Sagas of Wayward Suns - Arc 1

[Sideris]

Chapter 1: Unforeseen Consequences

A fortnight passes quickly under the yoke of providing for many and one another and of enriching the soul. The assembly of Zala's new militia under the Wolf and the remarkable arms provided by the giant smith become the talk of the town. Not an inn or public house or salon goes without talk of the strange goings on of the past two weeks. The arrival of the Circle, the ousting of the stranger, the hurried assimilation of the Circle to the city and the city to the Circle.

It feels right. As if it's always been such and time merely miscounted.

The baleful eye of Mul has largely faded from the afternoon skies, only appearing in full brilliance at sunset. Even with the talk of the ousting of the 'stranger' (no one remembers what it was or who it was), the tale begins to turn and absorb details of the Realm's rule. Many simply think you were one of the forces that ousted the islanders. Talk of Hyades begins to fade into the background.

Life goes on. The outlying villages and farmsteads busy themselves with the early planting season, making trips to town for tools, cloth, and regular news. The new militia making themselves well known on the streets, much to the admiration of the townsfolk, rejoicing in what some call "the restoration of Medo's lost teeth." The False Smile of Medo seems rather warm and welcoming for the first time in ages. Hell, people are enthused about the new ideas of not throwing night soil out onto the streets.

Presently, the day is turning to late morning. The table set up for impromptu drinks hasn't been removed from the square. It's even become a mild shrine of awe for some. "This is where the golden ones drink," they say. Even if you've not sat in those chairs since.

 

[Ragoza]

Red Snow's Herald

"Look, Wenceslas, if you want heavy cavalry that badly you're going to have to go to Gentle River yourself and ask for money for stables. I'm not dealing with it."
Red is leaned over the desk in the Commander's office, invoices and training reports sprawled across it. Wenceslas is seated opposite, more fucking paper in his hands. At least the plume is gone with the new uniforms. She stands up straight and stretches, two straight days of paperwork catching up on her.
"I need a walk, go through todays treasury report and see what you can make happen, but if we're raising any cavalry mounted outriders are going to be priority."
She salutes him on the way out, fist against her chest. The garrison is bustling, nearly as many clerks and craftsmen as soldiers, all of them bowing or saluting as she passes. Some days it's hard not to let it go to her head. The cool Medo breeze gently stirs the new banners on the garrison's walls as she descends the hill into town.

 

[FuzzMonster]

Iskandr

The sound of the morning was giggles and occasional childish shouts of frustration, as the Prince of Hunters passed some time in the squares of Zala teaching some of the more adventurous youth about the uses of the offcuts of bone, horn, and leather. Several children who had mastered the use of the snare now brandish braided leather and fur bracelets and amulets, strung with tiny rabbits and curled up foxes rudely carved in bone. The lesson of skill comes bundled with the lesson of value: waste nothing, for the winter will not forgive the complacency of summer.

[Minor Craft Project: braided leather and bone jewellery. Supports Iskandr's own Intimacies of the Hunt and of thriftiness, and encourages the learning of skill and similar principles in the children. 4 silver xp.]

When the brats finally leave him be, Iskandr wanders up the hill in the direction of the garrison, bearing along a hefty bundle. He has gifts to deliver. His first opportunity arrives sooner than he expected, as he falls into step alongside Red Snow's Herald.

"Resplendent general! Seeking respite from battle with the endless parchment hordes?"

Iskandr's bundle shifts in his hand, and a piece of harness emerges, to be offered to Red. It's a pair of light pauldrons of reinforced bone and leather, and a bone and sinew gorget strung between them, with straps beneath the plating. The curved surface of the left pauldron has a wolf skull seemingly submerged in it, craftily embedded.

"The leader of the pack must protect her throat while she savages the enemy. Wear it, or do not, but take it as a measure of my respect."

 

[Chaka]

Gentle River

River had taken up residence in the Governor's mansion once he sobered up after the confrontation with Mul Hyades, and had spent the last two weeks non-stop learning how to govern from the small mansion library and from Freyja, the previous governor's seneschal. She was smart, Imperially trained, and River's instinctive understanding and innovation of bureaucratic processes - more like being reminded than taught - had convinced her of his ability. She was engaged on a task for him at the moment, auditing the city finances and projecting what is available for future innovations.

River has a lot on his mind, poring over papers on his desk. He thinks again unbidden of Ajurda, and of long hours in the Dojo, learning to fight and kill and play with lust. He misses the simplicity of all that, sometimes. In front of him on the desk there is a scribbled list:

Shine - discuss health/sanitation project
Hammer - costings for outfitting
Ferat - *this line is scribbled out*
Iskandr/Snow - review military strength, discuss espionage options

He rubs his temples. Sleep is eluding him. Deciding to stretch his legs he heads out, advising a passing clerk that if Freyja or any of the Circle need him he'll be in town.

He heads down the hill towards Zala, trying to clear his mind.

 

[Sarky]

Ferat:

The city hadn't seen much of Ferat since ousting Mul Hyades. He visited, certainly, usually to barter. He had a knack for finding animals, herbs, fruit and nuts that were rare in the grasslands, and was sought after for trading basic supplies. And while he preferred the wilds to a soft city bed (and being surrounded by the restless dead at night), he had to admit he had grown somewhat accustomed to the other Solars, and perhaps a small handful of citizens of Zala. Besides, Shalla had become a celebrity with the local children, and for all Ferat's skills, he was not a good brewer and the inns did provide some VERY acceptable refreshments.

Today, Ferat decided he was tired of campfire food, and could really used a hot meal and a good drink. He and Shalla strolled into town around late morning, nodding to an acquaintance here, a trader there, taking a moment to stop and smile behind his beard at the sight of the drinking table still standing where Red had decided to improve the city watch. It was touching, in a way. Certainly a better shrine than some vainglorious warmonger or a pile of burning books.

 

[Ragoza]

Red Snow

Red is a woman well equipped for handling combat. Hungry wolves, undead hordes, desperate bandits, she'll spit in their face and leap screaming into battle. What she is not equipped for, however, is receiving a token of appreciation from a friend.

"I, uh...thank you Iskandr. It's beautiful."

She fights back the lump in her throat as she turns the pauldrons over in her hands. Seven hells woman you didn't cry when a bear tore your mother apart you will not cry now.

"Let me get you a drink, it's the least I can do."
She nods down the hill to the square where the table sits, eyelid twitching a little.

 

[Excession]

RADIANT SHINE

Shine has been quiet. He has not been idle.
Bao So has been idle, the Yeddim lazing in the square with a trough at either end - one to feed him, one carted off to the farmlands at intervals - as patients and local children stop in awe at his sheer size.
The doctor, meanwhile, has taken over some other local physicker's clinic, upgraded it, and begun aggressively training real doctors by treating various maladies and wounds while they are made to take notes.

He is returning to his hut for a break when he espies Red and Iskandr not far off, and continues straight into the nearest public house.

By the time they arrive, he is already sat at the table with little constellation of cups around him.

 

[FuzzMonster]

Iskandr

"Ah Red, I fear you misunderstand. No friend am I. I am throwing an obstacle in your path, and rendering your quest that much more difficult. You shall have to seek a glorious death, howling to Luna and spitting blood in the faces of your enemies...via some means other than having your throat cut. I recommend taking a spear to the gut and then running up the spear to nut the brave fucker holding it."

Should Red look to the side, she'll notice the grin lurking on the edge of his lips.

"But a drink would be welcome nonetheless."

As they troop on down, Iskandr seeing Shine will prompt a bit of rustling from his bundle of tricks.

"Hoy hoy grandfather. Lost in the forest of drinks, I see. Perhaps in need of some kind of guide between those tricksy trunks?"

As Iskandr shuffles to the table in a fashion belying the kind of grace of which he is capable, he produces his gift for Shine. To the table is added a satchel in dark leather, delicately stitched, lined with separate pouches, and bearing the stamped image of a raiton in flight.

As the gently smiling big ball of lank sits down, he'll glance to the other end of the square where [I believe] Ferat is approaching.

"Ah fuck, was there a meeting called here that I wasn't aware of? Well, I'm here now. Lucky that."

[Is River approaching as well?]

 

[Sarky]

Ferat:

Ferat stopped on seeing the others, and nodded at them. He walked up to the bar, producing a clutch of skinned wildlife from underneath a cloak. "Caught these this morning, if you're willing to part with a tankard and cook the snow hare for me, the rest is for you."

He took the foaming mug and joined the others. Shalla yawned and stretched out between Ferat and Radiant Shine, lazily watching people come and go.

"Morning. Fancy seeing you all at one table."

 

[Chaka]

Gentle River

Pre-occupied, River is through the door and halfway to the bar before he notices the whole Circle is here. Even Ferat. He nods cheerfully, signalling the barman for an ale and pulling a seat over.

"Hello, hello everyone! Meeting in a tavern, eh? It's like something out of an old story." He takes the ale that is brought to him, winks at the barmaid who brings it scandalously and drains half of it in one go. "I dunno about you lot, but I didn't think demigodhood would require so much paperwork."

 

[FuzzMonster]

Iskandr

The hunter lazily slings back...actually less ale than he lets on, but what the hell.

"And that, Ferat, explains why we keep meeting around tables. It's all the filing of forms, you see. By the by, Ferat, long walker and survivor, horizon seeker, look beneath the table if you would?"

If Ferat does indeed look beneath the table, he'll see a pair of boots gently shuffled in his direction, a lovely pair in leather carefully oiled, stitched, and waxed, lined with soft rabbit fur. If he tries them on, they will (perhaps worryingly) be a pretty decent fit.

By the time this is happening, though, Iskandr is on his feet. The bundle he carries is now almost depleted and empty, no longer gravid with gifts, as the hunter approaches River with a torrent of thick cloth over his arms.

Iskandr flicks his wrist and flourishes the cloak, showing it to be lovingly oiled dark cloth on the outside, lined with grey and silver wolf fur on the inside. The hood is deep, and the front seams show toggles of dark horn allowing it to be held closed against the snow and rain.

"No matter how kind the summer, the winter will always return."

In the midst of hundreds of miles of sweeping grasslands on the edge of the North, there sits a town. In a small little pub in the middle of all that nowhere, with sawdust on the floor and the smell of dark ale and roasting rabbit on the air, one Solar Exalt bows to another, and holds out a mantle.

"When it comes, the lord of Zala will be ready."

 

[Sarky]

Ferat:

Ferat considered an appropriate response. The instinct to ask "What do you want?" was bitten back. This was a gift, clearly. One with considerable thought put into it, at that. It had been a long time since Ferat had been on the receiving end of altruism. He accepted the boots, put them to one side.

"My... thanks. I am honoured." He buried his awkwardness behind a deep swig of ale, observing the cloak he offered Gentle River, glancing at the skull on the pauldrons Iskandr presumably crafted for Red Snow's Herald.

"You keep making things out of wolf parts, Shalla here might start getting nervous." Shalla's large head popped up at the mention of her name. Ferat smiled and scratched behind her ears.

 

[Chaka]

Gentle River

River rises solemnly, bowing deeply to the Night Caste. He reverentially takes the cloak, stroking the wolf fur with awestruck fingers. It's as beautiful a garment as he's seen, but clearly no function has been sacrificed for form. And after the knife Hammer gave him, it's the second gift he's been given freely in his whole life.
With a startlingly sudden, swift motion he whips the cloak out and around his shoulders, noting appreciatively that it billows in a suitably dramatic fashion out to its full length as patrons dive to save their drinks.

"Winter comes, and the sun rises to meet it."

He grins, broadly, the moment passing. "I love it. Practical, yet theatrical. You may yet regret giving me this gift, I imagine I'll be insufferable. Thank you, Iskandr. I shall have to get you something now. Perhaps a tyrant lizard and a head start, eh?"

 

[Hair]

Resonant Hammer's Descent

Hammer is just finishing shoeing a horse as Red's exit form the compound catches his eye. He wipes his face with a spare rag, removing the worst of the dust and sweat, before grabbing a small parcel from the corner and unhitching the horse from the rail. Though the belligerent mare is near nineteen hands, Hammer handles her as easily as a docile pony. "All done, dear one. Now, let's get you home." Ne chats to the horse as he leads her down into the town, far more openly than he ever does with people. "Those shoes should suit you far better than your last set. They were far too small. I'll need to be having words with your farrier, teach him his business." He marks Red and Iskandr entering a tavern and after dropping the horse back to her owner he goes to join them.

When he enters the tavern and sees 'most all the Circle gathered at the table he pauses in the door, fiddling with the wrapping on the parcel under his arm, before approaching the table, eyes downcast. He stops behind Red, unaware that he's looming. "Um, Red Snow, I wanted to leave you a couple of days with the weapons to get your command structure in order, but here." The leather wrapped rank torcs make a satisfying muted thonk as they hit the table in front of Red. Hammer flashes a gap-toothed smile at the rest of the Circle before hurrying off to the bar.

When Red opens the packet she finds approximately twenty braided steel torcs, each emblazoned with a marking of rank outlined in gold, from lieutenant down to sarjeant. The ranks of a company, all laid out on the table.

 

[Ragoza]

Red Snow

Without a word Red knocks back a shot of firewater. A beastman horde would be ideal right about now.

"Thank you, Hammer, they're beautiful. I couldn't ask for a better quartermaster."

Frozen fucking hells that better be the right thing to say fuck fuck fuck

Another shot, as foul and burning aa the last one. Maybe a Wyld Hunt will suddenly appear, that'd be perfect.

"So, we''re all still alive. That's good."

 

[Chaka]

Gentle River

River shifts, uncomfortably. He takes another swig of ale. "It beats the alternative, I imagine. Though I think now the army's in place, we need to talk about other avenues of defense. Just not right now. If I talk shop for another five minutes my hungry ghost will burst directly out of my chest and rampage through the to- oh, uh, sorry Ferat."

 

[FuzzMonster]

Iskandr

The bundle. It is finally empty.

Iskandr tips back his chair and wanders over to join Hammer at the bar for a moment.

"You're a finer smith than I'll ever be, but I did spare a thought for you in my own workshop this past few days. You've made goods for the town, and someone should give something to you. Hammer, you have some mighty big hands on you there. Wouldn't want them scarred or singed."

Iskandr leaves a pair of huge work gloves, made in reinforced leather, on the bartop. On the back of each hand is the carefully stamped image of a hammer.

 

[Sarky]

Ferat:

Ferat stared ahead at nothing for just a moment too long. Reports about Thorns were available to read in most cities by now. Even if you combined them all they wouldn't cover a fraction of the atrocities committed in the first night alone.

He took another deep drink. Knuckles white from gripping the flagon handle too tightly.

"It's fine, River. Forget about it."

 

[Hair]

Resonant Hammer's Descent

Hammer smiles at the shorter man and looks down at his hands, pitted and pocked from years over the forge. "It might be a little late for that, Iskandr, but I shall treasure them nonetheless." He takes his drink from the tavernkeep and joins Iskandr as they head back to the table. "The Medoans have some very interesting techniques for making bows. I may have to give them a try, and furnish you with the result."

 

[FuzzMonster]

Iskandr

"Aye, I've been thinking about some of those southern styled horn and yew bows. Sneaky little bastards are amazing for loosing from horseback." Elkback.

"I'm not the finest rider anyone's ever seen, mind. Passable." No Southerner would ever expect it.

Iskandr takes a drink and stares into the distance.

"Horses are known to have some trouble with deep snow, which may be an issue." Antlers five feet across.

Returning to the table, Iskandr slips with relative ease into a change of subject.

"Be at ease, Ferat, Shalla is in no danger from me. Not for the lack of beauty in her pelt, but for the sake of her sweet spirit. I've not seen her so much as snap or snarl at anyone inside the walls. She's a solid lass."