Hiking down the border mountains, one had to feel a sense of foreboding. The safety of castle Crestwen, newly reclaimed by the Lairds of Orren, lay out of reach, and the wildlands in the valley below threatened to swallow bold travellers whole. The dark, verdant expanse of nature known as Glutton’s Gate hosted so many other threats… Lawless rough folk left behind after the world’s end dotted the landscape with scarce hints of their existence. Abhorrent animals touched by magic, left unchecked after the fall of man, mutated and spread wildly. Of course, dormant pieces of evil remained an ever present threat in the haunted dreams of the lairds, who would stop at nothing to see it fully eradicated.
These threats could not be extinguished by any one man, but for Orren. Luckily, men and women who honor his ways did not plan on hiding behind Crestwen’s walls. The fortress atop the mountains was more than a stronghold. It illuminated a path northward, and stood as a bold proclamation of laird ambition. Eventually, Crestwen would be a waypoint on the journey across the valley. Glutton’s Gate and the unknown north would surrender their secrets to the lairds in time.
For the now, the lairds were tasked with the unenviable labour of probing the Gate. While Creswen underwent restoration, and more lairds filtered northward, those that could be sent ahead of the elites would prepare the Gate for an inevitable scouring.
Survey and reconnaissance could not be counted among the laird’s strengths. Their dedication and ambition were as unquestioned as their thirst for glory. Most counted among the leadership dedicated themselves to creating arcane strategies or chasing horrendous evils. It was up to the recruits and older soldiers to sully their hands with logistical concerns. A hike down the mountain to the lairds forward scouting camp demonstrated this imbalance. The camp ebbed and flowed with the whims of elder lairds, where they could be found. Young recruits and inexperienced mercenaries did what they were told, then twice more when an elder wasn’t satisfied. Guard shifts were constant and dense, but it did little to sooth the paranoia of inexperience. Those fears would have to be abandoned, though, as a large number of the lairds were preparing to survey the ruined sister city to Crestwen.
Such preparation was tiring work, but nine initiates dodged their responsibilities by the grace of an unknown patron.
The group was expected to meet in a tent on the edge of camp, but it was early. Still, one laird had already arrived. He wore the light garb of a commoner, small holes marred his tunic and shoes. However, a ring of twigs and roots wrapped around his arm placed him as a sort of magician, but a wild one. Dirt covered his hands and face, but his scent was muted and earthen, completely inoffensive.
He sat in a meditative state in the center of the room, facing the entrance. Others would show up soon, he was sure.
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Topic: [IC] Lairds of Orren (Read 7060 times)