A pair of soldiers in ragtag garments and dented cuirasses hailed the dwarf. “You come bearing news, good scout?” The first guard inquired as the scout made the motion of uncorking a waterskin to the next. The second guard retrieved a flagon of water to which the scout was thankful and began to take a swig. “Join us at the dining table so we might discuss the matter.”
“Course, lads. The name’s Rontori, so you know, and who may you be?” The guards greeted Rontori and led him to the center of the camp.
“Name’s Charles, and he’s Anton. We’re part of the militia that’s forming in the plains. Plans to take out all those man-eaters that the beastmen cohort with.”
“Vile ogres. But Saint Solaris will be a guiding beacon to reunite us. Her and the devout of Yessen. Avengers of the Lady Yessendrir, herself.”
“‘Cuse me, lad, but my lineage doesn’t extend out of the mountains until the events of late; who is Lady Yessendrir?”
“She’s the goddess that many praise to be the creator of men. At least, those of us that reside in the span from the forests above and the fields to the west and north. Her city is a holy place for pilgrims and the Stark Banners, that is factions that pledge themselves to family before the greater kingdom.”
“So she ruled over the city? So she’s a mortal?” The pair chuckled and Charles continued.
“She lived as flesh and blood, same as you and I, but she was more than we could ever hope to be and when the beasts sought to raid Yessen with their Ogmire legions in the early days of the invasion, she took her crusaders into the field of battle and slew all the forces that sought to invade. But she did so through a pact with Archaos and thus she had to return to his realm in the divine plane and leave the city of Yessen to her followers. She was worshipped as an example of what we should all strive for but now she stands for something greater than ourselves.” The group had arrived in a patted down clearing with a narrow table packed with soldiers and farmers.
“Enough of that, have a seat, friend, and let’s hear what you’ve to say.” Anton pulled a seat out for Rontori and offered him a chunk of bread and a goblet of red wine. “Last cask, give it a go ‘fore it’s all gone.” The pair took seats and either side of Rontori and called the table to attention.
“Oi, listen up. Before we eat, this scout here, Rontori, has news from the keep.” The table’s chatter reduced to slight murmurs before silencing completely.
“Thank you, Charles.” Rontori stood on the chair to ensure all at the table could see and hear him. “We’re to pack up and head out to the keep tonight. A raiding party is on its way to the keep now, but they don’t know those canyons and cliffs like I do. We’ll beat them back to the hold, but it may not be long before they arrive after us. The defenses should be in place and this attack should pass quickly. They wouldn’t dare navigate the mountains with ogres, their temper may lead to unruliness that even the beastmen would have accounted for. This is likely a scouting party looking to see if there’s need for a larger force.”
“What’s our course of action, sir?” A voice called out from across the table.
“Normally, I’d say we go into the canyon behind them and bash some skulls. However, if that envoy does not return, we’re in for a bigger force. The representative from the Yjagtari claims that they’re looking to be a real kingdom, but that doesn’t mean that they all want to be friendly.”
“Or that he’s telling the truth!” Another soldier added from the table.
“Our leaders think him to be an honest creature, I take to their judgement highly. But I do agree. We should be ready for the onslaught.”
“Nevertheless,” Anton chimed, “we’ve got a feast to finish before the night drags on. I expect that everyone at this table is ready to depart before the last nightgull flies over the camp.” If it was possible to create a sound that was a mixture of a cheer and a groan, the soldiers of the camp had found a way to perfect it. “Perk up,” Anton continued, “I think you’ll all feel better behind the might of a mountain standing above the clouds.” The soldiers felt fortified by this thought, and the remaining wine being stronger than expected had helped.
While the soldiers enjoyed their feast of bread, mutton, and beets, Rontori examined the troops. They didn’t drink as hardily as dwarven fighters did, but they also wouldn’t give cause for the tavern to be rebuilt each night. They hummed marching tunes and inspected each other’s tunics for stains from the meal. A quartermaster came by as the feast simmered down and gathered the remaining meals into a sack. When Rontori questioned what he would do with the sack, the quartermaster informed him that it would be ground up and repurposed into grub for the march. Rontori discouraged it, “the smell of that grub may attract frost drakes.” The quartermaster’s face grew pale.
“Truly?” The quartermaster had lived his life within the walls of Yessen serving Queen Yessendir and the Stark Banners, specifically a band of battle pilgrims that took to slaying Urgolians.
Nay, just having a bit of fun with you, lad. Frost drakes only live in the far north anyways. More likely to see a wyvern down this way.” The last comment did not encourage the quartermaster. Anton had returned with a small pack and satchel. He patted the pack.
“Got my sets of garments in this pack,” he pointed his thumb at the satchel, “and my personal effects in this one.” Rontori noted that Anton hadn’t mentioned any additional weapons beyond the rusted short sword at his side.
“You pack light.” Rontori was still in thought while examining the blade. Anton nodded in agreement. The pair found that conversation did not come easily when they were faced with the journey ahead. Rontori had no worry about making the trek on his own, he was accustomed to it by now having scouted the region since their arrival in the mountains, but he’d never guided so many unaccustomed individuals through the paths he travelled.
“Nervous?” Anton asked, noticing the dwarf’s unease demeanor. Rontori was willing to admit that he was anxious about the journey, but felt that the people he would be leading into a frigid march on the tail of a destructive horde of bloodthirsty beasts did not need to hear such things. Rontori was also willing to admit that he was unsure if the Yjagtari actually drank the blood of their many victims, but he felt that he was granted some creative liberty.
“We should get moving now, haven’t seen a nightgull in some time now.” Anton surveyed the skies and agreed with Rontori’s deduction. Anton turned to gather the troops and head out back into the mountains.