SLAGS! IC

[Tempest]

Fort Whimsy's history was always a bit colourful in the times before Sovereign. It had been the seat of power for the Eventide King, reknowned as a wisened ruler and peacekeeper of the north. Before its fall, the specifics of which are largely lost to the general populace, it was known as Palace Polaris. Regardless of which tale one has heard whispered, the end is the same: Polaris was overrun, King Bjornald was slain, his retinue massacred, and his city turned to rubble.

In perhaps a twisted sense of humor, Sovereign claimed the palace and dubbed it 'Fort Whimsy.' Their campaign to conquer the realms began here and is deeply entrenched within their territory. The populace that remained swore fealty to Sovereign with fear quaking in their hearts, understanding it was Sovereign's mercy that their fields weren't turned to ash and sewn with salt.

Approaching the keep, it was apparent that this was Sovereign's debut to the world with an announcement of power. Since the destruction of light, the ruins of the prior world remain as solemn burial stones. Crimson banners bearing the three heads of The Beast whipped in the harsh north wind along The March winding to keep.

At the gates, or what would have been were its iron not twisted into a crooked yawning maw, tired soldiers pound their chest in greeting, held up upon their pikes. The quartermaster sighed with each new man that reported, pen scratching across his board furiously in calculations. No one is admitted further. No one is given their quarters. They are seated within the clearing on rough stone benches to wait.

Circling the enclosure were a trio of robed priestesses with veils over their faces. The only distinction between them are the crest over their breast: one bore a crescent moon, one the full moon, and one the black moon. Though their eyes are unseen, their icy gaze could be felt upon each of the Slags as they arrived for the day, whether just made it or been camped in the rubble til now.

Finally, the trio froze and twitched their head to fixate upon a door with the tarnished relief of a snarling bear. It slammed open with the scream of rusted hinges and from within, a green monolith stomped out. He panted with the efforts of his movements, saliva splattering out over his tusked jowls. His beady red eyes roved over the Slags as he adjusted his weight upon two stout legs. As he shifted his brawn, it becomes apparent that aside from the thick trunks that were his arms, there was a scrawny third below the others, which now reached around and began to scratch under the back of his loin cloth. "Crone! Dis it?"

The priestess which bore the black moon raised a hand in gesture. Satisfied, the great troll moved closer, a fetid stench rolling off him... The source of which could only be guessed upon, though one could hazard a guess upon spotting a few humanoid fingers dangling out between rotting teeth. "Grats, Slags! Ye're de ones dot made it here living!" The troll clapped his hands slowly as his third waved out over them, "Hy am ya god, now. Hy am Xarg," he pauses, frowning, "Hy thought dere would be less o' ya. Dis not do..." He nodded to the quartermaster. "Wot we need do?"

The quartermaster frowns, lifted his sheet to read another below it, "There's a disturbance in Meadowcarin, a small uprising over the dwindling supplies. Also a witch, or some nonsense has set up by Glimmergrove. She's been disturbing the work of our loggers and trappers. Best to deal with that sooner than later."

Xarg grunted, "Dere ya has it. Dems yer orders. Split up in two teams, Hy dun't care how ya does it. Den ya goes wit' dem priest-lies." Before anyone could speak up, Xarg started waddling back into the keep.

The priestesses moved apart, the crone followed after Xarg as the woman of the crescent and full moons drew back their veils. For all purposes, they appeared as if the same woman but of different ages. The crescent priestess wore the face of a young maiden and she spoke up in a musical lilt, "Alright, Slaggies! Those with me are going on a field trip to Meadowcairn to stop that silly insurrection~ We're going to help them see the error in there ways through whatever means necessary! Who's ready?"

The full moon, a woman of matronly age looked amused before folding her arms. Her voice rang out in a voice of steel wrapped in silk, "Younglings, I will be leading those who choose to visit Glimmergrove. We will find this witch and she will be punished."

Then in unison they both continued, "Any questions? Hold them for someone who cares."

* * *

Meadowcairn​

It was a relatively peaceful trip along a well-traveled road. Every so often, they would stop and see a few overturned carts that were busted, broken and nothing but useless scraps remained. As the Slags in the company of the Maiden approached the townstead, they came to a stop as they crested the hill to the valley only to see... Smoke.

Smoke billowed from the far side of the town in black stacks. From what they could tell, it was not just one building, either, but several. The Maiden loosed a squeak of surprise and yelped out, pointing, "That looks exciting! Do you think they have Marsh Mellows to roast?" She giggled and beckoned them onwards, an energetic skip in her step as she begins to instruct, "Now, I'm just going to watch--Well, and maybe roast some sausages, is anyone else hungry?-- but why don't you all see what's going on? Maybe one of the guards know something!... Or the townsfolk? Definitely the storekeeper! I'm sure they have wonderful stories!"

* * *

Glimmergrove​

The way to the grove took them into the heart of the Widow Woods. The trail was uneven and winding, giving way to the expansive evergreens that thrust from the ground in great pillars. They reached for the heavens and blocked out the sun. A half-days journey through their journey, the northern winter began to grow distant, replaced by a damp cool. Mist swirled at their feet and climbed up their legs as they waded through.

From the shadows along the path, the group spied yellow eyes of beasts which growled with promised violence as any neared the edge of the trodden trail. The creatures followed them til they reached the edge of a clearing.

The massive trees were increasingly cleared as they neared. All that remained to show they were once their were great tombstones of stumps. A break of the oppressive trees revealed the evening sky, yet strangely no stars could be seen. The only twinkling to be seen were the globes of flickering postlamps scattered among the city. There was a stillness over the town, an eerie silence that threatened to shatter at any moment.

A tanner on the outskirts of the grove stopped setting a stretched hide as they approached. Near her workshop there were scattered broken devices of her trade. Not much farther in, they passed a hunter working to repair a trap with spare pieces. The few children that had been out playing were quickly shooed by caretakers into their cabins.

The Matron stands still near the center of town, staring up at a statue of a hunter. His face was half gone, ruined, and one of his arms were crumbling... But the bow he held stood true, and the arrow pointed deeper into the woods. She reached up to trace along the bow before quickly drawing her hand back and turning to the group. "Talk to who you will of this town. Find out what you need to find the creature that dares steal from Sovereign."

 

[daird]

Margarethe nodded as the troll explained their mission, or rather, missions. They both seemed simple enough. Hmm. Investigation or blood and terror? I think I'm more suited to the latter.

"I shall go to Meadowcairn," the walking corpse responded. "We will need more soldiers than this to put down any revolt, but I can always make more."

The fires in the little town concerned the undead. Villages like this were on a knife-edge, and a disconcerting number failed every year, whether due to bad harvests, disease, or pillaging. She may have signed up with Sovereign, but suffering never helped anyone, no matter how evil they were. Better to kill them quick- besides, it left more cadavers for her gifts.

She headed into town, doubtless disturbing everyone who saw her. Regardless, she walked into town, flashing a rotten smile. Entering the inn, she sat down at the bar. "Ho, innkeep! A mug of ale, and any news you may have for a traveler."

 

[Greenie]

Nevin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to join up the army. Trolls, surely. Fairies? Mayhaps. Elves and vampires? Orcs a plenty, they were ugly and couldn't be anywhere but with the side of evil in his opinion. Like me now, he told himself, sounding slightly morose even in his mind. He had always felt as if he was on the 'good' side, even if he was a bit of a rogue at times. But now there was only the Sovereign and he was a petty Slag who was seen so low that he was on probation.

What he didn't expect, however, were two women being their leaders. Now, he was in no way the sort to say being in the army was only a male thing; being on the run from a female had taught him not to underestimate the fairer sex. Perhaps it was simply the way the younger one sounded so happy go lucky or how the older one had a rather motherly face. There would be no using his charm on her, that much he could tell already.

He supposed he could have gone along with the Maiden, but he didn't feel like dealing with an uprising as his first task. The witch sounded much easier to handle in his opinion. A niggling thought told him he was probably wrong about it, but Nevin simply told that thought to screw off.

The walk through the Widow Woods was actually quite pleasant for the wolf shifter. There was no need for him to remain in his human form, so as soon as they started off he had shifted to his wolf form. His paws were better than any shoes, and with his ears and nose he didn't have to worry about anyone sneaking up on them. At least that's what he thought, and it held true. He growled right back at the creepy eyes but remained close to his group, not wanting trouble so quickly in the game.

As they passed the few city folk, Nevin decided it might be best if he shifted back to his human form. He thought himself a rather handsome wolf, but he did know there were some silly folk who were afraid that every wolf was out to have humanoid meat. Not so with him; he preferred fish.

"Aye, aye." He gave the Matron a salute with his paw before shifting back to human form, standing up. It was always a relief to him that he had on clothes when he shifted back. Why was it so? He didn't know nor did he question it; it was enough that he wasn't commando. "I'll be heading off then."

He thought of going to the bar first but quickly scrapped that idea. He could hardly go get himself drunk on his first day! Instead, he sauntered over in the directed of the tanner's workshop. He wasn't sure if anyone else would join him in their quest.. and he wasn't sure if they would be of any help if they did.

"Hello there!" he greeted, giving the tanner a smile. "Lovely night, eh?"
​

 

[Kae'os Daemon]

Darrius walked with a sure stride, each step heralded by only the slightest sound. Something of an oddity for his size. His massive blade rested on his shoulder before slamming into the ground before him as he took his seat with the other slags, biting deeply through it's sheer weight. With a curious glance towards the rest of his present company, he let out a silent sigh before turning to acknowledge the troll as he began speaking. He seemed disinterested in the droning speech, his attention failing, that is until the troll mentioned a witch. 'A challenge?' He thought. He held no want to face a few rebels, as the task seemed to simple at it's mention. But a witch was different. Cunning, powerful. Or so he hoped. He remained silent, waiting for their journey to start as he lost himself in thought.

His bare feet now seemed to slam into the ground, distinguishing his presence as they strode through the forest. An uncanny heat radiated from him, steam rolling off him as the damp air coiled with his fiery aura. He was excited, the mere presence of the hostile beasts made his sword hand frantic. Without warning, he let of a feral roar that shook the earth and made the trees dance. He wanted a fight. As they continued, reaching the town, he seemed a fraction more calm. Focused even. After the matron spoke her peace, he went his way, seeking the hunter they had passed. No doubt he would have ventured upon some clue of the witches whereabouts.

He approached the hunter from behind, letting his blade fall from his shoulder to bury itself in the dirt beside him. "Huntsman, we are searching for a witch. Do you have any information you can lend me? Perhaps something you have seen during your ventures into the wilds?" Darrius spoke in a deep, full voice that was both commanding and fiery, embodying an unspoken level of undirected anger.

 

[Matizze]

Numver could understand maybe half of what the quartermaster and the two women said, and after a long journey with too much sitting around doing nothing and too little eating, she really wasn't in the mood to put in enough effort to understand it.
The troll in charge seemed like a reasonable leader, a man of more action and less talk, but she was sceptical of the two women, mostly because she couldn't follow the conversation. She did catch one of them talking about punishment and witches though, and the other something about 'using whaterver means necessary'.
Numver didn't partucularly like witches. In her eyes, they were nasty creatures that made others fight their battles while they kept their fair distance. Sometimes, the things fighting their battles wasn't even visible; just bolts of lightning and balls of fire.
No, Numver leaned towards the use of whatever means necessary. That was more of her thing actually, and it sure sounded as if there would be blood and fighting.

The problem with choosing to go to Meadowcairn, Numver soon realized, was the tireless chatter coming from the young girl. She was almost on the verge of squashing the irritating mosquito that was the girl beneath her boot when they saw the town in the distance, and the girl's offer of roasted sausages made Numver forget any and all animosity she had held towards her. Literally.
She raised a hand.
"Ah want sausage", she said, bluntly.

 

[Nue]

Ryurk was pushing in his stupid tongue in with his claws as he got closer toward Fort Whimsy. Not that appearance mattered to him anyways: The Gnoll was strewn in rugged leather armor, with just a tinge of color in the form of beads that he's thrown on himself. But he still cared about whether or not to look stupid with his tongue hanging out or not. It't not like what he did was permanent either, as it would pop right back out as soon as he giggled, but it was still a nice feeling to tuck it in for the time being.

The leader, Xarg, wasn't all to striking of a creature to look at, aside from maybe his small third arm, which did cute and funny movements, to which Ryurk tried very, very hard not to laugh about, grasping his snout with his hands and holding his breath to stifle a major laugh into a mere snort as Xarg gave his speech. As the green giant nodded, so did the Gnoll, acknowledging his existence before he went on his merry way, leaving Ryurk and the remaining Slags in the company of three ominous-looking women. To be frank, he was expecting some wrinkled old things, eager to tug on your ears until days end. But when the first one revealed to be a perky young woman, he couldn't hold it in any longer, the sheer shock of appearance took Ryurk by storm.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!!!" He pointed at her and laughed hard, but quickly rushed to regain his composure, wiping away the tears in his eyes. Unfortunately, this meant that he was back to looking like some stupid puppy with his tongue hanging back out. Ah well. What can one do about it?

Since the younger lady seemed to be more funny, and since he kinda felt bad about laughing at her, Ryurk decided that the best course of action was to follow her out to Meadowcairn and deal with those pesky terrorists, thinking that the baboons can start an uprising and not expect Sovereign to do something about it? BAH! That's what us Slags are for! Dealing with the problems that nobody else wants to deal with!

He took a moment to ponder those that decided to venture with him for the time being. There was, of course, the young priestess, whose words never failed to make the Gnoll cackle. There was a member of the Undead, although she was to small and frail to be anything useful physically or nutritionally (although her insides seemed pretty like a tasty idea when cooked), especially given that the Undead weren't really best known for their resilience in combat, no, that title should go to the other member of the party: A Half-Hill Giant, with glimmering blue eyes hiding well beneath her sea of shaggy red hair. They seemed like a fitting pair, well, given that the Undead was at least magically inclined. All Undead have some form of innate magical power, it's just all a matter of having the actually intelligence to tap into it, and seeing as she's walking straight, instead of slouching and slumping all over the place like a drunkard, it can be safely assumed that she can at least do some magic. Although the thought of her walking around like place like some mindless drunkard made Ryurk stop in his tracks and giggle some more. He couldn't help it, it was just too funny!

The priestess made some more comments, mainly funny jokes of comparing the smoking town of Meadowcairn to roasting marshmallows and sausages, to which the Gnoll responded by laughing some. Oh my, she is really good at these jokes! He thought briefly, before laughing at that thought too!

But apparently, not everyone took the lady's comment as a joke, as the Half-Hill Giant promptly turned to the lady and asked for a sausage, literally, as if the young lady was going to magically sprout some sausages, and decide to give one to her! Now, he knew that the strength of the Half-Hill Giants came at the cost of their intelligence, but he didn't even know that they were so dumb as to not know what an actual joke is. It makes him think if they even know how to do a simple thing such as laugh. But then again, even he doesn't know how to laugh himself, or rather, control his rather infinite supply of laughter.

Frankly, he didn't know what was better at that point, laughing at the Priestess's inevitable reply, or being shocked if the lady actually pulls out a damn roasted sausage to give to the Giant, so he just stood there, stupidly eyeballing the two of them. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the more Ryurk could go for a good sausage right now...or perhaps some of that Undead lady's insides. It's not like she needed them anyways! She can walk perfectly fine without a liver!

@Snowball @Matizze @daird @Meadowcairn people

 

[Baddamobs]

Ssarus had slithered into Fort Whimsy with so much fear and trepidation in his heart that he was fairly certain it was acting as physical weight in his chest. Well, he didn't exactly slither into the fort: he had made it up to the broken down gate before he had stopped in his tracts, glancing at the ruined archway nervously, like it was a dragon's maw waiting to swallow him up. He would have still been standing there, debating whether he could just listen to the briefing from here, if one of the gate's guards hadn't irritably jab him with the bottom of his halberd.

The shock had caused Ssarus to let out a sound like a startled cat. The Yuan-Ti had zipped forward through the throng of other Slags in panic, ducking and weaving with such precision that it would have been fairly impressive if Ssarus hadn't been letting out a pathetic scream the entire time. He eventually slid straight under one of the stone benches in the courtyard, his entire mass pulled tight under the seat. It was from there, shivering and already wishing he was back home, that Ssarus had received his first orders.

Both sounded like really dangerous jobs. Either take part in quelling a group of rebelling citizens in Meadowcarin, or help to hunt down a witch in some dangerous forest called Glimmergrove. Both tasks sounded like a good way to get killed, either slain by a furious mob or ripped apart by some magical being.

In the end, Ssarus had signed up with the group that were assigned to hunt down the Glimmergrove witch. More than anything, it was the group's leader that had swayed the snake: the strict, no-nonsense and vaguely disappointed matron had reminded Ssarus of his own mother in many ways. Hopefully under such leadership he might actually live to see the other side of this mission…

The journey from Fort Whimsy had been a rough one for the Yuan-Ti. For one, the meagre equipment he had been given was already starting to be chafe. He had been handed a battered and half-ruined set of cast-iron armour, some of which still clearly had the dried blood of its previous owner on it. The most annoying part was definitely the helmet, which clearly had never been intended to be worn by a creature with a hood of flesh on either side of his head. Still, Ssarus had accepted the set and the nearly dull spear that came with it, reasoning that he was lucky to get any hand-outs at all. Of course, he had made that decision before having to travel any sort of significant distance.

Ssarus sighed with discontent as he itched and scratched at the few points under his armour that he could reach. Wearing his white priests robe under the armour hadn't been his best idea. He had thought it would make the whole thing more comfortable, but all he had ended up doing was staining his once immaculate attire.

All thoughts of his own discomfort faded from his mind after they had pushed through the woods, however. After spending the entire march hiding behind a less than impressed orc and glancing fearfully at the glowing eyes that glared at the Slags from the tree line, it was with no small amount of relief when Ssarus saw the town they were to investigate come into view.

While now no longer fearing for his life any more than usual, Ssarus was weary when their little group marched into town. He wasn't an expert on human settlements, but he was fairly certain they weren't usually as silent as a tomb. The whole place felt like it was holding its breath in anticipation, and Ssarus wasn't eager to find out what it was waiting for.

The Matron had pulled to a stop in the dead centre of town, turning to the group with the order of,

"Talk to who you will of this town. Find out what you need to find the creature that dares steal from Sovereign."

With that resolute command, the Slags began splintering off, each marching in a different direction.

Ssarus hesitated, glancing about uncertainly. He wasn't even sure where to begin investigating, and he sure as heck didn't like the idea of doing it alone either. Maybe he could follow behind one of the others, and get some ideas of how to go about things?

Ssarus scanned across the numerous Slags that were disappearing into the town, eventually setting his sights one of the humans that had been a part of the march. Wait, no. Ssarus had seen this particular human change into the shape of a wolf when they had been travelling through the woods. So, that probably meant this guy wasn't a 'human,' at least in the traditional sense. Whoever or whatever the man was, he certainly seemed to have a solid direction in mind.

After tasting the air with his serpentine tongue in thought, Ssarus eventually started to slither after the black-haired man. For the time being, Ssarus kept his distance, slipping from cover to cover as he followed behind the not-human. He didn't want to make it obvious he was following: it'd be pretty embarrassing to admit that he was kind of lost at this whole 'interrogating the townspeople' thing. At the very least, as long as Ssarus kept within spitting distance of another Slag, there would be back-up available. Assuming the other Slag didn't try and shank the snake himself, of course…

Eventually, he followed the not-human all the way back to the outskirts of the town, way back to the tanner's hut. The fact they had reached the outskirts meant that cover was getting hard to find, and thus Ssarus had to hang back, now too far away to hear what the black haired man was saying, but he appeared to be pretty relaxed. Ssarus was slightly perplexed. Wouldn't it be simpler to just interrogate the tanner to get the information? Not that Ssarus would have had the back-bone to do such a thing.

The Yuan-Ti decided to bide his time, and continued to obverse, one side of his head poking around the corner of the small shack he was ducked behind.

 

[Drifter]

When Stockton got to Fort Whimsy, he took a few moments to admire the architecture. He'd been in castles and forts aplenty, but none that quite so loudly screamed "abyssal torture dungeon." It was terrifying yet unquestionably utilitarian. As his eyes traced the archway, he didn't notice that one of the tattered, crimson banners had been lifted by the rough wind, flying off the keep like the slowly-unfurling wing of a great dragon. The flag barreled directly into the rogue, blanketing him in red and starling him into a swearing fit. As he swung his arms to free himself from his unexpected bondage, he saw Sovereign's signature three headed Beast adorning the flag and stopped short of stomping on the damned thing as it fell to his feet. That would undoubtedly be seen as a traitorous act.

This place is a piece of shit and any imbecilic job they have for me is no doubt a waste of my talents, Stockton decided, with an audible huff. However, he had come this far. He knew, and resented, that this was the only way back into Sovereign's good graces. Well, he had never been important enough for that, but that was always the end goal. Power for luxury's sake. He gave his cloth assailant one more dirty glare as he made his way into the fort.

To make his already rocky day worse, it looked like he had been the last to arrive of all the summoned "Slags". Even a gnoll had beaten him to it. Gnolls weren't exactly known for their punctuality, or so he assumed. He'd never run into too many of them in his line of work. He did his best to elbow past the masses. He gently maneuvered around a Half-Dead... Undead... zombie of a girl, her rotting flesh looking too delicate to withstand even a touch. A giant of a woman, or was that a Giant, loomed over him and he couldn't help but contort his face in disgust. Not a one among them looked out of place as a Slag. Rejects, the lot of them. Sure, he'd admit to making mistakes, but the sorry bunch surrounding him looked to be born mishaps.

Amidst the notable scent of ill-bathed peasants, a three-armed orc, and death, a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of the maiden who was assigning them their tasks. From what the matron, maiden, and orc was saying, they would split into two groupd. One would follow the older woman in pursuit of a presumably equally-haggard witch. The other would accompany the younger woman to fight a band of rebels. He knew his skillset was perhaps better suited to a witch-hunt, but the thought of being called a "youngling" again made his skin crawl.

"I'll go to Maidencairn," he said, then snickered, playing the routine up with a wink, "Oh, my apologies. A distracted slip of the tongue, but fear not. I don't make this choice without thinking. My bow will come in handy when the crowd needs controlling." He needed a little fresh air. Then again, given his company on the task, that would likely be a tall order.

The small group traversed over the gently sloping path, and Stockton scanned the overturned carts for anything worth stealing. All the while, the gnoll cackled and placed his paws to his muzzle in an attempt to control his manic fits of laughter. Admittedly, it grew old fast, but it was also easy enough to block out. He was much more focused on the plumes of smoke rising on the horizon.

Jokes were made about the village's plight and the maiden offered good advice about who to make contact with. Stockton felt confident he could talk some information from the people in town, but he was wary about dealing with sympathizers... particularly armed ones.

He noticed the gnoll looking at the undead woman as she walked into town. He came up beside him and gave him a friendly clap on his back, "Big guy, you want to come with me? I'd like a little backup in case my questions strike any nerves in town." He remembered his manners and offered his right hand to shake, then quickly retracted it and replaced it with the more shapely left, "The name's Stockton."

He hoped to get out of there before the Giant found out there wouldn't be any sausages.