From the King

[GM-Mike]

The bells of Blackwatch tolled, sounding clear tones through the evening air. Messengers clad in black livery streamed into the city, delivering missives to Haven’s heroes. Within moments the sound of creaking wood could be heard from homes across the realm as old trunks opened for the first time in years. Well-oiled weapons and armor emerged for the first time in years as spellbooks shed layers of dust and bowstrings were once again strung.

As the Heroes of Haven arrived in Blackwatch they were greeted by an honor guard of Royal Cavaliers who ushered them into the courtyard. Two wagons laden with supplies waited in front of the Blackwatch Portal and people could be seen making preparations for a journey. Minister Francis stood near a stack of crates, giving orders to Caretakers as they hurried around the courtyard. The scene was organized chaos until a horn sounded and members of the Royal Guard streamed into the courtyard.

***

King Korrigan strides into view, looking thinner and more burdened than in the days when he was merely an innkeeper. The King pauses briefly to pass a scroll to Minister Francis before hopping up onto a crate and holding up his hand. The bustle in the courtyard subsides and Korrigan begins to speak.

“Heroes, you have my gratitude for answering Haven’s call,” he begins, his voice more practiced and formal than many would remember. He is clearly tired, but focused on the task at hand.
“As many of you know, we have recently begun settling the territory known as The Wildlands, a vast expanse of land granted to Haven by the Vanguard Alliance. Colonists have been encountering the sort of resistance you would expect in an untamed region, but recently a more organized force has begun assaulting the people there. This morning we received word that a large number of savages were moving against the colony, and for the sake of the settlers there, we have taken action.

Many of you were planning to travel to the Wildlands in your own time, seeking the fortune and opportunity that come with a new and untapped wilderness. Others had pledged to aid the colonists and help guarantee their safety, while still more have been looking forward to a fresh start in a land with no memory. Whatever your reasons for considering the Wildlands, Haven now has need of you. The success of our colony is of utmost importance, both to Haven and to the Vanguard Alliance, and only the strength of our greatest heroes can hope to see it safe.”

A man in a grey hood approaches the King and bows before gesturing towards the portal. Korrigan nods and continues speaking.

“Though there is no portal near the colony, our mages have constructed a temporary conduit that can bring any who answer Haven’s call to the forefront of the battle. It will only remain open for a brief time, after which travel to the colony will require a journey over land. Minister Francis has assembled all the supplies and medicines that you should need for the first few moons, and so I must ask you to make your choice. None will judge poorly any who choose to remain in the safety of the Haven, but all those willing to embark on this adventure do so with the thanks of a grateful Kingdom.”

The man in the grey hood holds his hands aloft and runes begin to light up on the portal’s surface. The characters are strange, unfamiliar to those accustomed to traveling through portals and glow with a deep, violet light. The portal opens, ripping the air with magic and exposing a thickly wooded expanse beyond. In the distance, black smoke can be seen rising above the trees. King Korrigan hops off the crate and takes a few involuntary steps towards the portal, his hands reflexively resting on the swords on his belt. He stops himself, looking towards the assembled heroes. When he speaks, he sounds a bit more like an innkeeper than a King.

“Haven needs her King here, but her people… and the world… need you in the Wildlands, my friends. They need you more than I can say. I asked you all to be heroes once, and now I’m asking you again. Whether you are heroes in your hearts or only by your deeds, we need you. Good luck… now go save the fucking day.”

The King steps back, and the portal awaits…

[Abaddon]

An old man stands in the corner of the assembly as the rain comes down. His mask is new, glinting in the flickering light of the torches but the eyes behind them are the same, one black and one white one that sees the past and the other the flow of magic. His garb is more decadent now as lines of lightening cross cross across his chest holding the creature inside it in check. The old man's staff jingles as he walks just as it ever did. Another Valkyn'vi walked behind him out of reach but close enough to him to move forward should the old man's strength fall.

His breathing is labored with a rattle and hitch and he rubs his hands trough his gloves as though the weather swells his ancient bones. Not a single bit of skin is exposed to the elements but even so his flesh seems to hang on his bones.

[Rothek]

Of in the distance, a wolf howled followed by another.. then another... then another. The sound lingered and combined with the clangs of the tolling bell until dying out after a few minutes.
Four beastmen came into view as they approached the courtyard, three males and a female. Rothek was easily recognized, although age was beginning to show, he still marched forward confidently nodding his head in greeting to the honor guard and giving a fanged smile in the direction of the king. Rothek wore his armor with Kileshandran tabard over top and carried the ancient club and his recently acquired shield. The other beastmen were nowhere near as calm, they had never been around so many humans and even though they had been to blackwatch before, this time was different. Each of them stayed close to their lead watching their surrounding and raising their heads to sniff the air, occasionally the female would stop for a few seconds, close her eyes and looked as if she was trying to feel her surroundings before catching back up with the others. She was the smallest of them all and wore a mage's robe that was old and beginning to fray at the end of the sleeves. A larger beastman looked back at her and barked for her to keep up, he was also wearing armor and carried Rothek's great axe. As they approached the portal the aged beastman turned to face the others.

“Take care while I am away, my children. Roscarr, I know want to follow and prove yourself a strong warrior but you must stay. You must protect the tribe and continue working with the dwarves”

the large beastmen carrying the axe begrudgingly nodded his head and snorted “Yes father.”

“Rendak, keep up with your studies, learn all you can, the people of Brandybrook are very smart. Use their knowledge.”

Rendak was well dressed, for a beastman. “yes father, I will continue my.....what was that word?. Oh yes!...Research.”

before Rothek could address the smallest of the three she had already pushed past her brothers and hugged him tightly, visibly upset.

“i am afraid father, the forest has never been so angry. I don't know what to do”

holding on to his daughter for a moment longer the old beastman held her hand in his “i am protected, as you are, by Great Spirit. Should you need counsel and comfort. Seek lady Orien in Dawnvale. Know this my daughter. I will return.”

rothek barked loudly a few times which his children answered in kind before they turned to leave. Rinna giving one last look in his way before they exited. Rothek turned around to face the portal and growled.

“I'm getting too old for this shit.”

[Marcus]

Marcus bid the messenger farewell and good-day as she left the doorstep of the young couple's house, and turned from the porch he had been relaxing upon, business on his mind.

The messenger from the Crown looked back at him. If there was even a doubt to his tales of a Guthrie father, they were definitely proven false, as the young man looked as if he hadn't aged even a single day in the last five years, much to the continual chagrin of those many years his elder.

As the Knight entered the house, he casually reached down and took hold of a great warhammer sitting propped in the corner near the woodbox. It looked every bit the scope of a weapon from tales and legend with it's eldritch carved runes, but yet it sat alone without padded case or decorative and eye-catching wall rack to cradle it - almost as if such ornamentation were an unnecessary bit of luxury that was deemed "beneath" a weapon so purposefully made to serve with action, not impression.

"Well, friend", Marcus joked with a smile as he carried the weapon at his side, playing around as if the weapon could actually hear him. "Sounds like Korrigan's finally decided we have it far too fat and easy here, and it's back to the forefront. No more attending ribbon cuttings at harvest festivals, or casual drinking at the House of Chance - responsibly and never on while duty, of course. No more sleeping in after dawn...or maybe even the crack of noon.

Nope, now we're off to the Wildlands. Back to sleeping in rough cabins, helping simple folks feel safe who are worrying about how some monster might slink up in the night and make a meal of them if it weren't for us to stand in the way. Crazed spirits, mud, curses, crazy people, weird monsters, all the great stuff that gives sane people nightmares as they lay in their feather beds."

He reached a room in the back of the house, and stopped before an armor stand . He set Durandal down next to him. It hit the floor with a deep thump, more than would seem natural for a weapon of wood and steel, as he reached up and began removing the armor and strapping on all the sections.

He looked down to the hammer as he gave one last big "chainmail shrug" and a firm knock of the fist to several parts of the armor to settle everything in it's proper place.

He grinned.

"About damn time the two of us got back in the trenches, isn't it? Now let's go find Fionna - she's gonna want in on this, too."

[Kaylan Chargeender]

**Through the slots of the polished helm Kaylan's gaze settles in turn on each person; not wearing the black and white quartered tabbard adorning the Cavaliers,Caretakers, and Sentries of the Royal Guard or the crimson and black of the Kings Personal Guard; that enters the courtyard to answer the kings summons with an intense lingering scrutiny. He is never more than the length of his arm and hammer from Korrigan's side during the speech, but is in constant motion amongst the around the 5 man squad of Crimson Aegis knights that surround the King.
When the grey robed mage sets to twisting the surrounding magic into an arcane tunnel through space, Kaylan moves himself between the King and the portal, shifting his shield to the ready and deftly loosing his hammer from his left hip and holding it relaxed at his side. Never drawing his sight away from the glimpse into the wild lands until the Kings steps down from his impromptu stage. Kaylan reflexively follows Korrigan's involuntary steps towards the portal, pausing only when the King does to finish his entreatment those that have been the saviors of Haven time and time again to do so once more.
As those that make the choice to answer his call to arms gather near the gate and organize themselves, Kaylan turns slightly towards the King and leans close to speak. The conversation seems fervent but respectful and brief. Kaylan's demeanor shifts from a relaxed attentiveness to the adamant focus to be expected from the Commandant of the Order of the Knights of the Crimson Aegis, and Captain of the Royal Guard.
Kaylan turns to several of the gathered knights and quietly gives orders to a few, sending them either running for the stables and off on their mounts, or into different sections of the keep carrying things Kaylan hands them or to return gear and supplies he has often been seen with on the long Haven missions.
The sound of heavy boots hits the courtyard just before the squad of men, armored in high quality crimson lacquered scale armor so dark red it shines as near black and armed with master work dwarven weapons, quick marches to to stand before Kaylan. The Captain of the Royal Guard speaks briefly to the warrior at the head of the group, hands a Crimson Aegis favor to each, and makes a few silent gestures to the men before they run and plunge into the open portal ahead of the Heroes of Haven.
Kaylan slowly steps to the rear of those gathered, penning several notes and handing them to a member of Korrigan's Messenger. Once the courier has his orders and the letters, Kaylans eyes turn to the walls, scanning them slowly before turning back to watch the last of the Havenites pass into the shining and swirling promise of challenge, loss, and unseen oddities. After donning his work gloves and hoisting his scarred shield he mutters aloud to himself mostly before slowly moving to the portal.**

“ I should have been a farmer....”

[GM-Amanda]

There isn’t a ladder climbing the trunk of a tree hosting one particular house in Honorwood. Carefully pruned branches keep it separated from all except the scrawniest twigs of other trees, and the house in the crook stands out in stark contrast to the Elven inspired architecture dominating the village – darker, with sharper angles, and definitely the work of an amateur rather than that of those renowned throughout the Kingdom of Haven. At his third shout, the Messenger sent to this particular house received a tap on his shoulder that made him jump a full foot into the air and scramble for his sword as he whirled to face the Av’yana behind him. Cirrus tweaked a smile in a manner that would make lesser men scramble for their purses, one hand resting on the longsword at her hip, the other plucking the scroll from midair. As her eyes quickly scanned the parchment, the Messenger took in the sight of an Av’yana coming into her prime, more of the white mottling disappearing from her neck and sides as she shed the last of being a hatchling, only visible without the armor she had little cause to wear over the past few years.

“FINALLY!”

The Messenger was jolted out of his reverie as she immediately scaled the tree housing her domicile, talons notching into holes worn with use as she effortlessly climbed, a cacophony of rattling almost immediately sounding out from the window slits carved into the wood. Barely minutes later, Cirrus jumped from the trapdoor in the floor, again fully armored with most of her possessions on her back, fairly bristling with weaponry as she darted for the path leading to Blackwatch. The Messenger could barely blink as a silver piece bounced off his forehead.

“Thanks for the invite!”

[Phinkis]

Phinkis emerges from the local inn as the heroes gather around the portal. He stretches and yawns, obviously just waking up. As the world comes into focus and he realizes what's happening his pop open. He dashes back inside the inn for a couple minutes to gather his belongings. As he rushes out the door he throws some coins at the innkeeper, probably much more than his tab was for. As he presses into the crowd he checks over his effects making sure he hasn't forgotten anything.

[Alinar]

The messengers had been deployed across the Vanguard to promote expansion into the Wildlands. None would be coming to Alinar’s door, of course.

He had come to make Elven wisdom available to Haven. That wisdom might spell the difference between an enlightened society and one that abused magic until another Cataclysm happened. King Korrigan had recognized what Alinar offered, and accepted him into his ranks of Advisors. From there, Alinar had been able to achieve exactly what he intended. He only hoped Korrigans’ son – and grandson – would be as apt listeners.

No one expected one of the King’s Advisors to venture far from the core of society to try his luck in the Wild.
But the Vanguard was progressing well. Indeed, it may remain on course for a human generation. For the most part these days Alinar merely preached vigilance against wayward magical activity. The occurrences in the Wildlands appeared to be exactly that – on a grand scale.

Powerful magics were at play and had to be brought in check. The Heroes departing for those untamed lands could likely do this. But what to do with what they found? What if powerful spells and artifacts were obtained – would they not temp reckless use? They’d be without law, without order, and faced with grave challenges at every turn.

Alinar opened the dusty trunk to withdraw the well-oiled travel armor. He took his sword down from its hanger. He unfolded his cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders. What the Wildlands required… was the touch of an Elf.