Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 "The North Falls"

[Ugainius]

Alexander cringed. He had a rebuttle in his head but thought it best for the Captain to deal with them. He would deal with the Alex comment later.

[Jtab]

Bentis charged the Venurian sorcerer as best as he could across the ice, but Mithik vanished for good this time with a second burst of smoke. Control of the winds returned to Nature, and the smoke cleared away, revealing only trampled grass and dead bodies.

“Dammit!” Bentis panted as he took a knee and caught his breath. Looking back he noted the vacant expression on across the face of his commanding officer, Graeme. To fail after coming so close to rescuing Captain Nord was both crushing and infuriating for the pair. “Sir Graeme,” Bentis spoke softly, “What would you have us do with our fallen Cap’n?”

Graeme turned to the young man, “He fought well and died bravely. He deserves a proper service. Come, help me carry him to a place where he may get one.”

******

Day 52 – Several hours later…

Bentis sat in his tent, enjoying the wine his fellow militiamen had offered him. Though fatigued, he still could not bring himself to rest just yet. Regardless, it would do little good as the city of Gole was bustling with celebrations of its perceived victory. Leaving the others to their merriment, the young “hero” walked over to his area in the tent. He looked over his staff, a longtime companion and most trustworthy ally, to find that it had been dented. “That damned gargoyle!” he thought, remembering the point when he had felt his weapon tremble from striking a solid stone leg. Placing the staff back atop his meager belongings, Bentis settled into his cot with his journal.

The battle is done for today and I return one of the lucky few. As I look around I see many empty cots and bedrolls which were occupied mere hours ago. Many fell and many more will not last the night. The air of Gole is bursting with joy and celebration save the few who actually saw the battle. The Venurians have been forced from our land but at the cost of many lives including that of a Captain. I am somehow doubtful that the enemies we have slain will weigh as heavily on the forces of these putrid invaders as our losses will weigh upon our own.

I met a gargoyle magician in battle while attempting to recover the aforementioned Captain. I stood beside the brave men of the Long Patrol as well as the Border Rangers and my commanding officer, Sir Graeme, in this fight yet I am the one being called a hero by my fellow men. It is not that I dislike the title, more that it makes me… uncomfortable. Praise is not something one becomes accustomed to stealing and scrounging on the streets. The magician looked to be beaten at a point, and made his retreat. However, that was just a ruse to create an opening to finish off the Captain we had come so close to saving. This frightens me. Magic is something almost completely foreign to me and as such I do not know how I can face such an opponent again and hope to win. Perhaps I will speak with members of the militia or any whom I can learn how to better combat those who wield the powers of the arcane. On that note, I must find someone who can repair the dent put into my staff. For now, however, I must get a nights rest and recover from the exhaustion and bruises of a full days fight.

[Aieris]

As celebrations waged on in the streets outside, Aieris slept. She had survived the battle, but had found no trail of her parents. On the morrow, when order had returned to Gole, she would seek out the prisoners to question, and a blacksmith to forge her new arrows, but for now she slept a dreamless sleep, brought on by exhaustion.

OOC: one point into Elementalism, which brings it up to IV

[Azisien]

There were an unusually high number of visits to the Temple in Gole in the morning. The regular crowd was present for prayer, but an even bigger group pleaded with the priests and healers for rejuvenation from their hangovers. They were turned away, much to their dismay. One of the priests even commented, "if we heal one of them they will all expect to be healed...There are wounded soldiers that truly need us."

As Avelia's Beacon rose a little higher in the sky, nearly one thousand people, including Gorn Altreas, gathered at in front of the Temple to honour the loss of the Kenshurians that died in the battle yesterday. The body of Captain Nord was carried to the front of the crowd, dressed in funeral robes, and placed atop a pyre loaded with wood and flammable essence courtesy of elemental suppliers from Midgaard. After a barrage of solemn prayers, a priest carried a torch out from the temple and lit the pyre. The essence ignited like a suppressed bomb, summoning flames that greedily devoured wood, flesh, and fabric.

Gorn Altreas left the temple with his nephew at his side. The younger elf, still in his fifties, put a hand on his uncle's shoulder as they walked toward the Border Ranger House. "The Captain's death is a tremendous loss to Gole. Who will replace him?"

"That will be decided today. For the moment, I cannot say because I do not know." The elder replied.

"I have talked with Sergeant Ereagus. He was adamant about inviting several special guests to the council." Arne continued.

Gorn slowed his pace a little and looked at Arne. "Special guests?"

"Exceptionally brave Kenshurians, and skilled too, or so he said. He's rounding them up as we speak."

******

A message had been left with Aieris and Graeme at the Inn to report to the Border Ranger House after the funeral ceremony.

One of the temple priests met with Vincent after the funeral and reminded him. "Father, your presence has been requested at the Border Ranger Guild House for...War talks. Perhaps they will ask for you to perform a prayer?"

On the door of Loki's forge, a note had been attached. It read: "Your presence is requested at the Border Ranger Guild House, after the funeral for the deceased." It was signed by Elanor Metha, a corporal of the militia.

While Ishva's morning class was in session, a small squad of militia watched the last ten minutes of instruction before a break. They approached the Order monk and the leader, a human man, spoke. "You're wanted at the Border Ranger House."

Sergeant Ereagus blasted through the militia tent as per usual, but this morning his greeting was different. "Bentis! You're with me!" Abruptly, he whirled around on one heel and stalked out of the tent.

******

A hidden location near Gole, the Venurian camp

Captain Jyde examined his claws as a pair of healers arrived at Mithik's side to address his wound. "I would like to know why three hundred of my warriors marched out of camp this morning, and only half that returned. Your orders were to harass Gole and the surrounding area, not meet them in battle. We will have plenty of that when the legion arrives. Mithik, you gave the order?"

The Venurian sorcerer nodded without an ounce of reluctance. "Yes. It was my order and I take responsibility for," he paused slightly and glanced at the new rather loudmouth human beside Jyde, "the undesirable outcome. Hardly a failure or a loss. Whatever morale boost they gained will be a false one, or they are completely deluded. My friend Ariosto is correct."

Jyde pondered the words for a moment before jumping in again. "It was a relatively minor offense in the grand scheme of things, but I won't have that kind of disorganization and poor leadership calls in my legion again. That's a warning, Lieutenant Mithik." The huge gargoyle captain rose from his lieutenant's seat, glanced at his two new lieutenants at his side, and started pacing around a table piled high with rough maps and troop information. "Let's get down to business. You're probably wondering why I'm here. My explanation: Lazarith arranged it. Lieutenant Ariosto, while I would love to lay siege to Gole and conquer her tonight, I am afraid the legion did not accompany me. They are still at Socre right now, but our good General has issued their marching orders. They will arrive in five days. Until then, we are free to continue learning about Gole's capabilities. Mithik, would you care to enlighten us on what intelligence you've gathered?"

Mithik growled as one of the healers removed pieces of the arrow shaft from the wound. A faint white glow passed from the other's hands onto Mithik's shreded arm, repairing tissue at an alarming rate. "Lieutenant Oyo and his hunters headed up the scouting missions. Oyo."

The human hunter moved up to the war table. "There are up to two thousand defenders in the village, perhaps a few more if they conscript commoners. Judging by their combat prowess yesterday, they may have already done that. The walls and gates seem formidable, but we have the weapons to take care of that in a prolonged siege. The towers seem designed for repelling Kenshurians, not Venurians. We don't know much about their command structure, but Mithik slew one of their officers..."

"What about their supply lines, or reinforcements?" Jyde pressed.

Oyo looked at the map of the Gole region drawn from many scout reports. "They receive supplies from Midgaard, and twice that we've caught from the west. It could be from Weste, but that makes little sense. That village is in no position to be supplying the much larger, more capable Gole. Unless they're planning on making the last northern stand in Gole, that is. They receive small reinforcements almost daily. Militia coming from Midgaard, most likely. Never more then a few dozen."

"All right. Let's cut off those supplies, and work on gathering some more intelligence. I'd like to minimize casulties in the coming siege. We have five days. I suppose I could open the floor to...Any suggestions?"

******

Border Ranger Guild House, Gole

"Last night, there was a celebration. Though I did not witness the battle, I can still count. Almost half of our company was lost. I allowed the celebration to continue out of sympathy for the depressing morale of the townspeople. We have lost a good man, a long-time friend, and a Captain of our country. There is now a gaping hole in our strategic and command structure, and it needs to be filled. I am not appointing a new Captain until I find the right man, or woman. You are all the officers of the militia, the Border Rangers, the Knights of the Long Patrol, and noted individuals who are, as Sergeant Ereagus has explained to me, heroes of the day."

The elder of Gole raised both his hands to the crowd of men and women around him. "I would like to open the floor to discussion. Nord is gone, but we must move on. Please, one at a time."

---------

OOC: Penn wasn't explicitly mentioned because I included him with the Border Rangers and he's probably always at the house anyway.

[Mintaro]

OOC: Yep, and its awful empty with so many Rangers dead now. Or it would be if there rooms weren't being used for those that needed them. No sense wasting space.

Day 52

The long march back to the city had been very depressing for Penn. Dispite his best efforts nearly his entire company had been slain. The few wounded they had recovered wouldn't be in any shape to fight soon. He was only able to take a small amount of relief from the fact Vincent hadn't been harmed too badly. Though the arrow shot by their own militia man put Penn on edge. Even more so when coupled with what he had seen from the wounded men leaving the field. Men that should not have been walking. All in all it was grim.

The revelry was lost on Penn. He had forms to fill out. The paperwork for the rangers that had so nobly died in battle, had to be done. The families had to be notified, and Gold payed out to Wives and children. The Rangers took care of there own, as best they could.

It was a great burden for Penn. Sense the beginning of the war so many border rangers had died. He himself was one of the most senior members inside this guild house. With only the Guild house master and Jaarn Liston above him. If things kept up the way they were, he'd find himself Guild house master of an empty Guild house. His quill scratched away on the paper without him really thinking about it. Each name he wrote down was accompanied by a face he knew well. Each face led to a family. Each family...well Penn didn't want to think on it.

He let his mind drift back to the battle. He didn't wish to dwell on things he could not change. However he did want to learn from the mistakes. It seemed like everything went wrong. If he had chosen more swords men. Or if he had sounded a retreat sooner. Again and again Penn went through the battle in his mind, isolating key moments of failure and thinking of how to rectify them. In the end though he had to face it, men had died. War was brutal.

Later that night Penn went through the rooms of the Fallen. Pulling out Personal items and locking them into chests, the contents would be shipped off to the families of the fallen. He wished he could do more. Once each room was cleared the front clerk was alerted and a fresh man came to occupy it. Penn could only shake his head as he thought of the amount of times he would have to clear out those rooms. He almost wished for his own death in a way. So that he wouldn't have to watch so many others die. He knew however that he couldn't let that happen. He had to keep fighting. For the good of Kenshura, and the light of Avelia.

Day 53

Penn awoke with a clear head. He had slept little. Battles were waged inside his dreams. Each time it seemed every choice he made was wrong. When he did finally waken, to the sky outside getting lighter. He simply lay in bed. He wanted to cry. Crying however, would have just made him look bad. He knew militia would be looking to him for strength. He wasn't a captain, or a General, or a King; but he was a Border Ranger. And Border Rangers were supposed to be made of Sterner stuff. They didn't weep over fallen comrades, red eyes on him could cause as much damage to moral as any superior officer.

He got dressed slowly and exited the Ranger guild house. At that early hour only the chefs and cleaners were up. Surprised to see him completely. He left without a word and headed to the Temple. Finding the doors unlocked, as they always were, he entered and knelt before the marble statue of his goddess. He knelt and prayed in the empty Temple. He knelt there as though kneeling to a sovereign lord. Fist to ground and hand on hilt. Inside however he was curled up at the feet of the statue, weeping openly. Praying for Avelia to help save the people of Kenshuria. Only inside though, outwardly he was calm.

When people finally began to enter the temple, he opened his eyes. A priest of Avelia sat on a stool some short distance away, watching Penn sympathetically. As though he could see in his suffering soul. Penn stood and nodded to the priest. Turning he slowly walked out of the temple. He would not be attending the Funerals. Not todays. Today he had already said his good bye's. Instead he returned to the Guild house. He sat down in the war room and picked up a long list of Militia men names. The Guild needed to be repopulated. To do that he would need good strong soldiers. Ones he could count on, to do that he would have to look over reports. Normally it was the Job of the Guild House Master. Penn's input however, would not go unheeded.

[TheBlindMime]

Morning Day 53

Loki sat alone in the morning light, he'd fallen asleep a few times but his dreams were haunted by screams of pain and the look of fear on the troll's faces before they lay slain. There was an empty bucket on its side before him, its contents spilled hours before. "No one. I am alone." They were the first words he had spoken since the night past.

Evening of Day 52

Loki stood silently before the woman, she stared back with a distant and sorrowful gaze. Loki was the first to break the silence. "Miss Ovelia I am sorry fer yer loss, there was naught a thing anyone culd do."

"I understand," She said sadly a single tear rolling down her cheek, the tear was all that disturbed her otherwise austere visage. She had been prepared for this long ago, she was the wife of a militia man after all. Correction, a widow. Loki turned to leave, his mission completed, when she questioned him further. "What were his final words?"

Loki's mind flashed back to the moment with photographic perfection, "Please sir, I need you to tell my wife-", The man spoke painfully as he rest upon the shoulders of the tiny dwarf, Loki would hear none of it.

"Plenty o' time fer you to deliver that message yerself laddie." He had not heard them, Loki prevented the man from delivering his final words. Loki's eyes began to tear slightly but he held them back as best he could. "I.. He spoke only of you." Loki bent the truth as best he could.

Tears freely flowed down her face now, "Thank you sir Loki..." She took the pike he had returned to her and swept herself into the house. Loki ran a gauntleted hand over his face, the rough leather on it underside was uncomfortable against his face, though it left no tears.

Loki turned on his heel and marched back through the city, past the celebration. He spotted some grieving Dwarves, but the moment his eyes raised to them they glared back angrily. His eyes were back upon the ground before him before they could burn holes into him. As he marched on to the cemetery Morrn cast his stein in Loki's direction, "A true dwarf wuld revel in the bask of his vicktery, he on the othur hand, runns to be with the ded."

A second dwarf called out angrily, "He should have been one to fall."

"Aye laddie!" Was Morrn's reply, "Too maheny guut dwarves 'ave fallon this day." A solemn silence was taken then.

Loki ignored it all and pressed on, as he reached his destination he began to tear off his armor and set it beside the grave he was about to dig. Leaving only the armor upon his legs Loki took up a shovel and began digging. He was one of the many digging graves this day but while they dug many he was digging only one.

Night of Day 52

Loki picked up the sheathed dagger he had cast aside hours earlier. He pulled the dagger free, it was one of his. He'd crafted it almost six months ago, Loki took care to remember almost every blade he forged. He remembered this one well. Loki drove the blade into soft dirt, then picked up the helmet which now had its owners name engraved across the headband. It read, "Thadeus Monreau" though handwriting had never been a strong suit for Loki he insured that he had etched in the name clearly.

Loki set the helmet atop the dagger and took a moment to memorize the scene, he never wanted to forget the pain of this day. "Farewell Thadeus, may the gods be kind to yah." Loki rubbed a dirt encrusted forearm across his forehead to clean away the sweat, but only worsened his situation. With his job done he picked up his armor and made his way home, passing the festivities and glares of other dwarves along the way.

His home was a cramped alcove on the outside of the steel mill, sharing a wall directly with the forge. Loki had always enjoyed the intense heat from the stone wall, it reminded him of the pleasant times in Midgaard. One of the few luxuries he actually provided himself. Though the forges had run cold this day and there was no warmth to greet him.

The room was spartan at best, though in every way it was the work of a minimalist decorator. There was a bed, a table, chair (just one), a dresser for clothes (though he owned few), an oil lantern and a stand for his armor. It was home though. Setting his armor upon the stand and promising himself he would work upon it tomorrow when he had the energy he prepared for bed.

When he went to wash his face in the usual bucket he looked upon the metal shavings in the reflection of his face. He groaned in dismay, taking up another bucket full of water and a pair of pliers he returned to his room. Using the water to reflect the light from the lantern he dug out every piece of metal, one by one. He did not want to bother the priests who had real worries and troubles this night.

When all was said and down only a single piece of metal remained, just above his left eye, and the marks would assuredly scar. Loki cared not, he no longer had the energy to. He just stared blankly at the face before him. Though he knew it to be him, it was hard to look upon himself. "Wut am I fighting fer?" He asked the reflection before him, it answered him directly by saying nothing back.

"Why did I live and Thadeus die!?" The reflection replied again with nothing. "Who would hafe wept for me had I died?" The reflection said nothing, it had no reason for it. Loki bellowed in anger casting aside the bucket, as the water fell across the floor, Loki too fell.

He woke moments later, a process that would be repeated for the rest of the night.

Day 53

Loki left his home early, having no reason to stay in. He visited Thadeus' grave before making his way to the funeral pyre. He stayed until the flames began to die low and the beacon was but a shadow of its former glory. When he arrived home to begin polishing his armor he found the note waiting for him.

"Loki, Your presence is requested at the Border Ranger Guild House, after the funeral for the deceased. Signed Corporal Elanor Metha." Loki read the note aloud, as he often did with things he read. Still dressed in proper funeral attire he made his way to the Border Rangers Guild house.

He stood in silence until the chance for an open discussion opened, he stepped forward before he had realized it. He opened his mouth and found no words, at first. Then all his fears poured out in an even and measured sentence that covered the thoughts true origin. "This was just a beginen, the force we faced was strong but no where neer the force that took Socre. Next time they will come at us with their full numbers. Soon too, Weste is a fine target but no where neer as strong as we. The Virnurans will move on us ferst, then Weste."

Loki paused to run his hand over his short red hair, "We took many of thur men to thur graves," A few smiles spread across the room, "That means thur angry now, thu'll all want vengunce for 'hat. We should prepare for a siege, now." The smiles were all lost now.

[Loki, The Fallen]

[Overnight the heavens rumble in anticipation as Vincent increases his level in Healing by one. =P ]

Early Morning 53

Vincent sat up in the chapel. The sun had not woken him, his nightmares had. But now was as good a time as any to wake. In the dark peace of the most holy place, he felt comforted, even with his troubled mind. He sat and reflected on the previous night’s conversation with one of the people he met on the field...

***

Late Night 52

“… What do you say?”

Vincent was quite surprised, thrown aback by the assault launched by the monk. He had been expecting one seeking healing or perhaps one seeking counsel, not someone who wished to counsel him. He stood quietly, listening to the lecture, to every word she said. When she finished, he contemplated a response, unsure of what exactly to say.

Avelia provides…

Vincent looked seriously at the monk, Isvah, perhaps you have an eye for these things. Yes, I was injured, and yes, with The Lights guidance and support, the issue has since been corrected. It took much time, and a lot of energy, but Avelia saw a need for me to be healed tonight, instead of taking the natural amount of time, which is usually preferred. If I had been knocked unconscious due to the initial injury, perhaps I would have died. It is all The Light’s will, and it appears The Light had reason for me to live.

Vincent inhaled deeply, and then proceeded with his explanation.

From what I was told, the man who fired on me, may The Light bless him, was an expert marksman. What I could learn in a few sessions from you may not have mattered against a foe as skilled as he. I trust you are an exceptional teacher, but with any skill, practice is a major requirement. With my duties to the temple, to the people, and to Avelia, time for learning such things is not something I have. Forgive me, but I must decline your generous offer. Vincent smiled. Perhaps I can try to keep a lower profile, but as you could quite easily tell, the battlefield is a strange place to me, one I am far from accustom to. But I believe I was called by the leaders for other reasons.

Vincent paused for a few moments.

I believe The Light dislikes violence as much as any mother would hate to see their child fight. But my non-combat nature is not due to dogma or temple creed, it is due to teachings and the words of an old friend. There are many who follow Avelia who also fight in these wars, some quite skilled in healing. I doubt they see themselves as disobeying The Light. Perhaps someday I will tell you of him, of why I avoid such things, and for what selfish reason I broke down in the field today. Forgive me, but unless you need healing, or counsel, I must ask for a few hours of sleep. If it is healing you need, I will gladly find another one of the order to help, for I am currently unable to heal anymore myself. I need to get some sleep soon though, I have an uneasy feeling about tomorrow.

***

Morning 53

“…Father Vincent!”

Vincent had been lost in thought, but one of his elders brought him back. Yes sir? Forgive me, I was reminiscing.

The old priest smiled at Vincent. I trust you were able to get some much needed sleep? I’m sorry, but we will be starting the ceremony soon, could you return in a while, and perhaps lead us in a hymn?

Vincent noticed the light pouring into the chapel. Did I drift off? That’s unusual. Certainly, sir. He turned to walk out of the chapel. Oh sir, has anyone heard of the McGuiness Family?

Ah yes. One of the youngsters returned and said they were not at the farm. Perhaps they escaped to another town, or they may be in another part of the city?

Thank you, sir. I will return shortly.

Vincent escaped from the chapel, acquired new vestments, and went for a short walk, returning soon after for the funeral…

***

Mid-Morning 53

"Father, your presence has been requested at the Border Ranger Guild House for...War talks. Perhaps they will ask for you to perform a prayer?"

Vincent looked over to the priest. The Funeral had ended, the mourners making their way out of the chapel. He heard the request, and lowered his head.

Perhaps sir, The Light willing…

He arrived at the Border Ranger House quickly afterward, praying silently as he walked, praying that today, at least for today, there may be some peace.

[Jtab]

Bentis awoke early the next morning glad that he had passed on the night’s festivities. The men surrounding him, who had decided a celebration was in order, looked as though they would sleep the week away. While the thought of a full weeks rest appealed to him, Bentis had other plans starting this morning.

The young man dressed in a similar set of clothing which he had brought for his travels, only this set was missing the stains and tears of combat. For a moment he considered bringing his staff with him, as throughout the years it had rarely left his side, but soon decided it would be inappropriate for the funeral services. He would have to return after paying his respects to seek out someone who could fix the dent in the side of his weapon. Finally organized and ready to go, Bentis set out towards the Temple where the fallen would be honoured. It was easy to find as most who were awake at this time had left for the Temple also. As he made his trek, the somber rogue could not help but notice the mood throughout Gole had changed to match his own so soon after the celebrations had ceased. It seemed fitting but at the same time he had hoped last night’s gaiety could spill over and perhaps lift his own spirits. However it was time to shake these thoughts as he approached the Temple and his focus would now shift to those lost in the fight.

Many others had gathered to remember the sacrifices of the departed, all now in silent prayer and reverence. The body of Captain Nord was brought forth in full funeral garb and set atop a pyre for all to see. Soon the flames consumed the fallen captain and turned his remains into ash. Bentis had never considered himself an exceptionally religious man despite being a follower of Avelia, but at a moment such as this anyone will believe, if only for an hour. He had seen a man devoted to the defense of this country devoured by funeral flames and it had struck a chord within him. He had not known the man yet somehow this end seemed… poetic.

******

Bentis sat in the militia tent he had been assigned to upon his arrival in Gole. He was still concerned about his lack of knowledge of the arcane. How could he defend against it should he meet another mage in combat? Just then, Sergeant Ereagus entered the tent in his usual fashion.

"Bentis! You're with me!" he said before retreating back outside.

Sensing the urgency in which he had been ordered out, Bentis grabbed his staff and followed the sergeant.

“Sir, may I ask where we’re goin’?” Bentis questioned, being careful not to fall back into his common slang before a superior officer.

“To the Border Ranger Guild House. You and several others have been summoned due to exceptional performance on the battlefield yesterday.” Sergeant Ereagus answered rather bluntly.

Bentis did not have a response to that. He was not sure of the purpose of the summons, but felt that an exceptional performance would have entailed the safety of the captain. He continued marching alongside the sergeant in silence.

“There was nothing you could do…” Ereagus said solemnly. “I don’t think any one man was a match for that beast after the tales I heard of the battle. The captain may be lost to us but he would have been grateful for the fight you and others put up for him.”

Bentis was appreciative of the sergeant’s uncharacteristically kind words, even if they served only to quell the reservations within him. He continued in silence again though in a lighter mood to show his sergeant that his words did not fall on deaf ears.

******

Bentis looked around to find that he had met two of the individuals at this meeting beforehand. He had not bothered to ask but assumed the elf speaking to the crowd was the Elder of the city or at the very least someone who was held in very high regard. He remained silent as others spoke, feeling out of place in this council.

[Azisien]

The remaining members of the Border Rangers, now only twelve in total, occupied the entire left side of the room. At their head, a human man who looked to be in his late thirties stood tall and proud, dressed in typical ranger wares with a special emblem stitched on his tunic at the breast. "The dwarf speaks the truth. Most of the Socre rangers perished in the battle for the village, but the few that survived recall a force thousands strong. Our patrols northward are faltering as scouts retreat back to their villages under siege and as the ghastly Venurian hunters prowl increasingly."

Gorn looked at both of the men who had piped up, concern was painted on his face. "How much do we know about the real size and disposition of the Venurian horde? My friends, we cannot hope to defend Gole properly without more intelligence."

Rowan interjected more the elder could go on. "With all due respect, my fellow Kenshurians, perhaps we cannot defend Gole. Though it stings my pride terribly, I believe this coming siege is already a lost one. The Venurian army is too large and too strong for commoner militias, or handfuls of knights and rangers. I regretfully suggest we evacuate both Gole and Weste, and make for Midgaard. Without the Kenshurian army, we will just be throwing away lives needlessly."

Silence blanketed the room in the wake of the House master's words.

[Mintaro]

Penn scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to rub the fog of sleep from his brain. The entire situation seemed like a mad dream. Still he spoke carefully. "It isn't always so easy to get people to leave their homes. And we don't know how quickly our enemies can travel. Townsfolk running for Midgaurd, might just create a trail of bodies leading to the capital. However, a siege mentality is ultimately defeating. We need to consider whether we can counter attack if we were in a siege. If we cannot then, perhaps retreat would be a better option." This was not Penns home town, but he did feel the pain of what he was saying. The men and women here had been born in Gole, and they had intended to die in Gole.

"I don't like the size of our Arrow stock," He had a feeling the fletchers had been shirking their duties but said nothing of it. "And our food supply is...amiable. Plus I do not believe our defenses to be very secure. In a city things are made mostly of Stone and clay. Here...We have wood and thatch. With Elementalists attacking us, it might just be a matter of time before Gole becomes our own personal funeral pyre."