Goylan Greenstag, Marquis of the Fifth Ward, has been the ruler of this land for three centuries, and is now about five centuries old.  Age has clearly begun to take its toll on the Elf, though.  He looks much older than many Elves his age.  His face his lined, his thinning hair is white.  He is followed by a large, strong looking Elk, and he carries a wooden shield with the emblem of his lineage:  a green stag, of course.

Alongside one of the big fallen tree-trunk walls, the valets of the Greenstag house set up a tent- a dingy looking, well camouflaged gray-green tent, quite large.  With a quick spell, Goylan makes it all but vanish- it takes on the color and even the texture of the tree and ground around it.  With another spell, it becomes warm and comfortable and well lit within, although not a single spark of that light can be seen from the outside.

He and Anakri know each other… but only slightly.  In the course of so many years, many of the older Elves do know each other, but Anakri and Goylan last met over two centuries ago.  The Elven kingdoms have not had regular travel and contact between them.

He is grateful for her arrival, although Anakri is quick to deflect credit to the others, especially the non Elves.  And she insists on translating, for those who don’t speak Elven.

She is also quick to bring up something she heard Cirostis mention:

“They came in barges on the Moselle River, Marquis Greenstag.  It is more important than hunting down whatever scattered forces have fled.  Those barges must be captured or destroyed, or the Huns will bring them back to the Rhine, and sooner or later they will be used against you again.”

“If you say it, it must be so,” the Elven Marquis agrees.  “So many are wounded and tired and hungry.  We will launch a pursuit when the first light of dawn comes.  It is welcome, and unexpected… but so welcome… that you have brought your allies.”

“Marquis Greenstag,” Anakri says, “The Dwarves are here under unusual circumstances.  I do not know the whole of it, but their own kingdom is threatened, they say.  They were told by their priests, that they would be able to defeat the enemy here… and we would help them defeat the enemy there.”

Goylan Greenstag looks baffled.  “They must tell us, then.  But away from this battlefield.  I cannot bear the memories here, and many of my warriors cannot.”

Cirostis greets the Marquis with humility and bows. He make no attempt to speak unless spoken too. Though he does not understand elvish he listens attempting to identify a few words here and there as it is translated. He defers completely to Dunduin unless he is addressed directly.

Heolstor made his way to the Marquis' tent too.

He stepped inside, ducking low to bring his head under the hanging olive grey tapestry that made up the tent's door. Pwyll came behind him. The crow trotted in, head bobbing curiously, before he took wing and flapped his way atop Heolstor's left shoulder. He neither croaked nor cawwed - perhaps even crows could understand that this was a moment deserving of quiet dignity.

Heolstor took his place beside Cirostis. One hand hung down, rested placidly as the elbow behind bent relaxedly in a way that suggested it was a common posture for the warrior. At his back hung a shield - its icon a raven rampant, set against scarlet backing. It bore gashes and deep splintered wounds - some fresh, some not.

"But here is where we are, Marquis," Heolstor suggested "And these dwarves have sacrificed much to be heard."

Dunduin ambles in and makes some appropriate introductions "Greetings, I'm Dunduin the commander of the dwarven forces here. I regret I'm a tad late. I was tending to our wounded. While we won a decisive victory it certainly wasn't without a price." The stocky dwarf slowly takes his seat and without his helmet and armor on one can see numerous scars over his exposed face and lower arms that are visible. Apparently, he also took a moment to clean himself and put on a change of clothes. "Now then. I hear that we have two issues on the table. One of barges and the other of assisting the dwarves plagued by another demon. I'm sure you can understand where my priorities are but I'm willing to deal with barges if I must. The dwarves need elven aid and that's the short of it."

Cirostis continues to remain silent awaiting some movement forward and a commander's intent from the Marquis. If no one else mentions it, he will tell them about their lost brethren in need of rescue in Mogontiacum when the barges are discussed in detail.  For that mission expectation is his reason for wanting the barges dealt with.

Petra had never seen an Elvish elder before.  It was the very first time she had seen the touch of time upon an Elf.  She considered him a moment, wondering how much wisdom and experience a person could accumulate over a span of centuries, rather than of decades.  She was given to understand her own mixed blood would let her live some scores of years beyond a hundred.  Barring the vagaries and risks of her particular life.

But, she would not see a second century.  Even one was too much time to easily grasp.  She couldn't imagine. And, remembered what she had been told about Elven responses to pain - having so much time to accumulate losses and wounds of the heart.  She was half of their blood, and felt she only half understood them. If that much.  She'd much yet to learn, if she ever wished to truly understand her mother's people.

But she did understand why the Dwarvish, and Human, presences had been so important here.

Unlike the men, Petra's small, round shield was unadorned.  She was of common birth; her line merited no heraldic devices.  But the quintet of sacred sigils that hung about her throat spoke of allegiance beyond the realm of this world.

She had been standing somewhat behind Heolstor and the Dwarves.  She stepped forward though to add something, at this juncture:

"Marquis Greenstag.  I am Petra Faust, of the Lady Eostre's temple, in service of lord Heolstor. It is essential to add that our worst enemy, the Lords of the Abyss, have been direly crafty in targeting the weaknesses of each people.  Here, they sought to play upon the Elvish peoples' pain over Beda, and their great desire for peace.  I fear that, without the aid of Humans and Dwarves, the Elves would have been dealt a terrible, crippling blow this day. Now, it is the Dwarves' turn.  They too are the target of a Demon-lord. And, as a priestess, I must strongly reinforce what lady Anakri reports.  That the time is now for your people to repay what the Dwarves gave and risked at Beda."   

        Although a bit late due to previous tasks that were of import to complete,  the Dwarven
servant of Mars finally arrives.  Arctos pushes back the tapestry serving as a tent flap while
ambling into the the large tent that served as a pavillion.  Leaning heavily upon his Agnon,
he finds a spot to the rear of the pavillion so as to not disturb the ongoing activities there-
in.  He had already ruffled enough feathers this day, and wished not to raise anyone elses
ire needlessly. . . then once again have to try and explain himself when in a overly medicated
and ever so delicate a condition.

        After having taken up a comfortable position in an out of the way place, Arctos reaches
into his raiments where his flask tis secreted and retrieves it to partake of several large
snorts of the desired libations that he had so sought.  Once his thirst pangs hath been slaked,
he re-stoppers the flask and returnns it from whence it came.

        Afterwards, an uncontrollably loud "Urrrrrrrrphhhhh!!! escapes from
betwixt the Dwarven Patres lips . . .

        His chin begins to itch and Patre Scopulos starts to loudly scratch his chin where he's
lost a portion of his beard to the Infernal Demons blasted death throes.

This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Thu 21 Feb 2013.

At some point, the Dwarves recount the tale of their journey here, and the reasons for their sudden and unexpected appearance in the Ardennes.

"Lady Faust... and assembled friends," Marquis Greenstag addresses them politely. "We will certainly repay the Dwarven effort.  I will not doubt the prophecies of Dwarven priests, especially not after the first part of their prophecy has come true with no doubt.  We are victorious here today in no small part because the Huns could never have anticipated a Dwarven fortress in the middle of the Ardennes.  So, too... we Elves must react against the foe of the Dwarves, with some means that the would never, ever be expected of Dwarves.  And for that... we need to know more.  About the enemy, and about the Dwarves, and especially... how the Dwarves themselves react, because that is the one thing we should not do.

"In the meantime, I cannot ask more of you.  To have come all this way, at such great risk, and cost, to fight for a people you have never met, a people who.. before this day, would not have done the same for you... we honor you, but it would shame us to ask more.

"We must strike the barges.  We have seen them on the river, through our owls. Destroying them is a good idea.  We will rest, and before the dawn, we will move against them.  It is a sorrowful thing, to see more good lives lost, but I think you are right, it would be unwise to let the barges leave unchallenged."

"Marquis Greenstag," Anakri says.  "You do not want our help?"

"I did not say that," he responds.  "I said I could not ask it."

        Arctos listens silently to the dialogue twixt the Human, Dwerg, and Elven Council
members, realizing that he had heard naught any mention of the wooden staff that the In-
fernal Demon Abigor had been brandishing during the 'Great Battle' twixt the Huns and the
Allied Forces; he discovers that he couldst sit idle no longer.  Patre Scopulos begins to
wave his Agnon to and fro above his head in order to gain everyones attention, and voice
his concerns . . .

        The Dwarfs peers notice that he still remains accoutred in his gore encrusted armor
from their previous engagement.  They also notice his bandaged face and hands, his burned
face, eybrows, hair, and beard.  After having gotten everyones attention, he places the butt
of his Agnon firmly upon the ground and uses it to shore up his wounded body in a continual
upright position.

        "Wot tiss to happen with Abigors staffff.  Mayhapzz it shoult be identified n' order
to note druther its true nature couldst prove to be a tool wot couldst aid us n' art cause
against Masiphal n' eez minions, n' whom it wouldst best serve n' its use, r'e if'n it shoult
be returnt to its rightful owners.  Last I saw Abigors weapon the 'Were Creature' Callidus twas
a runnin off with it!  He hath naught brought it forth to the Coucil.  Tis the one item wot
be still n' tact from the Demon Abigor.  Mayhaps this staff can be used against art nemesis
Mastiphal in art Dwarven Campaign.  The wooden staff shoult be brought ere fur all to see n'
discovers n' investigate its properties as well to come to a mutual agreement as to whom shoult
wield it, r'e if'n it shoult be given back to its rightful owner.  Wots says this Council pon
this matter O' great import?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Fri 22 Feb 2013.

"You have me and you have my men," Heolstor pronounced with a finality that spoke of great certainty "I did not march through city, wood, and fen to grow old while you win glory, Marquis... And when those barges have been smashed, burned, and sent to the river's depths we can talk on what is to come in the dwarflands. The Saxon smiled, will unbroken by the road they'd trod so far. "Today was a red day. There will be more blood though, before the end. Everything we draw from the Huns now we need not bleed ourselves in days and years to come." Years, gods be good, Heolstor prayed, let it not come to that. Empires did not crumble in days though... And this could not end til the Hunnic dominion breathed its last.

Still, Heolstor was certain of their path, and his features remained resolute.

"... And where the dwarves go, so do I; they have bled for me, and I for them." Heolstor affirmed. "I know little of the traditions of your people, but among mine... Among the Saxons, two things are never forgotten: oaths sworn before the gods and battles fought in brotherhood." Pwyll cocked his sable head to lay a single ink-black avian eye on the Marquis.

"But there is the matter of the prisoners. We cannot free them, even if we cannot kill them. They may have value," Heolstor suggested "And they are Huns besides. If you can spare the men to guard them, I will send a rider to treat with the Huns when the barges are ash along the riverbend. Not before: I will not give them warning that we have won and that we may march on them. They would not do us the same courtesy."

"My messenger will carry these words: we have taken scores of your warriors. They may live, if you have prisoners to offer in return or ransom to barter for their lives." A pause. The crow cawwed as his wings stretched anxiously. "But also a warning. If my rider does not return, if he is harmed, then I will send his soldiers back to him... But they will be so broken that they will never carry a blade again."

"Huns do not fear death as men do, not in the same way. They do fear weakness though." Heolstor admitted.

Arctos brought up the staff, but Heolstor did not comment. This seemed a discussion for those who understood the divine. Strang was much more ably suited for earthly concerns, he thought.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:41, Fri 22 Feb 2013.

Cirostis listens intently. He is satisfied that the Marquis has decided to hit the barges.

Sir, ladies and gentlemen my concern about the barges is not only to reply to the insult of attack but also to prevent the retreating from returning to Mogontiacum to give you an opportunity.

There are, you may know about 5 prison barges in that city. In at least 1 of those barges are kept your kin as highly valued torture victims for the Huns. The daily torture they endure provides great morale to the Huns. I doubt they will be given up. I expect when the fleeing forces return the prison barges will leave and you will not be able to mount a rescue. They will enjoy taking out their anger and frustration on the elves they have.

The dwarf knows he does not need to recommend an action, sometimes just the facts are needed.

Regarding the staff and its peacemaking powers, it may be a help as the Patre indicates, we also have the sword of the demon and some other trinkets of loot. We Dwarves have plenty of Killing devices another great sword may not be needed by is, I believe we would gladly give up that for the staff and one who can wield it.
Each Demon has powers of its own, powers and weaknesses these generally connect to the ways by which mortals cause suffering. We have with us a book describing the Signs of the Enemy. We also have some intelligence on Mastiphal specifically. We will of course focus our efforts in working with the team you send to our aid. The essential problem is that we dwarves fight with passion and rage, and Mastiphal is able to manipulate us to become so enraged with any insult that we fight and kill one another, and we turn to a different shadow version of ourselves, the Duergar. Our kingdom after failing to kill the evil has stalled almost shutting down communication. We hope that through peace and diplomacy of your people we will not need to fight and kill the Duergar but perhaps there can be some way of returning them to their proper place.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:27, Fri 22 Feb 2013.

"I agree that the barges should be dealt with but saving the dwarven kingdom is of greater priority. Dwarves tend to act in a forthright manner but in this case, slaying our brethren who have fallen prey to evil is not the solution. In doing so, we ourselves, we'll likely turn evil and the situation just feeds on itself. Quite the predicament this demon has laid upon us. I have a feeling that since the clergy was attacked first that somehow in faith and peace a solution will present itself. And while a straight out attack is not prudent, a stealthy elimination of key problem individuals may prove beneficial even though that's not our traditional way of handling matters. And yes, I agree that the staff in the right hands may prove more useful for us then any weapon."