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."

"Lend me your bolt throwers. Texxor and I can teach the Huns to swim while you hurry South. I would be glad to buy you a few days more to save your kingdom." Heolstor suggested. "I would be interested too in seeing the demon's blade... though I know not whether it is ever safe to wield a devil's sword. We will see: I found two magical blades on the field of battle. If I do not use them, I will find worthy hands to place them in."

Cirostis speaks to Dunduin.
Sir, it was not my intention that we Dwarves deal with the barges or the rescue mission, the Ardennes have more than capable warriors for those missions.

Then he speaks to all,
Knowing some of what is required, what sort of contingent will the Ardennes send with us? I suspect we can afford to leave our artilliary in exchange for haste but I will miss it.

And Lord Heolstor, we can show what we found later I'm sure to let the Good Marquis complete his council in this place that brings him distaste .... Though, I hope, the courage of Elves Men and Dwarves and the deeds accomplished in this place will in some way modify the pain and sorrow.

”Glory, Heolstor.. not for me,” says the old Elf.  “This is my last campaign.  This is my last battlefield.  My eyes can see no more of this.  I will leave the barges to Islyan and younger and less faded Elves.  And.. a small force that might volunteer… they would not be turned away.  A small force, though.  We need speed and stealth in the forest, to get back to the barges.  They are a day away.”

”For the remainder of your force.. my counsel is this:  not far to the south is the Human town of Treverorum.  It is the home of a great temple of healing, and healing is much needed.  I will send those of my own there are well… I do not ask you to join in our battles, but I will ask that you go with us to Treverorum, because a column of wounded Elves could so tempt the Huns that they might overcome their fear, and turn around, to take the opportunity.  From Treverorum, there is a good road to Lucimburic to the west, and there is the Moselle river to the east.. we can choose our further course when we hear of what happens with the barges.”

When Arctos brings up the fate of the staff, Goylan Greenstag immediately sends messengers to seek out Callidus.  For a moment, the Marquis’s attention seems to fade, as if his thoughts are on something far away… and then he is back.

”Arctos… I do believe you are correct.  You came here with your Dwarven Steel to fight an enemy that did not expect it.  But your enemy expects it.  Instead you will bring him peace.  I think… for the moment… rest your warriors.  Send them on to Treverorum.  They have won, enjoy the victory.  You have a very different kind of struggle ahead of you.”

When she has a moment, Anakri whispers to the non-Elves present.  “What the Marquis means by this being his last campaign… Elves do not age like you do.  It is not time that turns us old and gray, but the strains on the soul.

Islyan speaks and proposes a quick move to the barges, in the night, led by the Elves.  He wants no more than a small, elite force, aided by their spell casters.  This one will be done “Elf Style”.  He wants speed above all.

Heolstor and Dunduin collect reports- the Dwarves were in the thick of the fight, and they are very tired.  They would not be good candidates for Ilsyan’s move.   Heolstor’s men are tired too… but not the ones he kept as a reserve.  Those only got into the battle at the end.  And by good fortune, he had the troops, even the cavalry, fight dismounted (for the most part).  He has well over a hundred well rested, ready, war horses.  And the Dwarve’s war ponies are also available.

But those who are not too tired for the night move to the river, are still capable of making the trip to Treverorum, and/or watching over the Hun prisoners.  They agree to have the Hun prisoners kept by the Dwarves and Humans.

The Elf (and allied) force will depart in the middle of the night.  They expect to reach the barges in the morning.  Whomever is going to go on that mission had best be getting all the rest they can, in the time left.

(those PC's that will join that battle- whomever wants to- will be using this thread.)

Callidus arrives with the two elven messengers that brought the council to his attention. He pushes aside the tent flaps with his left hand, holding the staff recovered from the battle in his right.

"I was told that my presence was requested at this conference of military minds. I would assume that it was requested because of the relic I recovered from Abigor during the battle. Please, enlighten me to the goings on of the council. I will provide whatever insight I can on the battle, and what will happen afterwards."

"Should It be necessary I will relinquish the staff to someone willing and capable to wield it, though I would prefer something to use in return."

        The Dwarven Patre cannot believe his ears at the utterances of the 'Shifter', and bluntly addresses his request with the cold banter of truth as he leans heavily upon his Angon . . .

        "Callidus many hath had a hand in the fall O' Abithor, which sent him straight back to the Great Abyss. Tisn't seech knowledge reward enough for one and all!  The staffs fate and
disposition tis now in the hands O' this ere Council, and thee must realize that thy claim o'er
the staff tis naught any the greater than all O' those whom had an active part in the dimise O'
this Infernal Demon, and thy demands diminishes those lives lost fighting this Demon and all O'
his vile minions.

        Should naught the satisfaction O' participating in seech a righteous battle be reward
enough, just as it tis for the rest of us?  Art thee Callidus just a common mercenary seeking
treasure, or art thee one whom hath joined this righteous cause for a higher noble purposes,
and to ultimately set all thats wrong in the world aright wonce again?

        Tuthers aren't demanding any just or deserved rewards, so why should thee above any
tuther?  Indeed thee hath naught borne any greater sacrafices than any tuther ere or whom hath
died pon these ere consecrated battle grounds.  Please do naught sully art cause or those whom hath died ere with greed."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:22, Sat 23 Feb 2013.

"Your wounded will reach Treverorum, this I swear." Heolstor reassured Goylan. "My men will see to it. There are injured among them too who require medical aid." From Heolstor's shoulder Pwyll's head swiveted up and down, pivoted left and right, moving in every which direction as the corvid took in the entirety of the tent.

"A small force is what you require? Then that is what I will assemble. Myself, any willing among the heros that accompanied us to war, and a dozen of the most able volunteers from my ranks." The Saxon lord spoke, his words curt. "Tiw willing, we will teach the Huns a valuable lesson. Nowhere among the Elf-lands are they safe."

Strang nodded in recognition to Callidus as he entered. He frowned somewhat at the werefox's words though - when they came to his demand. Still, it was not unusual or out of place for a warrior to expect a reward for their service. Every proper lord knew this. "Worry not Callidus, I will see to it that you find yourself rewarded for your sacrifice and skill. With what I cannot say yet. Many gave much, and there is only so much to go around."

"What reward I can manage, I will." He promised.

To that end: Heolstor would stop by Anakri, perhaps with Cirostis, briefly if there was a moment. He intended to interpret the magic laced in the swords and shield he had recovered. Strang also wished to know what was hidden with the demon Abigor's blackened blade.

Then when this final task was seen to he would retire to his tent for the evening. To wait for Petra, and spend what hours he could with her before he was forced to fasten his cloak and march to the barges.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:07, Sat 23 Feb 2013.

Callidus shakes his head.

"I am not demanding anything, Arctos. Remember clearly my wording, preferring something is not akin to demanding something. I did not march into this tent with a staff greedily held in my hands and did not demand anything of you or this council. I asked for something in return. My purse strings are not tight with gold, and my belly will not be filled with good deeds."

"In my journey I have joined first the dwarves and then later the elves in their respective journeys, and have led a contingent myself on some occasions."

"I am not you, Arctos. My world does not revolve around good deeds gone unrewarded. I would sooner change my philosophy than you would kneel to the ground and worship the blade of the fallen Abigor. Selfless acts are for some, not for all. But I am not selfless. I can only give so much without expecting something in return. If you curse me for expecting something after rendering services then your knowledge of the world is quite lacking."

"You instead of sitting in a drunken stupor at this council should instead be burying the fallen that fell during your reckless charge at Abigor. Many dwarves died to defend you so that you could spear the demon and seal his fate. It was your greed in your infernal induced battle lust that killed your kin. My "supposed" greed at the end of the battle did not result in lives lost during the fight itself."

"It is true, this staff, the sword and every piece of equipment found on the orcs was a joint effort from all present armies to halt the charge at Beda and strike a decisive blow for a little loss. We killed thousands and suffered small casualties. It is only fair that you take what was salvaged from the fields we fought on and distribute it amongst the participants."

"The staff is not my preferred weapon of choice. Though I would like something from the spoils in return, I will relinquish it without thought. Please make sure it ends up in the hands of someone capable to wield its magics. I have made little progress in trying to unlock the energies found within. It is likely because of my philosophies that it will not communicate with me, however."

Callidus takes the staff in both hands and sets it gently on the table at the center of the council, shakes his head once more, and pushes the flap open, moving outside and letting the flap flip shut behind him.

Cirostis steps forward between the Patre and the shifter.

We re not Orcs that fight each other when the battle is done, Patre do not answer and Callidus you must hold such painful speach it strikes deeper than any blade.

Some of us have cursed our fellows for not getting our share of loot such as magic rings or other silly baubles.

We should understand the appropriate desires of a youth who must get his own share. I bring forth what I have found, perhaps there is something you would gather from this.

The demon blade I would not recommend just yet, I would like the wisdoms of elves on it before any can claim it.

Cirostis lays down all that he gathered from the elite guards.

I will let Ben describe it:

        Leaning heavily upon his Agnon, the battered and tatterd Arctos ambles gingerly forward through the crowd in order to face the shifter, thus enabling his raven hued orbs to peer deeply into this creatures eyes and very soul iteslf.  The Dwarven Patre responds in kind . . . and with
far greater bluntness  . . .

        "Ye state partial truths Callidus.  And thee art right bout mine many faults, and it
hath cost mineself ev'r so dearly in many ways too, as it undoubtedly shalt plague thee.   I
hath lost kith and kin by mine own hands due to the taint brought pon me by Mastiphal, as well
as mine former Lords approval . . . but thee asks for a boon at a time most improper.  Mayhaps
thee shalt suffer in the end for it as I hath in the past, and in the time to come.  Thy manners
art just as lacking and boorish as mine very own, and rather than waste any time futher on this
fine host wot tis gathered ere, that thee should set aside thy greedy desires and in their stead
submit a contribution that mayst strengthen rather than weaken art host!  Many a sacrafice I hath
suffered for art just cause, and they pale no less than any tuthers sacrafices to be ere.

      Wot tis worse tis that those gathered bout can see where thy heart tis.  Ye didst naught
come freely and promptly forward with this prize O' battle to report it secured, yet thee had
to be summonzed ere.  Thy intent tis clearly apparent in thy very acts itself concernng the
silent witholdings of this staff.

      Mayhaps for seech a unchivalrous deed thee should be last in line for any rewards, should
there even be any!  If'n the words I spoke be true, and the gods doth know thy heart, Mars curse
upon thee Callidus if thee ever didst hope to garner this staff in silence . . . had thee naugt
been summonzed ere by this Council.  If in thy heart this twas the case, so be it, let Mars be
thy judge and dole out this justice pon ye accordingly . . . with a curse most wicked and ppoper!

      Yes I am drunk pon both strong spirits and the knowing O' a fine battle won,  yet the taint
O' demons still weigh heavily upon my soul! Wot be thy excuse!

      Thy brusknes O' thy retort demonstrates that I hath struck a nerve most tender.  It
appears that there art those whose greed equals or surpasses that o' Dwarvenkind by far.  If
all O' the Lords ere rewarded each warrior according to their deeds, the coffers O' their Kingdoms
wouldst be empty indeed!  In thy own defense, ye hath just restated thy expectations, and it
still reeks O' greed and self import!

      Most verily I can publically accept mine faults and live with them, though they be many.
Callidus ye hath resorted to polemics to defendd thy actions, and thats fine with me . . . but
in the act itself thee hath diminished thyself much the more than that O' mineself.  Naught doth
I hide from wot I am as I undoubtedly exceed the expectations of mine rightly deserved reput-
ations, yet in spite o' mine faults I endeavor to be bettered by them, and I give naught worry o'er thy opinion as there be those far greater than thee whose opinion doth weigh pon me heavily, such as Mars and mine High King, and naught the rantings o' a comman churlish footman!  It tis to
mine betters whose words I heed and naught any tuthers!  Doth naught piss upon the noble acts
O' those whom died ere with idle reequests whence there are greater things O' import to consder.
Doth na shame thyself in front O' this Noble host I beseech thee!"

      The Dwarven Priest spits in disgust upon the ground, turns about, and returns from whence
he came, not wishing to diminish himself any further amongst such a Noble throng than he already
has.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Sat 23 Feb 2013.

Well he speaks his mind anyway, Cirostis thinks watching the Patre leave. He looks back at the others he is not ashamed of the rankings of Arctos for his words were true and Cirostis has no great respect for the wippersnapper's words on the presence of high lords but ... Well he has learned to be less direct, let the fellow be praised for what he did well and go home with a reward.

        There tis a familiar defiant shout that arises from the very rear of the Pavillion . . .

        "Hold, bear naught any offerings O' the booty from battle Cirostis, as they be naught yours by right to freely present nor disperse to any tuthers.  It tis to the Commanders O' each
contingent and their Council to decide.  The Dark Blades remains nor the staff can never be
placed into ignorant or unworthy hands . . . nor should they be bartered for like common
spoils!!!  Great care and consideration must be given in this matter!

        Cirostis . . . Callidus tis na worthy to make any choices pon the spoils O' battle, it
tis for art superiors to decide, as there be those whom mayst be far more worthier than he, and
the black blade and staff belong to the gods, and tis for them to decide it fate through their
dedicated servants, and naught the free choice o' a common soldier such as he!

        The actions O' Callidus doth na seem pure in its very essance.  Doth naught besmirch the sacrafices O' those whom hath fallen to aoppease his greed.  There tis accepted forms about how spoils art distributed, and Callidus having naught come forward freely doth speak well O' himself at all."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:55, Sat 23 Feb 2013.

Anakri, leader of the contingent from Geneva, speaks:

”Callidus, you are here on my account, in my employ, and of your volition.  And you have certainly proved your worth to us.    What you have found is yours to claim, since it is not our way to have such structure as the Dwarves and Humans do.  Yet… I caution you.  You… and that staff.. may not be well matched.  And more, I believe that staff may be of great value in defeating the nemesis facing the Dwarves, since conventional force of arms will gain them nothing, there.  Listen to what I propose, then.

”I do not bind you to our service.  You know this.  But… when this is done, here, at least some of us will go on to challenge the Demon that holds sway in the Dwarven kingdom.  I do not expect it to be much fighting- but cleverness and strategy, yes.  If you are willing, I would ask that you pledge yourself, and the staff, to that cause.

”If you would prefer taking up some other direction, you are free to do so.  I would ask that you grant the staff to the Dwarves, or to me.  And in return, I… and I hope with the assistance of Marquis Greenstag, will offer you a well earned reward that is probably more in keeping with your style than a staff of peace.”

She looks over the Dwarves, and has a slightly worried look on her face.

After a few moments, she adds:  "Though I feel the staff should serve the Dwarves in this, I am not at all sure it should be wielded by one.  You three look the very essence of war- perhaps not in the dark and unholy fashion of the Demon, but still... I think... alien to the powers of the staff.  And for all its power... it failed to bring him victory, did it not?  Something tells me... even though the cause may be Dwarven, this staff is best handled by someone less... less martial in outlook."

* * * * * * *

Cirostis had only managed a final “sweep” of the battlefield area after fulfilling his other duties.  The Demon’s sword was still there- in pieces.  The elite guard had been somewhat blown up by the sudden explosion of Abigor, the same explosion that has scarred Arctos with various burns. By the time Cirostis had gotten back, there wasn’t much around.  But he came back from his foraging with his arms full.

Dunduin smiles at Anakri "I believe your insight is correct. The staff should remain with the elves and wielded by one as well. That is the right thing to do."

Having that settled in his mind Dunduin moves onto the next order of business. "The dwarves will accompany the elves as well to this tower of healing. Our force has taken a beating both physically and morally. We could use help on both fronts. If we need a place to rest and recuperate, that should be it"

( Callidus left the tent after his speech. )

       Arctos adds his final words to that of Dunduin his Commander before retiring himself from
this gathering of Commanders and Councilors . . .

       "Now that mine words hath been heeded to, at least in some small part, wot healing powers
that I hath been granted o'er mine recent rest, I shalt now return to the wounded in order to
give succor and aid to those whom need it most.

       Mine leaving doth serve a two fold pupose as I am loathe to remain in the same confines and in the shameful company as the one so named Callidas.  He and I hath had ill fated words twixt
us afore and he hath already earned mine mistrust and malidictions.  Let us hope that he earns
not the same reputation as wot he hath instilled within mineself all the ready.

       It shames me to hath served with him to say the least.  The Council hath spoken and mine
words art now at an end.  Methinks thy trust in Callidas tis misbegotten and that his actions
hath already cast a doubtful shadow pon him for naught having come forward of his own volition
where the staff tis concerned, which tis a sin O' greed in O' itself, thus putting himself
first above art declared mission, and worst O' all had to be called forth to this assembly
tutherwise we'd haht been bereft O' this powerful instrument!

       If thee chooses to ignore wot I see in him, that tis through thine own fault and naught
mine own.  Let us all hope that I am wrong in this matter, but his past actions in mine reguards
hath bein wrought with misturst all the ready, and hath swayed mine opinion adversely o'er his
debased and uncontollably wild nature, putting us all at risk.  For a fact, he hid this fact
abouit himself whence we first met, and he shant be ev'r forgiven for the mistrust he hath
duely earned from mineself by his past actions as he hath learned naught from the experience and hath naught even the heart to ask for forgiveness in this matter, thus earning mine Curse and
maladictions . . . and thise just a bit O' the berg O' ice O' mistrust wot he hath earned in
mine reguards, as some O' his actions earned mine mistrust as well.

       This shifter hath a vile streak within him, and it tis easy to see for one seech as mine-self . . . as I carry the very same curse within mine own soul . . . but there tis a difference
twixt us, as I can see it for wot it tis, and tries mine utmost to control it so's naught to
adversly affect tuthers unduely!  Callidus doth naught recognize his faults and acts upon it
without any self control r'e  thought o' the consequences. Thee hath been warned most vehemently!
Trust Callidas naught, for he doth naught recognise his taint upon him for wot it truely tis, and
can naught control this wild nature that lies within him at all!

       Now I must ask thy permission to be excused in order to carry out mine expectecd duties to mine Legionaires and those that hath fallen.  With thy permissin . . . Good day to one n' all!"

       The Dwarven Patre ambles out of the Parillion, using his Agnon to support his endeavors
all the way to the 'Tent of Healers' to give them whatever assistance he can.

OCC:  So as to keep anyone from deaths door, Arctos will have memorized Cure Minor wounds spells
for all of his 0 level spells, cure light wounds for all of his first level spells, and cure moderate wounds afforded to him by his god while in the Tent of Healing . . .. afterwards, he'll rely on his healing abilities to give what aid he can to those whom are wound while ignoring
his own injuries and needs . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Sat 23 Feb 2013.

Cirostis looks at the broken shards of a sword he thought was whole when he got it. He feels as if his whole reality has just shifted under him for no clear reason. He looks at all the stuff he has and realizes he has nothing that would benefit the youth, this is really the makings of a small but elite shop however. He hopes he will be able to sell or trade all of it, before going home.

How should we dispose of this broken demon's sword?

Is there a master of lore and knowledge among the elves I should take it to for identification to make sure it can be disposed of?

Heolstor watched Arctos depart. His eyes, the green of young and fresh pine boughs, looked to Anakri and the Marquis. "If the blade must be destroyed completely," the Saxon began "Then we should see it done. If a thing can be made, it can be unmade. But, must it? If the blade itself is not evil could it be used as a weapon against its makers?"

"I know little of such enchantments myself - if this thing is a danger, let it be smote here and now. If it is not, then we should not waste it."

"As for a candidate to wield the staff? You have said that perhaps it should be an elf that does it... True, but what of a half-elf?" Heolstor nodded in Petra's direction. She had been quiet thus far. He wondered: was it the great violence of personality they'd witnessed? "Priestess Faust is a servant of the Divine. She represents a peaceful union between the elvish and human realms. She rides a winged-horse, and is marked by the gods for divine purpose. Who better to carry peace in the palm of her hand?"

(Abigor’s sword was noted as broken in message 229, Encounter at Beda. According to Dunduin, who's read "Basic Demononology for the Adventuring Dwarf, 509AD edition, this is not unexpected.  A Demon's weapon is frequently a manifestation of the Demon's being and in such cases is destroyed when the Demon's manifestation is destroyed.  Chapter 7 "Dude, Where's My Demon: Manifestation and Dissipation.)

Anakri takes her leave, to ask Callidus a few questions before retiring.  It was going to be a short night, and it was time to make the best of it.

Goylan Greenstag sees the group in the meeting dwindle.  There is another reason for Ilsyan's small force, which he explains:  It is possible that even in defeat, the Huns aren't entirely panicked.  They may have left a watch on the camp.  Goylan thinks they are still under some authority.  The Demon was slain, but they have not yet seen a high ranking Hun leader.  At the very least, an attack such as this would have been lead by a major chieftain.  It is possible that the leader perished in the fight, and since the Huns were following the call of the Demon, they paid it no mind.  But the Elves are uncertain.

If they watch the camp, they will see it move only at daybreak.  Goylan instructs Ilsyan to lead the "barge raiders" out along the most concealed side, at the Albach ravine.

He looks over the remains of the sword.  "I don't know what to do with it.  I did not set out this day to capture the remnants of an Infernal Sword.  But it deserves care.  I propose that we separate the pieces, as far as possible.  A piece with the Dwarves for their return home, a piece to return with us.  It would make even accidental recombination impossible.*  I do not know if our lore-wise would know anything more than yours... although I know there are places where the Infernals have been studied more closely.  Aurelianorum, Basilea..."

"And now we must prepare for the morrow.  Gentledwarves.. when it comes time to head to your home, there will be Elves to help, and if not one of our own, a suitable bearer for the staff.  But for now... we have immediate issues."


*Although it would set the plot for a game set centuries later.

Cirostis would very much approve if Petra is chosen, his respect for her is immense. He gives the sword pieces out, keeping the hilt, which he stows in his cloak.
It will be done, we shall find a place for this in the most hidden places of the empire, once the empire is restored.

He leaves the council when he is dismissed and goes back to check on the wounded.

On the way he will share what he found with his leader.

OCC:
        Cirostis shouldn't the booty be brought to Dunduin to dispense?  I'm guessing that
you weren't solely responsible for all of the deaths from which the booty was taken, should
it not be properly divvied up by our leader?  Mayhaps something should be set aside for those
Legionaire families whom lost Dwarfkin.  Undoubtedly all of us have needs but . . .

Pm

PM
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 18:37, Mon 25 Feb 2013.

Heolstor accepted the piece given to him as well: the blade's tapered edge, missing the tip and upper half of its length. It was likewise secreted away in Heolstor's cloak, which he pulled from his back and wrapped around the shard. He'd cover it with a saddleblanket instead later and bind it with rope. This would do for now. Heolstor bowed his head respectfully to the Marquis. Pwyll took wing as his master bent his neck; the crow flapped his way to the tent's entrance then landed briefly, before launching himself skyward again in a flash of dark-feathers.

"Goylan Greenstag, til the dawn." Heolstor offered in farewell. He kept his new parcel and burden tucked close to his chest beneath his shoulder. Then he parted ways with the Marquis, turning towards the pavillon's flap.

Though he did stop, momentarily, besides the Frisian priestess in their midst. His voice was quiet, but not a whisper: meant for her. "I will be in my tent, were you to need me." Heolstor suggested invitingly. He smiled, not bothering to explain himself to the others, and pushed open the tent's hanging flap with one hand while the other safely cradled Abigor's smote blade.

Petra had, at the outset, said her peace.  As she had told Heolstor, before they had entered the tent, she had no desire to stay overlong, to be only audience.  She should have left, but...after feathers had begun being to ruffle, she'd felt she should intervene. These were brave men, one and all.  Heroes.  They had just come through the hell of war together.  Again.  Survived, again.  That would be enough to kindle comraderie, she should think.

But, she was not a man.  And while women had their own pride, and its own peculiar expressions -- it wasn't like this.  She did not claim to fully understand. And she knew they would not be calmed by her words.   There was naught more for her to say or do here.  Except:

"My lady Anakri. That staff is an artifact -- thieved from Mount Olympus itself.  Ultimately, it belongs back in the hands of the Celestials who made it.   Not argued over like some trinket found in a giant's cave!  I am sure the Gods would bless our usage of it for the right reasons.  But, eventually, I think it needs to be returned to those it was stolen from.  However that might be accomplished."  She had utterly no idea.  While she was gladdened by Heolstor's faith in her, she did not consider herself the right choice to wield such a sacred thing, long term.  How could any mortal know it for what it was, and think so-?

She did wonder a bit at Callidus' ignoring of the fact that it had been her plan, her knowledge,  and her action, that had landed the artifact into his hands.   But, it didn't matter.  She didn't want for any laurels.  And she grasped his comment, that some warriors expected spoils for their deeds.   She didn't hold it against him.

But, there was nothing more for her here, and so she went out after, and did her best to catch up with Heolstor.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:00, Fri 01 Mar 2013.

As Anakri seemed to have indicated an end to the meeting Dunduin went to salute out of habit and then followed u with a gentle short bow that would have been further had not every inch of his body ached from battle. Even with the magical healing the wounds still had a residual damage that took natural time for the body to repair. "By your leave Lady Anakri. I shall lead the dwarves to Lucimburic. Any elves that accompany us will be cared for and protected as my own. Thank you." With that he turns and departs at a slow march. He nods his greeting to any who are left.

Good to his word he informs the officers about his intentions and to make sure any elves that accompany them are treated properly. In fact, they should be treated extra special since the likelihood of them assisting in saving their brethren was high. Dunduin made that point clear for them. Almost all the dwarven troops had friends or relatives who had been affected by the demon. He trusted Anakri to find the right or at least a good person to wield the staff for them. She seemed unusually practical and reasonable for an elf. That suited him just fine.