Attention’. The sound of a hundred thousand boots stomping the earth in unison is thunderous. The Flag must never fall. Silence, then the next horn call sounds…


Blackness and a feeling of intense pride at being chosen…the feeling of time passing.

The horn call sounds...CHARGE! You leap forward, your great boots carrying you forward into the fray. The gathered might of the enemy before you, howling and rattling their shields. You lower the spear, the guidon streaming down the shaft. IN what feels like a second and a lifetime you crash into the front rank, your momentum carrying you through the body of the hobgoblin as the spear passes through his armor and shield as easily as soft butter. Blood sprays into the visor of your helm. Your bring the haft around into the orc behind him, his face crumpling as the weighted butt bursts his skull. Spinning and freeing the point of the spear the hum of power crackles to life with the taste of blood. You slice through the leg of another hobgoblin them bring the head up again from groin to shoulder of the ogre behind him. Bloodlust floods your mind as the point of the spear claps thunder as it shatters the shield of the next enemy. You vision narrows to a slim red tunnel with death at the end.

In the distance you hear a horn call sound, the mages are calling death. You drop to the earth.

Blackness and the feeling of pride in the strength of arms...again time passes.

Untold years at war, you have forged your name in blood. Today is the end. The goblinoid hordes have massed for a final confrontation. Today is the day when both sides, whittled to only the greatest of their warriors who have survived. A horn call sounds…

Blackness and a touch of trepidation…

The spear comes up into the belly of the great worg, but something feels wrong, your instincts tell you something is wrong. Suddenly you snap your head around to see it. Great whirling blades scythe through the troops, “where the..” crosses your mind as you drop. The spear falls slower the tip is cut off with a wrench, you can feel the power break. But the guidon must never fall. You stand swiftly with the fell who survive, already the ground was slick with black ichor and blood, now it is beginning of a lake of blood. You plant the butt of the spear marking the place as you draw your seldom used sword. The trolls, war trolls, are coming, hot on their heals is the war chief, Grimmnaught. His Worg slavering eyes aflame. You stand strong, many of your brethren have fallen, but you will stand strong. The horn calls out...

Blackness and fear and loss…

You feel separated as you rise above the battle field, pulled by some unknown force. You fight it, looking down upon the fallen. The spear, the guidon was broken, you can see one of your brothers standing in death, supported by the seven spears piercing his body holding the flag by hand. The guidon must not fall. You remember pulling the flag from the crossmember, the shaft having been knocked over from where you planted it. You remember carrying the flag over your head and fighting with your sword until the spears pierced you.

A horn sounds...Victory!

Blackness washes over you one last time with the final feeling of intense loss almost failure, The Flag must not fall![/

You return to yourself abrubtly, only a few moments have passed. The vision is clear in your head. Never to be forgotten.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Rising, a bit bleary, with the dawn light, Mercy rolls up quietly to her feet, unable to relax. So many days had started this way - her heart pounding, her breath heavy in her nostrils. And, as so often, without an obvious cause.

That dream...huh.

She settles back onto the simple bed, sitting cross-legged, and forcing herself into the rigorous meditation she had been taught in the war college.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

With a start, Prowl sits straight up and glares around the room, tongue tasting the air as he draws his longsword and rises to a crouch. The little lizardfolk visibly shivers, an odd sight in and of itself.

After a moment, he seems to remember where he is and relaxes, resheathing his weapon and kitting himself out. He looks at the others with whom he shared the room.

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I dunno which room I'm in, but this is generic enough we can piece it together afterwards.
Quick Reconoiter: free action.
Listen: (1d20+13)[26]
Spot: (1d20+13)[21]

[Greyen]

@Prowl

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The room is as empty as when you went to sleep, except for your roomate. Nothing has changed or is different.

[wadledo]

Smokey

The raptorian blearily opens his eye's, gazing at the edge of his makeshift nest and the drop to the ground.
"I'm to old for this."
Smokey goes back to sleep, the winds gently wrapping him in their blanket until morning breaks.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Completing her meditations, Mercy glances over at Miss Murder in the other bed. They hadn't ever bunked together, despite being a distinct gender minority with the Grey. Mercy thought about reaching over to wake her up. Then thought about what life would be like with a stump instead of a hand, and reconsidered.

Moving as quietly as she could, Mercy gathered her things and headed down for an early breakfast.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

With a shrug, Prowl heads to the common room for breakfast, licking his chops at the idea of more venison.

As he enters the main room, he quickly scans it and tilts his head for any unusual sounds.

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Quick Reconoiter: free action.
Listen: (1d20+13)[22]
Spot: (1d20+13)[33]

[The_Snark]

Miss Murder

Miss Murder rises from her trance shortly after Mercy, her ears keenly tuned to the noises of the inn as they begin; veteran soldiers slept lightly.

She changes—she'd slept in the armor; it had been a habit so long that she was just as comfortable in it as out of it—and heads downstairs. Old memories. War's always the same, but the ones who fight it change. Same armband, though. Real memories, maybe? They weren't mine. She glances at the armband, which had been present in the dream as well. Elf-trance usually held memories of the past or (for the rare elf gifted with vision) the future; not the invented jumble that true sleep brought to other races.

Or maybe you're going soft in the head. Doesn't matter. However old that armband is, we've got a job to do.

Miss Murder starts downstairs, shrugging off thoughts of the dream. She'd had a lot of dreams and a lot of battles; if her mind blended battles together sometimes, it only made sense.

[Greyen]

@Smokey

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A rushing wind comes suddenly upon you as your friendly Air Elemental comes rushing back from his scouting mission. Ahh, once again the winged one who smokes with out fire. I have accomplished your mission. The fort you seek is a little worse for wear. There are wolves surrounding it, a few who wear a man's skin at the same time. Between this building you have another half days walk, so slow to move with feet, before you reach a fork in the road. There you take the left fork for another 3 days travel. Anything else?

[Greyen]

The bustle of an inn in the morning begins early. With dawn the hostler and his family are up and making breakfast and readying things for a fresh change of guests.

Bacon, bread, cheese and cofee/tea are served hot off the griddle iron. The mouthwatering smell pervades the great room and even sneaks into the sleeping rooms. The few travelers you see that are up before you are eating heartily and move out to depart.

[wadledo]

@Smokey

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A rushing wind comes suddenly upon you as your friendly Air Elemental comes rushing back from his scouting mission. Ahh, once again the winged one who smokes with out fire. I have accomplished your mission. The fort you seek is a little worse for wear. There are wolves surrounding it, a few who wear a man's skin at the same time. Between this building you have another half days walk, so slow to move with feet, before you reach a fork in the road. There you take the left fork for another 3 days travel. Anything else?

Smokey

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"Nope, thanks Ks."
Smokey pulls out a few bars of gold.
"How much do I ow ya?"

[Greyen]

@ Smokey

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I'll give you this one for free if you are willing to get me something? There are Roc's, you know big huge eagles, those kind of Rocs. There are some that live in the mountains to the north of your fort. One of them I saw in the distance, he was silver. I want one of his pinions.

[wadledo]

@ Smokey

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I'll give you this one for free if you are willing to get me something? There are Roc's, you know big huge eagles, those kind of Rocs. There are some that live in the mountains to the north of your fort. One of them I saw in the distance, he was silver. I want one of his pinions.

Smokey

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"Yea, I know what roc's are."
Smokey lights his pipe and begins to clean up.
"Will do Ks.
You gonna stay for breakfast?"

[qube]

Firefly

The little dromite wakes up in cold sweat ... darn. and the dream started out so good ... he looks at his grey bracelet wassup little bugger, what are you trying to do here?. As the bracelet does not respond, he gets up, meditates for 15 minutes and goes to wash himself.

lured in by the great smell he gladly accepts his breakfast, and eats out his plate, inlcuding breadcrumbes

[Greyen]

@Smokey

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Naw, its time fer me to go chase some clouds around. And with that he dissipates, returning to his realm.

[Toliudar]

Mercy

Mercy sits downstairs, abruptly realizing that, even if she wanted to order breakfast for her companions, she wasn't all that sure about their dietary choices. Do raptorans eat worms? Does War Machine need oil? She was woefully ill-informed, and would have to pay closer attention.

In the meantime, she contented herself with a small stack of eggs and some meat that she hoped was ham.

[MrScary]

The strange vision/dream had touched some part of War Machine's very soul. His life had always been about the military, about serving a higher purpose, a nobler cause than his own. He wasn't always pleased with the choices Rook and his predecessor had made, but his was not to question--at least not openly.

Now that they were free from their contract, though, his desire was to have things change.

He touched the armband he wore. There was something much more to it than Librarian knew, he suspected.

Seeing his companions come down to the common room from their slumber roused him back to the present.

[Greyen]

The innkeeper walk over to the group, If yer p[lanning on traveling you might want to get an early start. There's a rains coming and soon the roads may be washing out in the lower reaches. I'll call the boy ta ready yer horses.

[GimliFett]

Prowl

Pursing his lips and grinning, Prowl shakes his head at the innkeeper's comment. "A l'il rain don' hurt no'wan much, I say." He shrugs as he finishes wolfing down his breakfast. "Be like back hom', non?" The lizardfolk grins reassuringly at the man, showing the majority of his sharp teeth.