World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb2...amorecomic.JPG
THERAMORE

Prelude

“Each man lives for himself, uses his freedom to achieve his personal goals, and feels with his whole being that right now he can or cannot do such-and-such an action; but as soon as he does it, this action, committed at a certain moment in time, becomes irreversible, and makes itself the property of history, in which is has not a free but a predestined significance. ” ― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

It has been a little over four years since the end of the Third War; and that was four more years than any who saw the battle expected the world to last.

Azeroth has always been a land tormented by the convulsions of kingdoms and powers, invaders and defenders; and for most races, their generations are defined by the manner of the catastrophe whose pall hangs over their youth. For the long lived races, the choice is between falling into a jaded indifference to the sequence of cataclysms and thereby choosing to feel nothing for the world at large, or else to experience the latest great suffering as the most severe because, unlike wars and calamities in the ancient past, the suffering in the present can still do you harm. For most, this choice is no choice at all.

Sansha MacVince was a knight's daughter. She had hoped to become a knight herself, but found the rigor of lugging lance and shield too much for her, so she taught riding to young alliance cavaliers. She sat at a table at 'Janene's', Theramore's premier dockside inn, holding a half-emptied flagon of ale against the plane of her stomach while she slouched back. Across from her, with a similarly appalling posture, was Ysuria Sunstriker. Ysuria taught the fledgling mages of Theramore portalcraft, when they were capable of grasping it. Before that, she was a mage in the alliance magical auxillia; and before that, an academic in Silvermoon's College of the Sixth Spire. The additional before that's scroll backwards in time for a total of two thousand three hundred years, and change. By contrast, Sansha was twenty nine years old. And yet when Sansha looked out the window at the afternoon sky, sighed quietly, and looked back to Ysuria, the elf interpreted the sigh precisely, and raised her half-full wineglass to clink Sansha's flagon. Both grunted a little with the extension of their arms, neither willing to unslouch for the tradition; and the bare skimming of vessels served the point well enough. The thousands of years old elf and the almost-thirty human knew each other's mind precisely, at that moment. Both were thinking: There is no cannon fire. There is no pall of engine smoke. There is no hail of green comets, flooding the land with horrors from the Twisting Nether. Life is good.

And life was good, in Theramore. With the fall of the Burning Legion four years ago, the remnants of Jaina Proudmoore's expedition and their doughty support staff looked back across the ocean to the Eastern Kingdoms, and knew the devastation that waited there. The choice was to build anew, or rebuild; and most chose the later. Lady Proudmoore's positive relations with the Horde meant Theramore, despite being technically an Alliance outpost, had little to fear from their neighbours, even accounting for the one or two grievous incidents in the last few years where blood was shed. But it was safe and it was peaceful and it was... admittedly, surrounded by swamp; but there was plenty of fish and enough arable land on the island itself to grow a little produce. Life was good. But not everyone has such a permissive destiny to long enjoy the comforts of abundant fish, and a warm bed, and an empty sky unmarred by smoke and shell and spellfire. Taverns, inns, and roadstations were lousy with them; and Janene's, quiet as it was at this hour, was no exception.

And just as well. Without such people - adventurers, freebooters, troubleshooters - how would one get all the crap done, that need be done, if life is to remain good?

Spoiler: OOC: Introductions

Show

Welcome to Theramore, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Go ahead and make an introductory paragraph for your character. Janene's is a pretty classic fantasy inn with a lazy minstrel who will play tunes for coin (A gnome, Durley), a bartender (Human, Lillian), a cook (Human, Craig), and whatever smattering of games, furniture, and NPCs you care to manifest as background flavour for your character. You can be heading into the inn to book a room for the night, hanging around enjoying the lazy atmosphere, or whatever excuse you feel best fits why your character would be there. Importantly, you are all low on funds - you have enough to live lean for a couple more days, but if an offer came up for paying work, it'd be hard to turn down. You don't have to know each other at this point - but outsiders and adventurers are often drawn together, so do what seems most natural. Once everyone is situated in the world, I'll get to transpiring some events.

OOC Thread is Here.

Mor and Lag sit on a special stool designed for larger fundaments. They each nurse a quart of small beer, that is, re-brewed from the dregs of the good stuff. They can't afford more right now, not without pawning their alchemy supplies.

"This is..." "Dull" "we need?" "Work." They talk amongst themselves.

"Ya got that right" replies Jakk'ari peeling the underbelly of a fish leaving pearly white bones.
"If we have any more vacant days I'm going to have to shear the entire island to get enough muckweed and bramble fruit to feed ya my friend".

Jakk'ari begins scratching his lower left jaw contemplating what to do next.

An elf walks into Janene's. She is only of about average height (so perhaps a little short for an elf) and a slight, willowy thing. She wears a revealing dress, which puts much of her slender and delicate body on display. While it may look lascivious to some, by the way she carries herself it is clear she is not of a lower class or profession. And in fact, with her being an elf.. she was almost certainly a mage.

Then again, with this being Kalimdor, not far from the Barrens, and being surrounded by swamp and then ocean, perhaps more scant attire was appropriate anyway? Isaera did not care, regardless. She was at least comfortable, and that was a blessing in itself, given her limited clothing options. Rent was coming due.

Despite being refugees, and even helping to repel a demonic invasion, damnable things like taxes still existed. And things like food and shelter were not free. No, they were more expensive than ever. Life was good once again, but you had to work hard for it. And right now, it seemed there was a shortage of work...

Isaera sighed. Her mother was too proud to do menial work. Admittedly, the pay was garbage anyway, so she didn't blame her. Her younger brother was an embarrassment. And her cousins, well.. apparently they got some lucrative job and struck it rich. Though she hadn't heard from them in a while.

But still, rent was coming due. She needed to find something to do. The delicate elf carefully walks about the inn, looking around, though it becomes evident that she has no intention of buying anything. She sits down at a small table with a number of game pieces on a patterned board. She sighs again, looking down at the board, contemplating life, and hoping she could figure out what to do.

Who knows? Maybe a golden opportunity would fall right into her lap. Though she doubted it.

The sound of sailor's bells become more regular over the next few minutes as fishing boats muscle for position at the docks; and the inn begins to fill out with regulars. Humans, mainly; mostly sons and daughters of Lordaeron and Dalaran, after those grand cities were shattered and destroyed by the ravening Scourge. Dwarves take the demographic second, with a handful of high elves in tow. A barrel chested man with a blue bandana and mutton chops for days leads a gregarious group of sailors into the inn, flicks a pair of coppers to Durley, and gives him a friendly wink. The gnome pops up as if springloaded, snatches the money from the air, and begins playing his fiddle with jaunt and gusto sufficient that it provokes a halfhearted effort of folks in the bar clapping along before they attend again their conversations.

And then the mood of the tavern is split apart when an officer of the Theramore regiment comes thumping into the room in his slabby plate make. This is Captain Evencane, known in the city both for the quality of his martial instruction to the soldiers under his command, and for the precision with which he maintains his blond flat-top. The latter seems to be lapsing, a little; fraying at the edges with the weight of sweat and the effort of a long run.

"I need a team of non-enlisted men with good blades for an immediate assignment; there's silver on the other end of it!"

The use of good blades is understood to mean competent fighters just as men in this case means men and women. These are trivial interpretations for the room to hear; but what needs no interpretation is silver. Almost a score of sailors and brawny civilians start to stand up from their chairs with interest.

"There's four cadets wounded or dead, not a mile east of Brackenwall Village. We need rescue or recovery."

At the clarification, three quarters of the willing applicants settle back into their chairs in discomfort.

Brackenwall Village is well away into the swamp; and more importantly, it's Horde affiliated; a watchtower and lightly crewed outpost of orcs, darkspear trolls, and a handful of Stonemaul ogres up from the mount further south in the marsh. An official armistice was one thing; and a thing it was not was the assurance that you wouldn't be clubbed to death by savages for straying into their hunting ground.

Captain Evencane clenches his teeth at the melting valor of the volunteers, and gazes despairingly over those who remain upright.

https://i.imgur.com/P3ZGnKI.jpg Marion Mordis

The Buxom Lass heaved through the forth-encrusted waves of the Great Sea, its bronze, topless maiden prow bursting through each bank of opaque blue that rose up before it. Being of sturdy and rough build, the Buxom powered through her choppy lane, muscling forward with a rough tenacity that suited the stout trading vessel. Flying no black flag upon its mast, this was a ship that had previously docked in Southshore before it set sail, and tucked away within one of its slowly rocking cabins was a figure that sat upon her bed and pulled her cloak tighter around her body to protect against the ocean cold.

"I hate sailing..." Marion spoke aloud, her smooth voice oppressed beneath the groan of tortured oak as the box she inhabited swayed beneath the impressions of the sea, her simple bed and tiny desk the only provisions of comfort she could afford.

"I really hate sailing!" she hissed, eyes narrowing at her environment as if trying to intimidate away the choppy sea.

'the...ether...is so much more...calm...' a thick, slow voice crawled through the back of her skull: Varghast. Though not apparent in the physical world around her, the demons presence was always felt and its essence never too far away should she need his protection.

'...why...go this far...I...do...not...understand at all...your people are back in...azeroth...very few...where we go.'

"Precisely. It's lawless. The propriety of the 'civilised' world does not apply," Marion uttered, risking a glance to the rune-inscribed tome that was resting atop her little desk. The secrets within that book had only seemed to compound her problems...but Marion knew an opportunity when she saw one. That tome was her key to the long game.

'...many threats...'

"Yes, many threats," Marion spoke once more, bracing her shoulder against the wall to receive one particularly bad dive the ship took before its gyro was corrected.

"But with danger..." she continued, standing up and huddling herself against the sparse furniture within her room so that she could peer through the tiny, fogged over window and at the choppy sea beyond.

"...comes opportunity."

oOo

Having been seated in the corner of the tavern the entire evening, a near empty ale cup before her and hood obscuring her youthful features, the human rose her right hand at the guardsmans words.

"If there's silver in it; I'll help."

Isaera was not among the group which hastily jumped at the captain's initial offer.. if anything, she was a bit too cautious and her reflexes were rather slow for this sort of thing. The others would have surely had the job, had speed and initial enthusiasm been the deciding factor. However, as the exact details of the job were revealed, it was apparently a rescue mission. And a dangerous one at that.

Isaera did not cower from this job. Though to be fair, she wasn't one who initially jumped upon it either. This could be the thing she needed to get by for a few more months... but what was the risk? What was the reward?

Slowly, she stood, and she asked, "What was the nature of their mission, captain? And just how much silver is dangling on the other end?"

Jakk'ari sat back remembering just how easy it was for people to flee from encroaching danger, even whilst family and friends were being engulfed by the maws of an encroaching beast.
He remembered the encroaching influence of the cults disseminating throughout his homeland their inclination for violence and proclivity for chains.

How many of these soldiers had family and friends who relied on them? How easy would it be to do nothing?

Staring intently at his drink Jakk'ari found his answer when a small opaque green bubble silently burst.

Standing to his full height Jakk'ari proclaims. "I’m in I’ll bring your apprentices back home. Their service to the world is still just beginning."

Mor'Lag was technically women, not men, but were each bright enough to comprehend the vernacular. Their father and grandmother had both fought against these people in the Second War, but, these days, the Ogres were neutrals. Were it otherwise, they would not be here. The Alliance were strong, and the Horde was weak, and, by Ogre reckoning that made neutrality the best their former allies could hope for.

"We will go and rescue your cadets." "We make you deal, we only charge you half again as much as one head"

Spoiler: Intimidation

Show

[roll]1d20+3 [/roll]

Captain Evencane's expression gathers a little despair, as he surveys the group - and he raises and drops one hand in limp surrender when the remainder of the applicants withdraw leaving four (four point five, maybe?) willing and able. The precipitous withdrawal of offers to serve came in two waves - one with the announcement of the territory the quest required them to enter, and then another seemingly in reaction to the troll and ogre committing to the deed. A generous onlooker might sympathise, that many of these sailors had lost friends and family in skirmishes with Thrall's new Horde in the Third War; and plenty had taken part in nautical duels against ogre juggernauts and troll destroyers in the Second War. While the people of Theramore were rarely outright rude or confrontational with these exotic guests, they might be forgiven for having reluctance to work along side them. A less generous onlooker might simply see a rash of the xenophobic reflex practiced by cowards craving a world simple enough to divide into friend-or-foe.

The Captain tracked his eyes across the remaining applicants, and hardened his expression in acceptance. Mor'Lag's bargain draws a furrowed brow from the captain, but no sharp response that might alienate his volunteers. "The recompense goes to your group, and you can divide it however the lot of you see fit when the deed is done; four ways or five, that's your business. But not until the cadets are back safe, or - ... Or back, atleast."

The troubled Captain shoos a card game from one table, callously sweeping empty mugs and gambling chips to the floor. His urgency, or his rank, seemed to abjure any possible reprisal, and he flags the four would-be-rescuers over to join him. He unfurls a map of the Dustwallow Marsh, at the level of abstraction common to standard issue renditions.

Spoiler: The Map

Show

https://www.udrop.com/cache/plugins/...00_cropped.jpg

He indicates the icon of a watchtower at the north west most point of the brackish Dustwallow inlet; and looks through the tops of his troubled eyes to Isaera, pursuant to her question earlier. "They didn't have a mission. They shouldn't have been out there at all. They were delivering supply to North Point tower - a two venture down a patrolled road, and two days back. But for reasons I can't bloody fathom, they took it upon themselves to head further south west into Horde patrolled roads." He drags his fingertip left, to a red inked X. "There's a fifth cadet, Lidus, who sped back on a horse the troops at North Point gave him to give the bad news. Rode the horse to death then ran for nine hours before collapsing into the arms of the marines at the front gate. He was barely able to indicate where the other four were located before they got ambushed in the dark and seperated; he's passed out in the infirmary now. Healers have stabilized him, but he won't be awake for atleast six hours, they say; and I'll be damned if I wait that long before dispatching someone to look for the others."

His eyes swivel conspiratorially around the table to the eclectic applicants. "I can't sent marines in uniform, or they might provoke a direct Horde response. I can't send them out of uniform because if they get captured, they'll be considered spies, and hanged or piked. You'll follow the medical team I'll dispatch for the two days up to North Point. Then you'll strike out toward Brackenwall, find those Cadets, and bring them back to the tower. No conflict with the Horde if you can at all avoid it. Be discreet; this doesn't need to be an incident. You'll get twenty for each cadet whose body you recover; fifty if they're still alive. But that'll be going on five days hiding, wounded in the swamp; I'm tempering my expectations. That's a neat two gold pieces if you're smart, fast, and lucky, divided up between you however you want. Payment on completion. If you fail, then we never had this conversation. Understood?"

Ten copper will buy a decent meal and a room for a night in many an inn; and with a hundred copper to a silver and a hundred silver to a gold piece, the reward isn't life changing - but it's breathing room, that's for damn sure.

Isaera frowned a bit. The question of what exactly those cadets were doing so far southwest from the watchtower was troubling. It could be that whatever happened, they brought it upon themselves. If they provoked the wrath of the Horde or the locals, what right would they have to come rescue them? They may as well get clubbed in the head themselves...

Not to mention, two of the remaining volunteers: one was a troll, the other was an ogre. They seemed civilized enough to at least not cause trouble here, but still! Her life would be in their hands, and she did not know these people at all.. and much less, had any reason to trust them.

She sighed a bit, thinking this job may just be too risky, for too little pay, and perhaps, perhaps it did not even have a just cause. But still.. we didn't know the circumstances fully, or why they did what they did. There were missing men out there, who perhaps might still be alive.. and perhaps we could give them the benefit of the doubt, and hope they had a good reason?

"Captain.." Isaera begins, hesitantly. "We don't know what these cadets were doing. Perhaps they were justified, perhaps not. But if they were captured by the Horde - or worse - by what leverage can we negotiate their release?"

All Isaera knew was that fighting was dangerous. Especially for her. And if things did come to a conflict, they would disrupt the tenuous balance they were currently in.

https://i.imgur.com/P3ZGnKI.jpg Marion Mordis

Marion listened as the guardsman explained the situation: some cadets wandered off their route and got themselves into trouble with either hostile locals or the Horde.

And to remedy this, she and a...ogre and troll had to wander into the dank, murky swamp, braving possible Horde patrols, and find them. All for 2 gold.

Two. Gold.

When her family still had its estate nestled within the breathtaking mountain ranges of Alterac, Two Gold wasn't even pocket change - it was a paperweight, at best. Her family's mines had produced iron ore and gems by the tonnage and had enjoyed the vast wealth that this had fetched them on the market. That she would risk her life, or worse, at the hands of some filthy greenskins for a paltry pittance of that did not sit well with the warlock.

"You wish us to venture into the murky swamp, brave the hostile locals, including the fauna, try to steer clear of horde entanglements, then save five souls from the fetid graves that would otherwise await them, all for just two gold?" Marions voice was smooth, diplomatic and sceptical.

"That we have to portion among ourselves?"

Once again, sceptical. Whose to say the Ogre wouldn't just bash their heads in at the last moment to claim it all for themselves? Or the troll spear them in the back?

"That is a lot of risk for very little incentive, Sir," Marion continued, "And this seems to be a buyers market."

Marion couldn't see anyone else lining up to help the guardsman out.

"So, I think that we would deserve greater compensation. I'd wager that is not even a 100th of a percent that Theramore acquires bi-annually via berthing taxes from incoming trading vessels and the Alliance navy. I would think that the lives of five cadets would be worth considerably more..."

_____________________________

OOC:
Action: Persuasion Roll: [roll0]

Isaera nodded as the other woman spoke, in full agreement.

"Perhaps you do not have the funds presently, but I am sure there are coffers you can reach into, given your sway and enough time with the.. 'nobles'." Isaera said, trying with as much finesse to refer to politicians, bureaucracy, and the whole establishment which ran this glorified outpost.

"At the very least, if time is truly of the essence, and every hour, or even every minute may mean death or survival, you should grant us provisions for camping out in the wild, and lend us some transportation. Horses, perhaps? Otherwise, travel would be very slow and miserable on foot..."

Spoiler: ooc

Show

Persuasion! [roll0]

plus the Very Attractive advantage, which would give Isaera +5 if Captain Evencane finds her attractive. It would really be a shame, if not only did they lose 4 cadets, but a comely elf such as herself, right?? :smalltongue:

She clears her throat. "Ahem, and a word in private, captain?"

Spoiler: for GM, or perhaps snippets with quite a high perception roll

Show

If Isaera can speak with the captain away from earshot of others, she quietly confides in him:

"It's no secret there is great discomfort bringing those two along." She did not look toward or even gesture to Mor'Lag or Jakk'ari. The 'two' were quite obvious.
"I myself have no qualms with them here, personally. But I absolutely do not trust them outside of Theramore. I want you to offer them an additional two silver each for my safe return, and the other woman's. That will incentivize them to not betray us, and perhaps, even put some effort in to keeping us alive."

Isaera smiled softly.. it was somewhat smug, but also just sad at the thought, making this captain pay extra to further bribe those he hired to do the job he was already paying them for. And that money could have been going to her, and her family, too.

"And I'm sorry to say, this isn't negotiable, captain. I would like to help, but I cannot go out alone, and I don't feel I can trust the help otherwise. But rest assured, the price may seem high, but you are getting much in return."

After saying her peace, Isaera demonstrated some magic. Flames wreathed her hands as she channeled a powerful fire spell. She launched a fireball straight at the bar, causing the bottles of alcohol to explode in a bright flash of light, a boom, and cacophany of shattering glass!

Expertise (magic): [roll1]

But when it was all over, everything stood exactly as it was before, though several people may have dropped to the floor in fear.

Now the mage really smirked. "Just an illusion. What, do you think I would have really blown the place up? That's just silly."

Jakk'ari stunned by the arcane display wonders if everyone wearing resplendent robes in this port city is a potent font of power. Surmising it prudent to make allies of these two robed figures Jakk'ari composes himself.

"I agree, surely Theramore has more at its disposal to aid in this quest? Perhaps a ship or an arcane portal to speed us along."

Captain Evencane hated this part of hiring freebooters. The negotiation, the bickering, the need to exaggerate safety or threats on one side or the other. He seemed confident enough to deflect the ogre woman/women's attempt to ratchet up the price, but then smooth-voiced magistrix made a reasonable case that he had trouble deflecting. And just as he seemed to flounder and gather himself to rebuke the effort, a third voice - this the elven mage apprentice, and the most compelling voice of the sequence so far - compounded the case for additional compensation and left Evencane at the bottom of a very tall pile of escalated expectations. Flustered, he concedes to the aside with the Isaera; with an expression creeping into the steel of his eyes that suggests he's almost -grateful- to her, to be pulled out of a moment in which he was feeling outside his expertise. He listens to some quiet petition, and seems to have been bludgeoned into atleast partial submission by the cannonade of the groups' charms. He even goes so far as to raise a steadying hand to the confused and alarmed onlookers tormented by Isaera's display, and then sighs with a deep spirit of concession. Running a hand through his now moreso sweat-messed flat top, he makes a new offer.

"...You can't breathe a word of this away from this table. If other freebooters learn I've bent the pricing for one group, they'll be charging an arm and a leg for every wolf tail or murloc eye they're sent to get. There's obviously power in the four of you. Two of you will seem friendly enough faces to the horde that they won't take you for alliance assets if you run into them; two of you are friendly enough faces that the cadets won't take an offer for help from you as an outright trap. If you do it right, it'll be the easiest coin you've ever made."

He rubs the bridge of his nose.

"As for more help... A boat to take across the inlet won't help; you'd lose the time you'd gained crawling through the hillcountry and ridges heading back inland. And this Theramore has the closest portal anchor to the destination. The roads are the safest and quickest way there, but I can arrange for a cart - "

He pauses, glancing to Mor'Lag.

"Two carts for your group, to make the travel too and from easier. You'll need them to keep up with the medical crew anyway, but you'll have to leave them at Northpoint. At that time, you'll be striking out into the swamp anyway, and there's no sense breaking horse legs. And I'll raise the compensation to... To fifty silver for each cadet whose body isn't lost to the swamp, and a round gold for each back alive. That's me cutting into my own wage for you, so don't ask for more. Is that satisfactory? Because if it's not, I need to get outside and round up a group of marines, and take my chances with the kindness of orcs."

A final look to Isaera - suggesting he hasn't discarded her discreet commentary - before he gestures to the collection of adventurers with an open hand, as if to ask 'what's it gonna be?'

Isaera eyes the captain expectantly. She wasn't really expecting such a dramatic increase overall for the whole mission. That, in her opinion, made the risk of betrayal far worse, and more lucrative.

She sighed.

"Well, captain. I hope you - and other free agents - understand the urgency of this mission, and the value of mens' lives is worth far more than a few murloc eyes... But that said, I hate that you have to dig into your own wages."

"For what it's worth, I wouldn't mind if I gave up a bit of my share.." she looked around at the others and continued, "And we put that towards.. what we had discussed, a few moments ago."

"Otherwise, I will accept." She nods.

https://i.imgur.com/P3ZGnKI.jpg Marion Mordis

Marion watched, perhaps less surprised than the others, as the elf decided to show off with a dazzling display of illusionary pyrotechnics.

How has she survived this long being so reckless? The human wondered to herself, her right hand gripping the demonological tome tucked away within her traveling robe at the thought of being so open about her eldritch abilities back on Azeroth.

"Yes, that seems...tolerably adequate," Marion spoke to the guardsman as he accepted their request for higher compensation.

Though there could be more rewards hidden along the way, the Warlock thought to herself.

Turning to Mor'Lag Jakk'ari quips.
"Looks like we'll be the diplomats once we enter the swamp. Even if we aren't dressed for the part"
Quickly trying to smooth his scuffed armor.

Turning to Marion Jakk'ari says.
"I'm hopeful that you remain to be the wind our sails."
Taking note of her robes presuming great power accompanied it.

Content with the sweetened negotiations Jakk'ari congratulates Isaera.
"My thanks for being the rising tide elevating all of us. You've earned a totem of good fortune from me when this job is over. I like your mojo."

While happy with the negotiation a trace of doubt still lingered. This caster was no shaman, having no totems or elements come to her call. She was also clearly no druid, clearly lacking any wilderness attire or any unkempt features. The lack of any symbols of the clergy or accompanying fiends left one likely choice, a mage.

Mages wielded their power without the negotiation or mutualistic creeds with the worlds primal denizens that shamans and druids exercised. Lacking symbiotic relationships left ambition and self motivation to guide a caster which could lead to disaster.

Considering the elf's prior conversation with the captain Jakk'ari considered caution would be for the best especially with how quickly the captain acquiesced.

Spoiler: Mechanical action

Show

Use insight on Isaera [roll0] With a +3 from AWE mod.

"Mor and Lag are satisfied. We thank the little Vrykul and the Dorei for their wise counsel." Says Mor.
"The honorable Sandfury is likewise sure to be a valuable companion" says Lag.
"We will be the hammer"
"And the shield"

The Captain nods once, but doesn't look overly pleased. That's what happens when you get talked into paying more for something than you want to - even something virtuous. But lives are on the line, and that's enough to put steel back into his eyes.

"Right. Good. Great. Well, the medical team is mustering, and they'll be moving out in a quarter hour. Be ready by the gate. We can supply travel gear and resupply at North Point, but if you have any special needs, now's the time to sort them out. I'm sending a scout with you - a Mister Black. He's familiar with the terrain, and so he'll be a help ferreting the cadets out from hidey holes they might be shivering in. Light preserve you. And you two - ." He flags back Mor'Lag and Jakk'ari as the group peels away from the table, for a discreet additional exchange...

Spoiler: The discreet, additional exchange for Mor'Lag and Jakk'ari.

Show

The Captain lowers his voice significantly, and makes an admirable effort at neutralizing his discomfort for the outsiders. "I know you're not Horde. And you wouldn't be here if there was somewhere better for you to be right now.
But if an elf or a human dies in the swamp, and the ogre and troll come back safe, then less reasonable folks than me will be keen to ask questions. I'm sure you've noticed that Theramore is host to... mixed opinions on exactly how peaceful or neutral things should be here. So to cut to the chase, there's an extra five silver coming each of your palms if you make sure the other two get back alive and in good condition. Even with the primary objective being the rescue of the cadets, I know Lady Proudmoore could do with more printable stories of cooperative heroism. It's good for you, and it's good for me. That's all." And with that, he sharply stands up from his chair, and marches off with a true captain's rigidity to make preparations.

...After which, you are left to exchange words with each other as you wish, and expected to be at the gate in fifteen minutes.

------- FOURTEEN MINUTES HENCE -------

Four carts, each drawn by a pair of brawny draft horses, are waiting at the gates. They're open topped of course, each suitable for hauling a half dozen human sized passengers - or one ogre; and each cart is driven by a single human guard from Theramore. Their light chain armor with flared shoulder plates, along with white tabards featuring the golden anchor symbol of Theramore, suggest they are competent enough in matters of defense. The foremost two carts are packed with bundled supplies, and a pair of passengers in each. Gustaf VanHowzen is Theramore's chief trauma surgeon, and he compulsively rubs his bald scalp and fidgets with his chin beard as he mulls over the journey to come. With him are medics Tamberlyn and Helaina, both young women who look pretty enough to endure the cavalcade of flirtations that come from the mangled young warriors they are trying to save, but made of stern enough stuff to be neither captured nor outraged by it. Allen Bright, a priest of the Light and the medics' trainer and immediate superior, is possessed of just the right kind of gallows humor and temperament that he is able to keep up the spirits of men dying of their wounds and the sanity of those tasked to save them. Presently, he goes to some lengths trying to tease and amuse the cart drivers out of their set expressions of determination. He's doing a pretty good job.

He swings his attention down from the cart in which he sits to the rifleman standing beside it. "What do you think, Zachary? Would you rather work a job you love for next to no pay, or get paid ten gold a day to sit silently in an empty room eight hours a day for the rest of your life? No half-way answers."

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Zachary Black, that's you already in the scene awaiting the other characters to arrive.
You know they're coming by a vague description with no attached names (Evencane explicitly didn't want to know their names), and you know your job is to accompany them through the swamp to find the missing four cadets.

Everyone else, feel free to rock up and meet the fifth and final party member, and we'll get this show on the road.

The man beside him did not even turn his head, having heard him perfectly. The figures eyes were hidden behind the ash colored lenses of the googles he wore, and the cloth worn on his head both held the padding underneath to his ears and also to keep his head cool. Cradling the used rifle of his in preparation for what may yet come he he shakes his head. "That question was answered for me years ago. If all I cared for was easy money I'd of stayed in the first city I crossed, what with my aptitude in alchemy. Instead I joined the fight against the bandits and the Horde. In the Alliance armed forces for a time, then outside of it. My lot is going place to place, camping under the stars and vanquishing vile men and monsters. It's fulfilling...... and also pays well on occasion."

He drinks for a water skin, which in truth was filled with homemade wine from a farm not so far away. He then spies Mor'Lag. "Speaking of that, are we really to travel with a Ogre, or is someone trying to make a fool out of us?"

Mor'Lag hears this remark.

"Little Vrykul does not wish our help?" Asks Lag.
"Alliance is strong, Horde is weak, so Mor'Lag sides with the right and fights for Alliance." Says Mor.
"But little Vrykuls do not trust Mor'Lag. Mor'Lag's grandmother fought in Second War"
"Our father did "
"But Alliance shamed Orcs."
"So Ogres don't fight for weaklings"
"Mor'Lag never enemy of little Vrykuls or Dorei."
"And Sandfury here never enemy of anyone"

Zachary scratches his beard. "Well that's an interesting thought process..." He put the water-skin away and stands at the ready. "So the rest of you are going on this rescue mission then as well?"

https://i.imgur.com/P3ZGnKI.jpg Marion Mordis

Marion was waiting at the gate and on time, like the tardy arcane academic that she was. She was not dressed particularly 'warlocky', with a pair of sturdy travellers breeches, strong leather boots with wrappings around the ankles to keep the water and bugs out, a top and a cloak around it all. The cloak was fitted in such a way as to make it easy to remove, for its main purpose was to protect against insects and other annoying fauna that could prick her with some sort of thin, small stinger. Overall, Marion looked like a traveller rather than a magic user.

Isaera barely had any time to make her way back to her home. She told her mother where she was going, and despite some protests, said her goodbyes. She only managed to grab a bag with a few useful belongings, and a staff - but it was more like just a sturdy stick they had found in the swamps one time. Good for walking, at least.

Even as Isaera tried to hurry, she arrived fashionably late. Perhaps twenty or twenty-five minutes later, mere moments before they were to leave. She climbed into a cart to sit down.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I suppose it's time for introductions. I am Isaera Runescribe, and I will be accompanying you on this rescue mission."

The elf looked from medic, to medic, to warlock, to priest, to ogre, to troll, to ranger expectantly.

"I am Mor" Says the ogre head with two eyes.
"And I am Lag" says the cyclops head.
"We are pleased to meet you, Isaera."
"Do we understand correctly you are a worker of wonders?"
"Our father were a Great Worker during the Second War, but we, alas, have only brawn to rely on."

Being accustomed to travel Jakk'ari packed quickly grabbing his traveling pack, thanking the innkeeper for their hospitality, and bidding to the elementals residing within the hearth goodbye.

Jakk'ari arrived at the front gate clad in mail armor with bundles of herbs known for their ability to act as an insecticide. Taking notice of the assembled group.

"Good to see everyone assembled. Anyone is welcome to some of the local bounty, it's for keeping the bugs away or a pleasant drink."
Presenting a bundle of fresh herbs.

Taking note and addressing the new hooded figure without a uniform.
"I believe we haven't met. Do we have another resident of the wilderness? "

The Ranger nods at the elf. He stands at a half-hearted attention and speaks. "Sergent Zachary Black of the 12th Prowlers. Or rather former Sergent....I am technically retired from the Alliance military and now act as a liaison of sorts. Tracker, Ranger and also budding Alchemist. I know how to navigate the wilds and have certain...gifts... with this sort of thing which is why the suggested me for this rescue." He looks over the rest. "I've gathered the Ogre's name is Mor'lag, so who are the rest of you?"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Oh I see as I was typing this the other two responded XD

https://i.imgur.com/P3ZGnKI.jpg Marion Mordis

Marion considered the rest of the assembled group, her eyes wary of both the ogre and the troll, the two most physically imposing of the gathered cotorie. She trusted them about as far as she could throw them.

"I am Marion," she said with her smooth voice when her time to speak came about, "Marion Mordis."

Isaera nods. At least, the ones she was initially rather suspicious of seemed friendly. Honestly, the one who was the least forthcoming seemed to be the other. Marion Mordis. Hmm...

Looking at Mor'lag, Isaera tilts her head curiously and says, "Worker of wonders? ..do you mean magic?" To that, she can just smile timidly and nod. "Well of course. What you have seen and heard in the tavern from my small display.. it was only but a taste."

She accepts some herbs from Jakk'ari curiously. "How do we use these?" she asked. Honestly, with quite a lot of skin exposed for bugs to bite at, it wouldn't be a terrible idea to keep them away.

A confident, welcoming nod to the former-sergeant. And another, more subtle nod to Marion. Well, this trip was certainly going to be interesting..