The early morning of the group departure was offset by the gloom produced by the unlikely band of adventurers, brought together by the whims of fate and forced to endure nothing short of a horrific first encounter. As they loaded their horses with their gear and whatever they could manage to ask/claim/swindle out of the innkeeper, they were off. The glaring eyes of a bridge burned staring holes into their back as they went. A steady pace, a quiet ride and even the most eccentric out of them all lost in thought. The group had barely any time, in relative terms, to fully come to grasp what they were dealing with. On top of this, while they had undoubtedly prevented an undead incursion, they knew nothing about what was happening or how to stop it. Some eyes darted back and forth, others stared ahead either out of concentration or a lack of awareness. It appeared that not a soul among them was looking forward to the talk with the King they were going to have, to admit their failure and worse yet, acknowledge their losses at the beginning of their journey.
Days went by, the group stopping every so often in order to camp and refresh themselves. Stretches, practicing, napping, reading, cooking and eating. Conversations were had between the group at intervals, with certain individuals ensuring they were never in the same small space or tent at any given time. Color slowly started to come back to the people as a sense of normalcy took over the time it took to get to the Castle. In a sense, peace had been returned to them, the vestiges of death a strong memory but just that, a memory. The losses were still felt, more acutely by others, but they were fading. Shock was wearing off and bodies were refilling with a sense of vitality. It was what they needed, and these few days where they were alone with each other and their own thoughts, able to piece things together by themselves and focus on what would help them most... This was a needed distraction.
Several days later, they arrived. The city of Fellmark, the capital of Stormgard came into view and the guardsmen at the walls and gates stood in a mixture of relaxed and stern positions. It looked like an average day, with nothing particularly happening during a time of peace that hadn't yet reached the ears of the others here in the city. At least, the guards did a good job of making it seem that way. As the group passed through the city gates, the guard captain appeared, his eyes peering over them with a knowing deepness to them. It seemed he realized something, both angry and saddened at the same time, but said nothing. Waving them through, they walked their horses through a city in the throes of mid day. People walked to and fro, market stalls hocked their wares, beggars begged and shoppers shopped. Kids ran through legs and alleys alike and the entire bustle of the city folk felt deafening after having been alone with nothing but each other on the road here. No one seemed to pay them any special mind, only doing the bare minimum to get out of the way of their horses. The group trotted along, eventually coming to the path leading to the King's Castle. The guards at this gate were far more alert, armed and armored. They stopped them as they approached, investigating their bags and noting their purpose. Upon giving all of that, they were lead inside, their horses stabled and their belongings held by the guards save for whatever they happened to be carrying upon their person at the time.
A small troupe lead them through the once familiar halls where the Heralds had spent some time sitting and waiting for judgement...well, save for one. The guards continued, marching them to a large door that was recognizable by most, and upon opening it, revealing the empty throne room. The large area where most of them had first been introduced to each other, and told of their purpose for the coming days. It seemed so long ago, but time has a weird way of taking things and putting them into different sets of context. There, the group was instructed to wait as the guards removed themselves from the room, closing the massive door behind them as they went. In awkward silence, save for maybe a couple of whispered comments from a couple, they waited. Unsure with what to do with themselves, it felt like ages before the King made his entrance next to the throne. Instead of sitting himself on the chair, overlooking them as people of royalty are want to do, he walked down the few stairs to stand in front of them. His eyes had heavy bags around them, indicating a lack of sleep from an unknown cause, but guesses were most likely to be accurate. He peered around them all, a certain sadness filling his form as he came to the same revelation that the guard captain undoubtedly had as well.
"I am noticing a distinct lack of... people here with you."
Mara stared down at her booted feet, trying not to let the swell of grief overwhelm her again. She had remembered to put on footwear before they entered the throne room. She was at least glad for that.
Phaedra lingered toward the back of the group, her gaze shifting about the room like a jumpy ally cat. Her left hand tightly clutched the worn strap of her satchel while her right twitched at her side. Although her face had the look of discomfort and distrust with a furrowed brow and sneer, her body told another tale. There wasn't much they knew about the woman aside from her sharp tongue and her ability to hold her own against a horde of undead. But it was like once they entered the castle a bit of some truth came to light. Phaedra didn't seem to carry herself like a commoner but instead stood with strong stature, with poise and the posture of someone who had be taught the proper way to carry oneself. If they didn't know any better... The redhead wasn't as common as she lead on to be.
Garos, on the other hand, shrunk against the King’s gaze. A pang of guilt pulled his features taut, he could feel the pull, even though he fought against it. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight had finally pressed itself down on him, he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He made sure that he wasn't in the forefront, lingering towards the back of the group. He didn't plan to break the silence at all, and waited for someone else to answer the King’s question in their stead. What else did he have to say in this situation? He hadn't even wanted to come along in the first place, and now, the only question that burned in his gut involved Thomas and Ragnar. His gaze flitted towards Callion, in particular, and then, over towards Cecilia. He believed them better suited to explaining the circumstances of their return.
"They...didn't...." Mara's voice cracked in her distress. It were as if she felt suffocated by the silence, but she trailed off. Mara's complexion paled noticeably as she appeared to struggle for words. "We failed to...save them..." The King appeared to look at Mara, his eyes betraying a sense of sympathy and loss, but also containing years of having to learn the hard way that such emotions held no place with the leader of men, especially in times of need. He gave a sigh, rubbing his hand through his beard slightly as he took a moment to think about his words.
"This isn't your fault. I couldn't possibly believe that someone such as Ragnar would have allowed himself to be taken down in such a light fashion. The assassin, Thomas was it? I'll admit, I didn't know him well past his occupation and guard reports, but he didn't seem one to be taken lightly either." The King looked to the group. "You admitted this much in your letter, I had simply hoped that it was written in error, or maybe there was some sort of accident with the spell used to inform us. Two Herald's down... and according to your letter, we're no closer to an answer?" Callion was the one to speak up next.
"It was a powerful form of necromancy for certain." Callion stated, taking a step forward as to present himself as best as possible, although whether that was from pride or habit, it was hard to tell. "Someone of great skill and ability cast it, and seemingly caught the town unaware. The elf and I will continue to look into it, but I wouldn't hold out hope of anything spectacular revealing itself to us." The King looked over at Callion, taking in his words with little change to his posture, his silence indicating a deep sense of thought as he continued to absorb the information given.
"I see, just as you stated in your letter once again." One more pause, which at this point was starting to seem like the King was trying desperately to regain his breath at every opportunity. Instead, he seemed to regain some form of regality as he switched to the one giving the information and orders, his shoulders lifting and his voice carrying more than a hint of nobility speech. "While you were on your way, a new series of information made its way to my ears. With confirmation of your group and its status, I have no choice but to believe that the information is correct." The King motioned to the back and a robe wearing man, most likely some sort of page or messenger, stepped forward with another letter. "A cult of sorts, since I hesitate to use the term of 'Religion' when it comes to such a small following, has managed to reach out to me. They insist that they could have information that ties into the Heralds and the myths surrounding them. I've invited them here, and they should arrive tomorrow morning if they manage to stick to their schedule." The King looked to one of the men standing near the door and gave a nod. The soldier opened the door to reveal a few attendants stepping inside the room. "In the meantime, rooms have been prepared for you once again, although your freedom within the castle walls won't be as confining. You're welcome to walk the halls and explore the castle grounds as you wish, but I must ask you to remain here until we get to meet with this group of...Ist'nen they call themselves"
With another look, his eyes managed to pierce through the group and land on Phaedra. The red head seemed to keep her attention everywhere but the King, that was until he looked directly at her. "As for you young lady." At those words a slight smirk grew across her lips, like she knew a secret he didn't. "I don't believe we've ever met but the letter contained information as to the details surrounding you. I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this mess, but seeing as you are similarly marked as the others, I have no choice but to ask for your help in this matter as well. You will be greatly compensated for your troubles, as will all of you." There was a bit of a hollow ring to the King's words, as if he was reciting a speech or message he had said one too many times, but the contents of his words were clear.
Phaedra shrugged her shoulders slightly at the comment. "It doesn't seem I have a choice." By the look on her face, it didn't seem that the prospect of compensation amused her.
With another look, he peered towards the group as a whole. "Does anyone have any questions before we retire to our rooms?"
Mara stared at the floor, silent, and looking somewhat smaller than usual. It were as if the effort it took her to speak diminished her. Cecilia spoke for the first time since they'd arrived, her brows furrowed. "These Ist'nen that you speak of, how can you ensure that they mean well in their effort to aid us? It seems too coincidental that they would only offer to help now."
Garos shifted once more, uncomfortably. Leaning his weight to his other foot, before returning to the other. Sure, he had questions, and most of them were personal in nature, but he felt like Cecilia's should come first. There was too much information being tossed across the board. A cult? The Ist'nen? None of it made any sense to him, and it was all he could do but chew on the inside of his mouth, to keep himself from biting off a comment that might get him into a trouble. T'was the King they were talking to, after all. Still. He settled a hand on his hip, arched a thick eyebrow, and shifted his gaze from Cecilia to the King. The King nodded.
"You are right to be skeptical, but if I'm being entirely honest, this isn't the first time they reached out. In my hubris, I believed them to be delusional and ostentatious, and since I wanted to keep this mission quiet as long as possible, I refused them an audience." The King took a breath. "If I had not jumped to conclusions, their information might have been able to help you prevent some of the misfortunes we've had, but what's done is done." The King looked directly at Cecilia. "When they reached out the second time, it was a mere day after your letter had reached me, and they seemed to be well aware of Ragnar's and Thomas's fate. How, they didn't quite explain but they were correct regardless. This time I wasn't in any position to refuse, and with the benefit of hindsight, I'm hoping this decision will work out better than the last." The King was being particularly candid, but it wasn't exactly hard to see why. While he still managed to keep an air of respect around him, he was visibly exhausted and otherwise wanting something, anything, to pan out. "Were there any other questions?"
"Ragnar and Thomas," Garos's voice sounded unusual to him. Weaker. As if he'd exhaled their names aloud, in a rush. Breathless. It definitely didn't sound familiar, even though he'd been mentally preparing himself to voice the question. He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Tried again. "We left them back at the village, but we wanted them taken care of. Properly, y'know? Buried. Cece made sure they'd..." He dropped his hand back to his side, eyebrows furrowed. He finally found the King's eyes and held his gaze. "Ain't right to just leave them there."
Softly, a sob escaped the farm girl, as if Garos had unlatched a door she had closed on her grief with his word. Mara covered her mouth, silencing herself. She stared intently at the chamber floor. The King gave a slow nod. "Preparations have already been made to recover the bodies for a proper burial. They will be given the respect owed them." The King looked around a bit more and sensing that there wasn't going to be any more statements or questions, took a small breath and continued. "Alright, if that's everything then I suggest you get some rest. Should you have need, the assistants will fetch you any food you require, the baths are open to you and I would recommend taking the rest of the day to relax and recover from your ordeal. Tomorrow morning we will be back to business once the Ist'nen arrive." The King motioned to the guards near the entrance, who opened the doors. "The attendants will show you to your rooms. Do try to take care of yourselves while you can." The King then turned on his heel, heading back towards the door he had originally come through, the conversation over as the attendants waited near the door for everyone to make their way to their rooms.
Days went by, the group stopping every so often in order to camp and refresh themselves. Stretches, practicing, napping, reading, cooking and eating. Conversations were had between the group at intervals, with certain individuals ensuring they were never in the same small space or tent at any given time. Color slowly started to come back to the people as a sense of normalcy took over the time it took to get to the Castle. In a sense, peace had been returned to them, the vestiges of death a strong memory but just that, a memory. The losses were still felt, more acutely by others, but they were fading. Shock was wearing off and bodies were refilling with a sense of vitality. It was what they needed, and these few days where they were alone with each other and their own thoughts, able to piece things together by themselves and focus on what would help them most... This was a needed distraction.
Several days later, they arrived. The city of Fellmark, the capital of Stormgard came into view and the guardsmen at the walls and gates stood in a mixture of relaxed and stern positions. It looked like an average day, with nothing particularly happening during a time of peace that hadn't yet reached the ears of the others here in the city. At least, the guards did a good job of making it seem that way. As the group passed through the city gates, the guard captain appeared, his eyes peering over them with a knowing deepness to them. It seemed he realized something, both angry and saddened at the same time, but said nothing. Waving them through, they walked their horses through a city in the throes of mid day. People walked to and fro, market stalls hocked their wares, beggars begged and shoppers shopped. Kids ran through legs and alleys alike and the entire bustle of the city folk felt deafening after having been alone with nothing but each other on the road here. No one seemed to pay them any special mind, only doing the bare minimum to get out of the way of their horses. The group trotted along, eventually coming to the path leading to the King's Castle. The guards at this gate were far more alert, armed and armored. They stopped them as they approached, investigating their bags and noting their purpose. Upon giving all of that, they were lead inside, their horses stabled and their belongings held by the guards save for whatever they happened to be carrying upon their person at the time.
A small troupe lead them through the once familiar halls where the Heralds had spent some time sitting and waiting for judgement...well, save for one. The guards continued, marching them to a large door that was recognizable by most, and upon opening it, revealing the empty throne room. The large area where most of them had first been introduced to each other, and told of their purpose for the coming days. It seemed so long ago, but time has a weird way of taking things and putting them into different sets of context. There, the group was instructed to wait as the guards removed themselves from the room, closing the massive door behind them as they went. In awkward silence, save for maybe a couple of whispered comments from a couple, they waited. Unsure with what to do with themselves, it felt like ages before the King made his entrance next to the throne. Instead of sitting himself on the chair, overlooking them as people of royalty are want to do, he walked down the few stairs to stand in front of them. His eyes had heavy bags around them, indicating a lack of sleep from an unknown cause, but guesses were most likely to be accurate. He peered around them all, a certain sadness filling his form as he came to the same revelation that the guard captain undoubtedly had as well.
"I am noticing a distinct lack of... people here with you."
Mara stared down at her booted feet, trying not to let the swell of grief overwhelm her again. She had remembered to put on footwear before they entered the throne room. She was at least glad for that.
Phaedra lingered toward the back of the group, her gaze shifting about the room like a jumpy ally cat. Her left hand tightly clutched the worn strap of her satchel while her right twitched at her side. Although her face had the look of discomfort and distrust with a furrowed brow and sneer, her body told another tale. There wasn't much they knew about the woman aside from her sharp tongue and her ability to hold her own against a horde of undead. But it was like once they entered the castle a bit of some truth came to light. Phaedra didn't seem to carry herself like a commoner but instead stood with strong stature, with poise and the posture of someone who had be taught the proper way to carry oneself. If they didn't know any better... The redhead wasn't as common as she lead on to be.
Garos, on the other hand, shrunk against the King’s gaze. A pang of guilt pulled his features taut, he could feel the pull, even though he fought against it. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight had finally pressed itself down on him, he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He made sure that he wasn't in the forefront, lingering towards the back of the group. He didn't plan to break the silence at all, and waited for someone else to answer the King’s question in their stead. What else did he have to say in this situation? He hadn't even wanted to come along in the first place, and now, the only question that burned in his gut involved Thomas and Ragnar. His gaze flitted towards Callion, in particular, and then, over towards Cecilia. He believed them better suited to explaining the circumstances of their return.
"They...didn't...." Mara's voice cracked in her distress. It were as if she felt suffocated by the silence, but she trailed off. Mara's complexion paled noticeably as she appeared to struggle for words. "We failed to...save them..." The King appeared to look at Mara, his eyes betraying a sense of sympathy and loss, but also containing years of having to learn the hard way that such emotions held no place with the leader of men, especially in times of need. He gave a sigh, rubbing his hand through his beard slightly as he took a moment to think about his words.
"This isn't your fault. I couldn't possibly believe that someone such as Ragnar would have allowed himself to be taken down in such a light fashion. The assassin, Thomas was it? I'll admit, I didn't know him well past his occupation and guard reports, but he didn't seem one to be taken lightly either." The King looked to the group. "You admitted this much in your letter, I had simply hoped that it was written in error, or maybe there was some sort of accident with the spell used to inform us. Two Herald's down... and according to your letter, we're no closer to an answer?" Callion was the one to speak up next.
"It was a powerful form of necromancy for certain." Callion stated, taking a step forward as to present himself as best as possible, although whether that was from pride or habit, it was hard to tell. "Someone of great skill and ability cast it, and seemingly caught the town unaware. The elf and I will continue to look into it, but I wouldn't hold out hope of anything spectacular revealing itself to us." The King looked over at Callion, taking in his words with little change to his posture, his silence indicating a deep sense of thought as he continued to absorb the information given.
"I see, just as you stated in your letter once again." One more pause, which at this point was starting to seem like the King was trying desperately to regain his breath at every opportunity. Instead, he seemed to regain some form of regality as he switched to the one giving the information and orders, his shoulders lifting and his voice carrying more than a hint of nobility speech. "While you were on your way, a new series of information made its way to my ears. With confirmation of your group and its status, I have no choice but to believe that the information is correct." The King motioned to the back and a robe wearing man, most likely some sort of page or messenger, stepped forward with another letter. "A cult of sorts, since I hesitate to use the term of 'Religion' when it comes to such a small following, has managed to reach out to me. They insist that they could have information that ties into the Heralds and the myths surrounding them. I've invited them here, and they should arrive tomorrow morning if they manage to stick to their schedule." The King looked to one of the men standing near the door and gave a nod. The soldier opened the door to reveal a few attendants stepping inside the room. "In the meantime, rooms have been prepared for you once again, although your freedom within the castle walls won't be as confining. You're welcome to walk the halls and explore the castle grounds as you wish, but I must ask you to remain here until we get to meet with this group of...Ist'nen they call themselves"
With another look, his eyes managed to pierce through the group and land on Phaedra. The red head seemed to keep her attention everywhere but the King, that was until he looked directly at her. "As for you young lady." At those words a slight smirk grew across her lips, like she knew a secret he didn't. "I don't believe we've ever met but the letter contained information as to the details surrounding you. I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this mess, but seeing as you are similarly marked as the others, I have no choice but to ask for your help in this matter as well. You will be greatly compensated for your troubles, as will all of you." There was a bit of a hollow ring to the King's words, as if he was reciting a speech or message he had said one too many times, but the contents of his words were clear.
Phaedra shrugged her shoulders slightly at the comment. "It doesn't seem I have a choice." By the look on her face, it didn't seem that the prospect of compensation amused her.
With another look, he peered towards the group as a whole. "Does anyone have any questions before we retire to our rooms?"
Mara stared at the floor, silent, and looking somewhat smaller than usual. It were as if the effort it took her to speak diminished her. Cecilia spoke for the first time since they'd arrived, her brows furrowed. "These Ist'nen that you speak of, how can you ensure that they mean well in their effort to aid us? It seems too coincidental that they would only offer to help now."
Garos shifted once more, uncomfortably. Leaning his weight to his other foot, before returning to the other. Sure, he had questions, and most of them were personal in nature, but he felt like Cecilia's should come first. There was too much information being tossed across the board. A cult? The Ist'nen? None of it made any sense to him, and it was all he could do but chew on the inside of his mouth, to keep himself from biting off a comment that might get him into a trouble. T'was the King they were talking to, after all. Still. He settled a hand on his hip, arched a thick eyebrow, and shifted his gaze from Cecilia to the King. The King nodded.
"You are right to be skeptical, but if I'm being entirely honest, this isn't the first time they reached out. In my hubris, I believed them to be delusional and ostentatious, and since I wanted to keep this mission quiet as long as possible, I refused them an audience." The King took a breath. "If I had not jumped to conclusions, their information might have been able to help you prevent some of the misfortunes we've had, but what's done is done." The King looked directly at Cecilia. "When they reached out the second time, it was a mere day after your letter had reached me, and they seemed to be well aware of Ragnar's and Thomas's fate. How, they didn't quite explain but they were correct regardless. This time I wasn't in any position to refuse, and with the benefit of hindsight, I'm hoping this decision will work out better than the last." The King was being particularly candid, but it wasn't exactly hard to see why. While he still managed to keep an air of respect around him, he was visibly exhausted and otherwise wanting something, anything, to pan out. "Were there any other questions?"
"Ragnar and Thomas," Garos's voice sounded unusual to him. Weaker. As if he'd exhaled their names aloud, in a rush. Breathless. It definitely didn't sound familiar, even though he'd been mentally preparing himself to voice the question. He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Tried again. "We left them back at the village, but we wanted them taken care of. Properly, y'know? Buried. Cece made sure they'd..." He dropped his hand back to his side, eyebrows furrowed. He finally found the King's eyes and held his gaze. "Ain't right to just leave them there."
Softly, a sob escaped the farm girl, as if Garos had unlatched a door she had closed on her grief with his word. Mara covered her mouth, silencing herself. She stared intently at the chamber floor. The King gave a slow nod. "Preparations have already been made to recover the bodies for a proper burial. They will be given the respect owed them." The King looked around a bit more and sensing that there wasn't going to be any more statements or questions, took a small breath and continued. "Alright, if that's everything then I suggest you get some rest. Should you have need, the assistants will fetch you any food you require, the baths are open to you and I would recommend taking the rest of the day to relax and recover from your ordeal. Tomorrow morning we will be back to business once the Ist'nen arrive." The King motioned to the guards near the entrance, who opened the doors. "The attendants will show you to your rooms. Do try to take care of yourselves while you can." The King then turned on his heel, heading back towards the door he had originally come through, the conversation over as the attendants waited near the door for everyone to make their way to their rooms.