Gorna, the capitol city of the Grand Duchy of Geoff, has long been known as a city of bright colors. Early in the establishment of the realm, its human rulers forged ties of friendship with the high elves that called the valley their home. As part of that alliance, eager human pupils learned some of the elves’ remarkable craftsmanship, particularly in the skills of weaving, painting, and metalwork. Thus, in due season, Gorna became a city known for its colorful, welcoming environs. Though the Duchy has often found itself beset by enemies from the forbidding Crystalmist Mountains, Gorna has retained a spirit of cheer and resilience, its citizens undaunted by the challenges arrayed against them, the beauty of their homes and streets a reflection of their prevailing spirit.

Though the color is visible throughout all of the broad streets when each of the champions arrive in Gorna, in answer to the summons of his High Radiance, Owen the First, Grand Duke of Geoff, the spirit of the city is muted, its citizens subdued, going about their daily business in relative silence, dread having quieted the bright, unspoken courage that has marked Gorna for many years. Craftsman attend to their work wordlessly, pausing only to assist an approaching customer. The spirited cries that fill the marketplaces are absent, merchants tending to their wares with hushed efficiency. An uneasy stillness rests over the city as each of those called navigate its avenues to reach the Grand Duke’s fortress.

The Grand Duke does not insist on formality, meeting those that have been courageous enough to answer his plea for aid in the wide, marble floored chamber where Owen and his generals meet to discuss the Duchy’s defense. The Grand Duke is dressed in courtly attire, but his finery is somewhat rumpled, his eyes shaded by dark circles, marks of a ruler who has been unable to find rest in recent days.

When all are assembled, Owen addresses the gathering. ”I am indebted to each of you for your coming,” he says, his deep voice low, ”My realm has been without answer to this new peril which besets us. If you are able to help us, to preserve us from this new threat, I can assure you that the resources of Geoff will forever be at your disposal.”

He approaches a large table, upon which is spread a detailed map of the Grand Duchy. He taps a grouping of tall mountains that are situated to the northwest of the realm. ”The Barrier Peaks,” he explains, ”So named because they are virtually impassible. Only the hardiest of souls have sought to venture to the highest peaks. To this day, much of what lies within them remains a mystery. Even my most learned sages lack answers regarding what calls them home.”

“Some of my people have made their homes in the foothills and lower mountains. Certain herbs, important to medicine, thrive there, as do some hardier breeds of livestock. Silver and iron have been discovered. But as you might imagine, those that have chosen to settle there are strong, accustomed to the challenges of the wilderness. How unforgiving it can often be.”

“In recent months, many of those settlements have been razed. Their people wiped out. Almost all of them lost. Four fortresses and an entire walled settlement.” He shakes his head. ”The reports of those that survived…made little sense. They referred to attacks by creatures that…well, some that are unknown in this part of the Flanaess. Others my scholars had never heard described before.”

“A group of soldiers from one of the Barons who makes his home there, Domnall, along with a number of elven scouts reported that they had found the source of the monsters. They ventured in force to the area, but most were slain.”

He sighs and looks back to the gathering. ”I have arranged you escort to Baron Domnall’s stronghold. From there, one of the surviving scouts will be able to lead you to the lair of these beasts.”

He spreads his hands helplessly. ”I fear that if this threat is not halted, that these creatures will find their way into the valley. That more innocent lives will be lost. If you can venture to this place and find the means to stop these incursions, the coffers of Geoff will be open to you. I will see to it that each of you is richly rewarded.”

Ranzarth had arrived the evening earlier, finding a small inn near the outskirts of the city for lodgings for the evening. He wanted to arrive refreshed to their meeting in the morning with the Grand Duke. He had chosen a familiar inn, though the owners now were not the same owners the last time he had ventured into the city. It had been more than four decades since he had been here, in his youth.

Upon waking in the morning he had dressed in his finest, though likely not expected he figured it would be a wise choice. A pair of soft brown breeches, fine leather boots, a green tunic with a silver trim.

Arriving at the meeting early he had studied the map as he waited for the Grand Duke to speak. As the Grand Duke began to explain his plight he nodded, The elves lost though not of his own nation, were still of kin blood and he had answered the summons upon that.

Azad Rola strode through the town gates on the morning of the summons. He carried an oak staff, capped and banded with iron, and bore a rolled-up scroll tucked into his belt; the letter that had brought him all the way from the Cairn Hills. The long trip didn't seem to have worn him down, however; indeed, he seemed invigorated and ready to face the day. The vigor in his step was a contrast to the early gray in his hair, which made it hard to judge his age.

He certainly showed up well-equipped; in addition to his staff and a pair of daggers, he had a knapsack and a satchel, and several pouches of various sizes on his belt. A pair of silver bracers could be seen under the sleeves of his black silk robe; a red cloak with an orange tabard lent color to an otherwise drab outfit.

The somber mood of the streets eventually wears down his resolve, however, and his demeanor upon reaching the fortress is serious and matter-of-fact. He attends to the Grand Duke's words without interruption; at the final request, he responds. "Rest assured, we will do our utmost to end this threat. If we cannot, we will endeavor to send what we learn of them, that a successor might finish what we start."

In a low, throaty tone of voice which closely echoes the Grand Duke’s, Wandreck asks, “Just how richly do you intend to reward us?  This beard doesn’t come cheap.”

No way he was putting his pretty neck on the neck for nothing!
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Mon 29 July 2019.

”I am gladdened to hear it,” Owen tells the wizard, ”Of late, all of my waking hours have been consumed in worry over these incursions.”

He raises one eyebrow in response to Wandreck’s question, then nods. ”I understand, of course. I have set aside fifteen thousand pieces of gold for each of you. And that is simply for taking part in the expedition. Should you be able to provide proof of the threat’s destruction, I am prepared to pay more.”

“But that is only what I am offering. A number of the northern barons have pledged to contribute a reward of their own. And the Wizard’s Guild here in Gorna has promised payment for anything you could provide that would enable them to learn more of these strange creatures.”

Lumwik stood quietly by.  He was not much for pomp or ceremony.  He had heard the rumors, everyone had.  Of course, he didn't believe them, still he was willing to get paid to look into them.

He looked around at all the big folk gathered.  "Aye. I'll lend my axe to the cause."

"Yes, about that..." Herodian says, "Do you have copies of the survivor's accounts? I would prefer to hear the words directly from them, but a transcript will do. I'm sure we'd all like to know as much as we can about what we will be dealing with when we get there."

Herodian's banded mail is slightly battered. He wears a gold-trimmed, red, hooded cloak over his armor, but has the hood pushed back while in the company of the Duke. The stubble of a beard on his face somehow makes his pointed ears stand out more than they should and the combination reveals his half-human, half-elven heritage. He carries a wooden quarterstaff with intricate runes carved into it covering it from end to end.

While on the way to the City of Bright Colours, Salenth Ravanys, priestess of St. Cuthbert had prayed for fair weather and a swift and safe ride. It would seem that her Lord heard her prayer and made the entire journey utterly uneventful and boring. As such, Salenth had been looking forward to sight seeing in Gorna and toyed with the idea of attending a painting or weaving workshop before the meeting with the Grand Duke of Gorna. After all, Gorna had a reputation for melding together human and elven culture and creating a unique cultural tapestry of co-existence and Salenth was eager to experience that in any way.

Coming from a small backwater village like Nulb, visiting a place like Gorna was like entering another world. Though the Priestess spent most of her growing up years in the city of Mitrik, after being sent to help the poor people of Nulb as both a healer and spiritual leader and living there for many years, Salenth had become so used to country life that city life had become alien to her.

Regardless of her attitudes towards country life or city life, one thing about Salenth never changed and that was her desire for adventure. As such, whenever her aid was requested on missions such as those sent by the Grand Duke, Salenth was eager to accept.

Upon arriving at Gorna however, she was immediately struck by how muted the city was. Clearly, the city was greatly affected by the recent violence that was raging through the Grand Duchy of Geoff. Thus, all desire to have fun at weaving and painting workshops fled.

Now, Salenth found herself amongst a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces who had all been summoned by Owen the First to help. Salenth sighed at the thought of countless dead and wounded. Under her breath, the blonde haired priestess whispered a prayer to St. Cuthbert for them.

"As you know, Duke Owen, the church of St. Cuthbert stand by you and your people. So, a reward is not necessary. However, any contribution to the church of St. Cuthbert will be appreciated," Salenth said as she walked toward the table to glance at the map Owen had laid out, "I speak only for myself and my church, of course."

Salenth looked up from the map to glance at Herodian when he asked about the survivors.

"Perhaps if those transcripts are not available. The surviving elven scouts can tell us more," Salenth suggested before turning to direct her question at the Duke,"When are we supposed to leave for Baron Domnall's stronghold?"

Wandreck grunts at the offer of 15,000 gold, as though he had often spent that much on a wayward night in the taverns and brothels.  In truth, the offer made his rugged little toes tingle with greed.  He salivates, and clenches his small, tough hands as though they were already gripping huge rolls of precious coins.  He imagines making a bed of treasure, practically swimming in it.

But how dangerous this quest must be, to command such a price!
This message was last edited by the player at 21:52, Tue 30 July 2019.

”I fear that I am not in possession of any such transcripts. Most of what I have in writing are the reports of what has been left behind. Destroyed settlements and strongholds,” Owen explains. ”They are more the accounts of what has been lost, rather than a description of those responsible.”

“However, as the Priestess suggests, Baron Domnall has gathered several narratives from those few who have survived. He has intimated to me that he fears that these creatures are acting at the behest of another, one that has mastered some of the workings of dark magic.” He shakes his head slowly. ”If it is so, neither I nor any of my vassals have received any communication from the one directing these attacks. No demands, nor even a hint of what they might be seeking to achieve.”

“I am certain that the Baron will gladly provide you with all that he has learned. And no doubt, the scouts will be willing to share their stories.”

“I know that for several of you, it was a long journey to come here. I have arranged for some of my best steeds to be made available to you for the trek to Domnall’s keep, along with a sturdy wagon for those who prefer not to ride. You may leave when you are prepared. Should you need rest before the journey, you will be given quarters here at the fortress.”

Ranzarth spoke up, his voice soft and clear "I am ready to leave this day. Though we may want to discuss about seeking the market to see if there is anything we should gather up before we venture forward."

He had recognized some of the others that were showing up but he had only nodded to them as they entered, his attention had been on the Duke and the somber reports of those lost.

Azad scratches his nose. "The markets didn't exactly seem to be... bustling this morning. We may have a hard time finding anything more than the most basic supplies. I trust that the mounts, and the wagon, would be carrying enough supplies for the trip; I would not presume to expect more than that at this time.

"Let us prove our worth before we seek the reward, eh?"

"I had no intention of being given anything. I was looking at purchasing some supplies. Though perhaps it may be best to wait until we arrive Domnall's keep to speak with the scouts to determine what additional needs to be purchased. I travel light, enough food and water to last a few days myself. But if we are to venture deep into the mountains and beneath the mountains, things such as rope, pitons, etc may be of use." Ranzarth responds, somewhat annoyed that it was even thought he would be taking these items without payment.

”If you can provide one of my stewards a list of the items you require, I will see to it that they are procured for you prior to your departure,” the Grand Duke offers.

Sir Cal had accompanied Herodian into the keep and kept attentive, but silent, throughout the Duke's explanation. He nodded in greeting to the several party members he'd worked with in the past.

He listened to Azad and Ranzarth discuss supplies, but the Grand Duke seemed to resolve the matter before he had a chance, or perhaps before he made the effort, to interject his own opinion.

In a deep voice that rolled with a tempo on the slow side, he addressed the group, "Supplies seem to be taken care of. Does anyone have any other business in town before we leave? I do not."

"No, Uncle," Herodian says. "I'd like to do a little catching up with everyone, but I suppose there will be ample time for that as we travel."

Wandreck sees to it that some fully loaded wineskins are on the list.  It is a well-known fact that wine is full of anti-oxidants that reduce every adventure’s chances of death from any cause by at least 20%.

Ella had heard the call for aid, and kept her ear to the ground enough to have heard a little of the local troubles as well. From the sound of things, it would be no small task. Fortunately, it looked like a sizeable number of people had answered the call. She looked around at the others, recognizing some from past experience and some of the others by reputation. She nodded as she listened to the discussion of payment and logistics. When it came time to make a list of needed supplies, she finally spoke up.

"If we're going to the mountains, we'll need more supplies than it seems. It's hard going in rough terrain, and we might need to double back sometimes, even with local guides. Rockfalls and the like can change the shape of the paths overnight. We'll want plenty of ropes, hammers, spikes, that kind of thing, too." As a priestess of Joramy, she'd made her pilgrimages to the occasional volcano to witness the splendor of her goddess, and knew a little bit about travel in mountainous terrain.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Sun 04 Aug 2019.

The looks and stares he received as he lumbered his way through the city were nothing new.  Most of his time was spent in the deep wood or high mountain and grooming was, well, not of the highest priority.  His fur lined clothing was stifling in the sun and more than once he contemplated changing into his other clothing, but those were not for wandering streets or speaking in front of nobility.

Marching his way into the appointed meeting area, clinking with each step emanating from somewhere within his outfit, he looks over each individual present before speaking.  None of them had he seen in years past.

"Apologizes if I have arrived late.  Travel on foot is dangerous and slow."

The Grand Duke nods at Harkmur. "I am grateful for your presence."

Owen summons a pair of his stewarts, asking both to attend to the company's requests for equipment. "Ensure that you speak with Master Randarth and the Priestess of Joramy. Both seem familiar with traveling through the mountains."

Addressing the gathering again, he says, "I will make certain that the wagon and horses are prepared for your departure. My deepest thanks to each of you. I am in your debt."