"If it's all fine and well with you, I'll be taking Gazra along with our friends here. There's nothing I enjoy more than absolutely gutting the Palm's efforts, and it seems they've stumbled upon a way to do just that and then some".

Crasmar hold up his hands in a gesture imitating them being bound together. "Like I could tell you otherwise?".

Oro smirks. "No, not really".

"Father, I want to go with them" says Sigurd.

A frown spreads back over Crasmar's face. "Absolutely not. Your duty is to your people. And as my Underchief, I need you here".

Sigurd returns the frown, but doesn't make eye contact with his father. His silence speaks volumes for how absolute Crasmar's word is in his own lands.

Addressing the core group, Crasmar asks "Do any of you oppose to my hospitality for the night? It will take some time to get in contact with the dwarves and unlock the gates. Even more still, there's the matter of that infernal machine you drove on to my lands. It can't manage through the gate here, but we have a hidden service entrance just outside of the city walls. The dwarves used to drive their own machines out of it, as well as merchant carts. It should be large enough to accommodate your transport, and I can have you escorted to the service entrance hopefully by some time tomorrow morning".

Beloc bows out of respect. "A most gracious offer, Chieftain. It would be an honor."

He rises to address some other logistical concerns. "About that vehicle, I'm afraid it doesn't quite support a fellowship of eleven. Would you suggest a more traditional means of travel for those less agreeable to more modern conventions? Perhaps a few horses?"

"Hmm. Yeah, we can arrange for whatever you need, be it a few horses, a drawn cart, or what have you. The dwarves, if they're feeling charitable enough, might even sell you their services to modify what you have. I'm not entirely sure what they can and can't do, so you'll just have to see for yourself".

Mention of the dwarves services piques R.E.B.O.R.T's interest. "Modifications? A notable suggestion, I will investigate."

"A most gracious offer indeed, Crasmar.  Thank you.  And thank you for the horses as well.  We resupplied with food in Argonette, but I would imagine topping that off would, at the very least, provide some variety.  Also, though we are only intending to enter the mountain kingdom, it would do us well to be prepared for the possibility of needing to climb the mountain.  If you had gear of that nature, that might come in handy.  Beloc, Oro, is there anything we are missing?  Anything your experience and relationships tell you we might need?"

"I know a dwarf or two under the mountain, and still remember much of the straight forward tunnels. I will also say the odds of "needing" to go over the mountain are astronomically slim -  it's borderline suicide to the elements if not attempted in the hotter months, and even then it's a miserable climb. Within the tunnels below however, most of the way is unlit beyond the dwarven stronghold, so we'll need plenty of illumination. It's quite cold as well. I have to ask though.. by needing to pass into the realm of the dwarves, I assume it'll be on to the capitol from there?".

"I don't suppose you've got Wally and Iro hiding around here somewhere, then the gang really would be all back together."

"Sadly, I do not. The last I spoke to Wally, Iro hasn't been recovered yet. He thinks Iro's pod may have slipped down into a deep ocean trench. I do hope for his sake he's found at some point, rather than spending who knows how long in a crystal coffin"

Crasmar nods and calls the meeting to an end, informing everyone he still has the head of farms to meet with, the supply quartermasters, and many others before the day is through. A runner is dispatched to inform Darius he is clear to drive the Badger to the cities gates, where it can remain overnight just inside the walls for safe keeping. Many of the younger members of the clan have never seen such, and marvel at the steel beast. Kallium remains out of sight, while Darius and Krem are escorted along up to the keep. Krem sports an impish grin from ear to ear upon being reunited with the rest of the party, exclaiming that not in all his years has he been treated with this kind of dignity; no jeers, sneers, or leers as he puts it.

The evening comes quickly, and soon a feast is laid out in the great hall in honor of the guests. Large braziers burn brightly, giving off the familiar warmth that you all have come to associate Vaaringard and the Fyreworms with. Mead, roasted meats, and songs in unfamiliar languages are sung. Drums are pounded, and horns sound to announce the arrival and departure of Jarls and their families as the evening goes on. Gazra finally shows himself, and nearly crushes everyone as he passes out bear hugs and talks excited of how he and Oro were being held as "persons of interest" by the military, but managed to slip off a few days ago after one of their guards got complacent.

In the mean time...

Darius is treated to several of the women keeping him company and feeding him drinks after he reluctantly shows off the scars of his leg - which in turn has him hailed as a warrior among the rest. Krem hastily shows off scars across his gut from various blade wounds in response, though who knows where it lands him as the roar of the crowd and the clanking of mugs and steins fill the night with a celebratory chorus.

Oro sits quietly off to the side in the company of Irja, enjoying the revelries in his own way by observing, sipping on mead, smoking a pipe, and having a quiet conversation. Gazra manages to get in to a drinking contest with Sigurd, nearly putting the young barbarian under the table. This goes on for two more would-be barbarian victors, until the Old Crone sits at the table across from him, subsequently ending his reign. Gazra slumps with the side of his face down on the table, and soon after begins snoring loudly, much to the amusement of everyone around him. One of the younger barbarians smudges his thumb in soot, and gives Gazra a drawing of something.. phallic.. on his forehead. Laughter erupts in an absolute roar at this point, with the Crone rolling her eyes and shuffling off while chuckling.

The next morning the great hall is full of snoring and potentially hung over barbarians. Those of you who managed to slip off to the rooms they were offered are met by the smell of freshly cooked pork belly and a polite attendee knocking at their doors. Food and refreshment is served in the small rooms, followed by a summons to the courtyards once everyone is ready.

Shiaran does not drink alcohol.  Instead, she sticks with whatever milk is available, preferring cow to goat.  Her voracious appetite has not diminished, but she eats in sullen silence.  Any man who even glances her way, she glares daggers at.  It is clear she does not wish to be bothered.

The moment she finishes eating and the situation allows for it, she turns in.  Thus, when she awakens, she is refreshed and no longer sullen, though she remains quiet - speaking with artificial politeness and minimal words when spoken to.

Sypher spends the evening eating his fill.  His fare is similar to Shiaran's, but he stretches it over the course of the evening, also avoiding alcohol.  Unlike the sullen 'shaman', he engages easily in conversation with any still capable of it.  Though he does not laugh at crude or crass jokes, he does at those of good humor and especially self-deprecation.  For his part, he likes these people and their uncomplicated ways, adherence to traditions, and balance with the land.  He could see himself here at peace should the world allow for it, though the thicker leathers and all that fur wasn't him.

When Gazra shows up, the monk will reconnect with him and spend significant time speaking with him and catching up with both the barbarian and Oro.  Though they have little more in common than the defense of the airship, Sypher finds that he likes both men.  Oro especially draws him as a point of curiosity and hope.  The spawn of demons - a word that is more generic for Sypher than for others - Oro acted on his own moral volition, and his choices so far, were for the good.  Sypher truly wanted to know Oro, to know how those so intimately connected to demons could be morally free.  In his faith, the demons believed in Iehovah and trembled.

Tonight was not the night to broach such a sensitive topic, though.  For Oro, the opportunity would have to be obvious...or created through the bonds of friendship.

Sypher occasionally steers conversations with others to matters of faith when the river of conversation allows for it.  He is not one to belittle the beliefs of others, but seeks to find common ground on which to build the talk towards his own faith and Iehovah.

When the feast reaches a point where there is little more than drunken stupor, Sypher politely excuses himself to his chambers.  There, he spends an hour reading his book and in prayer and meditation before entering a restful sleep.

In the morning, he too is refreshed and ready to go after a hearty breakfast.  He needed to find Oro and Gazra.

R.E.B.O.R.T. doesn't eat or drink, but he partakes in any conversation that others initiate. He spends most of his time observing and absorbing the social interactions of this foreign culture.

Once the other members of the party begin to retire, he leaves as well but doesn't seek the room provided by Crasmar. Instead, he heads back to the badger to continue work on his newest creation. By morning, a small mass of scales, hair, and feathers begins to resemble the tiny frame of winged creature.

Beloc spends a little time in the hall catching up with Gazra and Oro. He eats and drinks until he is comfortable, but leaves early to enjoy the night air before retiring to his room. There is no telling how long they'll be underground, so he walks with Apache outside as long as he can.

In the morning, he meets up with others to enjoy an early meal before the ceremony of volunteers begins.

A few hours later, around 200 of the Fyreworm tribe are gathered in a massive courtyard. At the head of the courtyard, is an entry way to the side of the keep where Crasmar resides. Being the guests of honor, everyone including Krem and Darius are asked to stand up on the top of the steps where Crasmar addresses his people. Jarls and their families, along with Old Mother also stand atop the steps.

"People of the Fyreworm Nation... war is upon us". He booming voice carries across the crowd without the need for magical aid. "The very forces I once fought, the Bleeding Palm who have formed an alliance with a nation across the sea, now threaten our own domain. I've kept you all separate from them, from the atrocities they commit. But it seems that I can no more hold back the flood. At this moment, I declare war".

A mighty and thunderous roar erupts from the crowd, with swords, axes, and shield being held high in the air.

"Ve'll show dem a flood! A flood of deir own blood!" yells one of the onlookers.
"Dey vill only know fear!" yells another.

Crasmar holds up a hand and the crowd immediately goes silent again. "Our Old Mother has read the bones, and these people you see next to me, they carry out a battle at the heart of this war. But their number has been foretold as wrong. Four. Four more they will need, to act according to the will of the bones. Seven are among them, and eleven are needed. Who among you will be willing? Old Mother says that those who would volunteer, are absolute. To back down is to defy the bones entirely".

The crowd stirs, but no one volunteers just yet. There is a certain tension in the air that's almost tangible. "Is there none among you? The road will be hard, and the chance of death will be great. Vignor and Rorhnor look upon you, and the gates of Siegendurn call".

At that moment, Oro steps forward from the sidelines. He doesn't speak, but nods. Following him is Gazra, his breast plate gleaming in the morning sun, and helmet sitting in his trademark fashion of half cocked up on the top of his head.

"Two more" he says in his commanding tone.

Two figures emerge from the front of the crowd. One appears to be a man, while the other has a more slender figure. They each wear heavy cloaks with hoods pulled over their eyes. The man takes a bold step forward.

"I will be the tenth man!" says the shrouded figure, standing in salute with an arm across his chest.

His compatriot steps forward as soon as the words leave his lips, and mimics the salute. A woman's voice calls out "I vill be de eleventh man!".

The crowd erupts in cheers, banging weapons against shields now in a loud and rhythmic fashion.

Crasmar stands stone faced, before addressing the crowd again with a raised hand of silence. "Go now, prepare yourselves. Sharpen your blades. Steel your nerves, for we will not wait for this enemy to come to us and defile our lands. No! We will ride out to meet them. In five days time, we head out".

The crowd erupts again, with every man, woman, and child giving salute to Crasmar, who returns it with pride. Everyone immediately sets off, shuffling out of the courtyard to their appointed place of duty, eagerly awaiting word from their jarl. Crasmar points at the two cloaked figures, his face absolute stone again, and jerks a hand towards himself, beckoning them forward. Once they reach him, he snatches back their hood. His face goes from stone to anger. In front of him, stand Sigurd and Irja. "What do you two think you're doing?!".

Sigurd bows a head to his father. "Father, our new friends will need all the strength and cunning they can get. Who better than Irja an-". Crasmar cuts him off "You are my son. My only son, and my Underchief. Who will lead the people if you are not here when I die? And Irja, I thought better of you".

"He could not be persuaded otherwise Warchief, so I decided to accompany him. Dis vay I can keep and eye on him for you".

"I wont allow it".

At this time, Old Mother steps forward and places a gnarled hand on Crasmar's massive arm. "It is not your choice to make now, and you know dis. Dey are bound to dis quest, or dey risk de shame of being turned away from Siegendurn".

Crasmar starts to speak, but stops himself. Veins bulge in his arms and neck, and a red color washes over his face. Without another word, he turns his back to everyone and goes back inside the keep, slamming the massive wooden doors behind him. The sound echoes off the backs of homes adjacent to the courtyard.

Sigurd grins. "You see, Irja? I told you he'd take it well enough".

Sypher welcomes the four new members to the group and asks each to give him a rundown on their talents.  After those conversations end, he will approach the Old Crone and say his good-byes and thanks for the help.  At last he approaches Crasmar, but waits to be acknowledged before speaking.

Beloc walks over to Sigurd and shakes his hand. "Bold move. Had you done something like that at our negotiations, we might not have walked away with a stalemate. Nonetheless, welcome aboard." He addresses both Sigurd and Irja, "I look forward to matching steel with both of you."

He greets Oro and Gazra as well. "I wasn't sure we'd meet again, but I'd like to say thank you for all your help back on the Burrow. Things would have turned out much worse had the two of you not been there."

Sigurd is adept at hand to hand combat and archery in all forms. He is fearless in battle, and can employ a barbarians rage ability to further his combat prowess. His age and combat style makes him appear reckless, but his fighting spirit is unmatched.

Irja is a shaman of the Fyreworm Clan. She employs a small weasel as a spirit guide, that acts in a similar manner to a wizard or scorer's familiar. Her magic relies heavily on nature and her surroundings, much like a druid's. This gives her the ability to both harm foes and heal allies. [DM's Note: The shaman class is somewhere between a druid and a cleric, with notes of sorceress]

Gazra, as you might remember, is a front line fighter. His primary goal is to get an enemies attention, soaking up hits with his heavy armor, so that a more agile hand can slip in from the side.

Oro is that agile hand. Being a Tiefling, his ability for guile and stealth surpass that of a human's. His ability to channel his inner darkness and harness that as a vessel for good sets him apart from his kin, who are few and far between. This channeling comes with a price though, temporarily morphing him into a horrid and terrifying form, sprouting wings, a tail, and extending the horns on his forehead that he normally keeps filed down. His speed increases, along with his ability to deal out raw damage from clawed hands. While in the form he strains to keep his sanity and focus. Gazra lets slip that on a few occasions, Oro has lost himself, causing the entire former party to flee from him until his metamorphoses subsides.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:45, Sat 03 Feb 2018.

Sigurd gives a mischievous grin while Irja warmly smiles and nods. "Father will be angry with me, for sure. But it isn't his place to deny me this, and he knows it. Old Mother, much less our people wouldn't stand for it. I'll have plenty of time to feel bad for hurting his feelings tonight while I try to sleep. Or not. Who knows? Adventure waits for none after all" he says with a laugh.

Afterwards:

Gazra claps Beloc on the shoulder. "You woulda' done the same for us my friend. But if anyone is to be thanked, it's you. You and your crew followed me over to the belly of the beast, and that freak of nature Ruprict would have chewed me up into hamburger meat if I had of been by myself. You guys could have turned tail and saved your own necks back here, but instead you stuck em' out for a guy you barely knew. If that ain't noble, I don't know what is".
This message was last edited by the player at 06:52, Sat 03 Feb 2018.

Oro nods. "I have to agree with Gazra. You have my eternal thanks for the rescue. If not for you, I'd probably still be held captive. They wouldn't kill me without knowing the location of Kloroh's phylactery, and I have no intentions of letting them have it back. Thankfully, it plays to my favor he's a paranoid old lich. There's a simple solution to his missing phylactery dilemma, but he'll never take that option out of fear of a trap"

The Crone nods and places a hand on Sypher's shoulder. "Never forget dat you are not alone in dis vorld, and in dis fight. Your friends, dey are your shield vall. Witout dem, you vill fall, but together, you form de mightiest of bulwarks".

Afterwards...

Inside the great hall, Crasmar fumes. He slams a meaty fist into one of the support timbers, causing it is pop and groan. He doesn't notice Sypher at first, and seems to be speaking to himself. "Dammit Oro... every time you show up, you somehow bring trouble to my door. Luskan. Baldur's Gate. Fildegarne... I swear you have your own personal rain cloud that follows you everywhere, and you seem to the be only one who doesn't get drenched. I cant lose Sigurd. Not after Khalie. This whole mess is stupid".
This message was last edited by the player at 06:47, Sat 03 Feb 2018.

~~ While speaking with Gazra and Oro

"It was a gesture far more reckless than I usually conduct myself, but it had the highest likelihood that the airships would leave the Badger in peace. Had the Badger met with the bottom of the sea, my mission would have failed and my people would have been without a leader." Realizing his statements might come off as cold, Beloc adds, "Still, it seems clear that we all have a role to play in what's coming. We should celebrate life, while we still have it!"

"I am sorry for your loss."

Oro gives a slight smile "Do our motives truly matter if the outcome is positive for those around us, my elven friend? Though, I do agree. We all get our one life. Or is it two in my case? I can never quite remember all the strings attached to being the way I am"

Gazra snorts. "Doesn't matter. If you squander em' they were pointless, no matter how many you get".