Starting Date and Time: Crimsia 24th, 300 DM, 20th Stretch
Starting Location: Center of Green Fall Village
CS URLs: Gregory

It was a fairly quiet evening in Green Fall, as the sun was setting. Most of the jacks had already returned, along with the patrolling Ebon Knights, as it was far too dangerous for all but the most highly trained to venture out there after dark. Young couples were out for casual strolls within the protection of the village borders, the tavern was in full, musical swing, and the Ebon Knights were changing shifts. A pair of young hobbicatts were chasing each other through the dirt streets, when they stopped and were staring at the roof of the tavern. Eventually, everyone outside was staring at various rooftops, all around, with the exception of Gregory's building.

Atop the roofs were many large gargoyles and smaller goyles, silently sitting and watching the denizens, but not moving. It was rather startling, as their kind only came around here rarely. The Lieutenant Knight on shift, a small, lithe human woman marched out to the center of the village. Scanning the roofs, she quickly found the largest of the gargoyles, and addressed it.

"What brings you all to our humble village? I do hope it's not to cause trouble, for you will find much more than you bargained for."

At that, several archers, crossbowmen, and javelin throwers readied their aim, awaiting their orders. The largest one, a particularly boulder like male, floated lazily down toward the woman. "We seek the one named Gregory Whitehorn. We do not wish to cause any trouble nor alarm. We come from Stone Crest, and are all registered. Is Whitehorn around?"

The Lieutenant nodded curtly and sent a knight off to find the gargoyle smith, if he didn't present himself promptly. That particular smith seemed to keep to himself mostly. He shouldn't be too hard to find, and had never caused issue before. She kept her piercing eyes on the large male, knowing she could have his wings clipped in three sword swings. Though personally, she preferred it didn't come to that.

The forge was hot. Her flames a harsh mistress, an inexorable heat from the radiant embers which she spewed. To withstand her was a test, a labour to work her ferocity in the unrelenting pyre. She was a virgin, her pure flames the essence to be stolen with steel. She was a mistress who kissed your blade and licked the edges by her tongues. She was a mother, for in the heat of her heart a weapon shall be made. The blacksmith, a midwife pulling the glowing metal from the womb, as he examined the newborn for any birth defects. And that is where the similarities end, for now the smith takes up the anvil, to beat upon the brand with a hammer. To tinker out the wrinkles, the thrice-dozen-fold steel grunted in return, spewing out the sparks of life with the rhythmic tapping of metal. The first dozen stroke, the second, and third, like brutal brushstrokes upon a canvas forcing the will of the artist upon the crying blade as it began to die into a deadened grey. Thrust once more into the hells it was cast.

"Master Gregory! Master Gregory!" A boy of around nineteen years of age rushed into the open-air shop, or rather the forge as the shop was an different area altogether. He looked only marginally competent, wearing a smith's apron and a sleeveless tunic with small belt around his right thigh. This boy was Kenneth, a straw-haired apprentice who could barely smith a set of straight nails without the shadow of the senior overlooking him, and he was supposed to be minding the shop and organize today's jobs between what was completed and what is to be done. Of which, several piles of hatchets, axes, and blades were set in a crate for pickup after being sharpened at the whetstone, their owners would have to claim them back from Kenneth who admittedly did have difficulty in keeping their original owners attached to their effects. It was during this sorting that an Ebonknight swung by and the stupid boy thought he was picking up a sword. It was only after a few awkward minutes of the lad telling the knight to wait a moment while he figured out which blade was it. Did he realize the knight not here for the wrong blade he was given.

"There's an Ebon, here to see you, doesn't want blades though, maybe some plates? We haven't had any armor orders in awhile, maybe some light chain? I'm pretty good with chain right Master? I think last week I did an okay job in repairing that iron mail right? I mean sure you had to step in and finish the patch after I didn't follow the original pattern but I-" The Gargoyle in returned barely seemed to register his young apprentice yapping away like an annoying gnat and in turn Kenneth got the hint as he watched the Smith pull the blade out from the flames and turned to submerge the red blade in cold water. Quenched and finished as he struck the tang against his metal gauntlets around his large forearms. Pleased with how it turned out, evidently as the man placed the blade down on the anvil and began to walk towards the knight. Kenneth knew better than to follow, after all some of the Jacks should come back to pick up their gear, and there was a load of chain for the loggers too. "Okay, I'll um just mind the shop then. Can you fetch dinner for us? Hugo's been barking at me for the last hour, think he needs some food or something." Stupid boy, Hugo barked because of them.

Gargoyles. Like statues perched upon the rooftops. And with a look of bemusement, or rather only the faintest suggestion of a light-hearted chuckle, Gregory followed the Knight to his commanding officer, wearing his gauntlets and apron as his tail made a trail from his shop on the ground. It would be rude, and useless to fly when being escorted by the grounded knight. Although the presence of his brethren perhaps distant cousins was interesting, something must have had happened back in Stonecrest, else why else would there be so many of his kin here in a town of wood?

"Miss." Gregory arrived and addressed the female Lieutenant, keeping one eye on her and the other on the large Gargoyle before her.

The Lieutenant Knight looked at Gregory with a lemon sucking scowl. She didn't yet know what this business was about, but one of her citizens was at the heart of it, so naturally, he would receive her ire until this situation was completed. Perhaps even after. Lieutenant Vegarra was well known for taking her duty so seriously, that she held grudges against those that disturbed the peace. She gestured with her right hand to the roofs, her left resting on her hilt, "As you can see, Whitetail, you have company. Do finish your business quickly, you know how nervous Green Fall' villagers can be."

The large male looked down at Gregory, bowed his head, folding his wings lightly over his shoulders, a very formal gesture of a peaceful greeting amongst their kind. "I am Krigar Stonetongue." This name wasn't known to the Lieutenant, nor to Gregory. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her squire checking through the Stone Crest registry records for the name. "We, our kind," looking around at his brethren, "Need you to help us clear up a small... matter."

Vegarra's eyes were ever watchful, watching the gargoyle's every movement and facial expression. It wasn't easy, the flying statues being a rather pensive race. She already didn't like the vague tone of his words. He continued, "Consider it... a cultural difference. Normally this would be of no issue to us, or involve you, but you've been asked by name. Some kin of yours. If you do not mind, might you take flight with us?" Gregory would know that that last question wasn't as one dimensional as it seemed. It was a common phrase among his kind, indicating a desire to speak in private. Gargoyles never asked to fly with one another. They just did it.

Krigar nodded at Vegarra, "Apologies for any startling we may have caused." With a powerful launch of legs and wings, he shot straight up into the air, and began flying northwest, his companions all joining him in silence, save for the flapping of their wings. Vegarra stepped away from Gregory, moving over to her squire, just beside the tavern. Whispering, "Find me the Treggers."

A chuckle gave way to two men stepping out from the alley, "We already know what you want, shall you be joining us?" Vegarra nodded, and the brothers smirked, "Five slips, at the Letvin nursery." Her squire quickly departed to fetch her supplies, as she quickly assessed what she was about to get into. She never knew gargoyles to cause trouble, but these were different times, with rumors of magic and old enemies abound. She was taking no chances.

This was unexpected. It was not everyday that Gregory received summons, work orders perhaps, but certainly not summons. More so was the suggestion of who had summoned him, and why now. Most perplexing, if Gregory was a more politically apt man he would further question the shroud of secrecy and veil around this encounter. Fortunately, he was not such a person to think deeply about the machinations of the inner nature of the universe. He found comfort in beating the living daylights out of a piece of glowing metal, tempering it to his will and letting the steady beat of his hammer bash it to a cold lifeless grey. A brutal artist, in the sense of the word, although his swords came out less ornate than what may be called a true piece of mastery, in practicality it was Gregory's blades which had the distinction of having saved a few hides of the Ebons before. Not that they'd ever admit that such a blade was folded thrice-dozen times working the bar in a laborious effort to create a striated banding across the edges from the resulting in infinitesimal constructs of the blade being bound together. While it would eventually wear and break in a few generations, the week-long process of creating such a blade was well worth the effort. But then again Gregory did have the unfair advantage of being the only Smith around these parts...

"The Wingbeat behind yours." The complimentary response to the question posed. An answer which in of itself indicated that Krigar should provide the place of private conversation, rather than Gregory open his residence as a place for them to speak in private as that would require the phrase 'The Winds with Us."

Regardless of the nature of this sudden appearance, Gregory did take wing with a spread of his span, stretching out the leathery wings of stone before the Vegarra and Krigar. Gregory had wings but hardly used them throughout the day, perhaps only to fly up into his home above the shop, it was strange for those with the ability to fly to disregard it. But those who were grounded longed for the skies, and those who had the skies, longed for the open peaks, not the wooden cages which were imposing to navigate through these woodlands. Powerful back muscles flapping down, providing the prodigious amount of lift required to propel the massive Gregory from the cool earth below. Delving in the physics of things would suggest gargoyles were definitely hollow on the inside, but their bones were generally hollow matrixes and instead relied on muscles to create weight and bulk for integrity's sake. Even those horns atop Gregory were hollow, merely for decorum as it would be, but definitely hard and study.

"Mountains speak when mined." another phrase used by their race, spoken out of earshot from the Ebons while they were taking wing to whence forth they were headed. Colourful expressions used, analogies and metaphors to compliment the rather laconic expressionism of their kind. In short, asking for a debriefing on what information is held by the appropriate party. The appropriate answer would be to begin with the complimentary expression 'The Stones whisper:'

Stonetongue led the troupe in a low bound flight, sticking with the naturally occurring air currents. As he heard Whitetail speak, he could almost feel the reactions in a few of his more fervent members. But they did not react, for they were under orders. None of them would dare address him first, but that was neither her nor there. Whitetail was not one of them. "The Stones whisper that your mother's mate has... cracked a few stones. This has led the two of them to be without clear skies. She asked me to find you, in hopes that you may assist. I owed it to her."

At their speed, it didn't take long for Ruby Banks to fall away, above the road leading to Scream Watch. Stonetongue didn't feel the need to converse any more, as the rest of the information would reveal itself shortly. After they were halfway toward the western most village, he led them all due west, toward the wild plains known as the Valley of the Screamers. The nervousness amongst the group was now palpable, as this area was a danger to anyone that wasn't a member of these vicious tribes.

"Where are they going?"

"You know where. The place only fools and traitors visit."

The three of them, Vegarra and the Tregger brothers were riding in pursuit of the gallows of gargoyles. Vegarra was on her dark chestnut horse, whereas the brothers were each atop a massive lizard, ones that no one knew the name of, nor how the brothers acquired them. And they had to slow their steeds for Vegarra to keep up. They stayed off the dusty path of the road, sticking to game paths that cut through the tall grasses and provided them cover.

Stonetongue began his descent toward a small copse of trees, an island amid the many grasses. He flew between the trunks before coming to a stop right in the middle. The smaller goyles perched nervously in the branches, but the proper gargoyles were far too big for such positioning. And there he waited, in silence.

A sharp screech filled the air as one of the goyles spotted someone coming through the trees. The first was a large human, bare-chested and covered in a variety of tattoos. He had a massive bow strapped to his back, and a variety of swords and knives strapped to various parts of his body. However, he was clearly not the leader as he stepped aside, and a small, auburn haired woman stepped forward. She had a leather wrap around her chest and skirt, and a single crimson tattoo, of a vine wrapping around her entire body. Behind her came a variety of other warriors of many differing races, sizes, and weapons, and finally a chain clinked along. A large homunculus pulled and Whitetail watched as his mother stumbled forward. The chain was wrapped around her wrists, ankles, and wing joints, so she couldn't walk or fly without extreme difficulty.

"Is this the one, Stonetongue?"

Stonetongue nodded, before stepping back, giving the honor of speaking to Whitetail. The woman looked toward him, "Your mother is my slave, sold to me by her mate to cover a debt he held to me. Stonetongue is a trade partner of mine, and out of the respect I have for him, I am willing to offer her to you, for a price of course." The woman smile was rather disarming, as if she were attempting to lure everyone into a very regrettable situation. This, coupled with her strong grasp of proper Common, made her quite strange. For those who'd only heard stories of Screamers, they assumed them to be uncivilized, barely more than primitive people.

"So I must ask, what is your mother worth to you, if anything?"

The Treggers had stopped their group a bowshot away from the copse, and they watched as the group of gargoyles entered, only later to be joined by a horde of Screamers. Vegarra didn't recognize the tribe, as indicated by the tattoos of the leader. There wasn't enough time to summon reinforcements, nor did they have enough strength to fight both groups. So for now, they watched and waited.

Most concerning. Deeply concerning. But somewhat expected from his broken family. They did not speak more as they flew, and though the arrow of time flew past them, Gregory was certain they were westward bound. At first perhaps the issue was at Stonecrest, but that was to the north. Were wood parted and gave way to flowing grasslands at the feet of the mountains. Certainly perhaps then Ruby Banks, some peculiar entanglement which had brought his accursed step-father into trouble with whatever merchant or minor official there. But that thought too faded away as they ventured further west, where the trees became twisted and gnarled. Forsaken even compared to the emerald majesty of Greenfall. Only one placed remained... Far from the Mountains: The Valley of Screamers.

Indeed there was deep trouble if something was requested here. And more so, now that the Screamers did show themselves to the arrival of Stonetongue and the flock. What treachery was this? Gregory glanced at Stonetongue with a dead-eyed glare, although almost impossible to discern from his usual horned scowl, most gargoyles could read the emotions of others of their kin with relative ease. Something about approximating the desired facial expression given the situation helped.

The appearance of the large man, well large by human standards, as Gregory still was a head taller than he was contrasted starkly by the smaller woman. A female who, Gregory towered over in size and stature however seemed to be rather disarming with her coy grin. There was something about the smile which did not settle well with Gregory, something seen in a merchant from Ruby Bank's glinting façade. A promise of a bargain of a lifetime, only at a cost of a lifetime of work. Or some other sly devilry they often had amongst them. Bad deals regarding ore and supplies left Gregory ever so cautious when dealing with shrewd merchants. Call it naïve but Gregory still believed in the worth of a honest day's wages, never pricing his work beyond that which can be afforded first, and beyond that which would keep the business running. A little profit was scraped away off the top, after all the expenses paid and investments balanced. And this went to feeding his two children, one of which would be hungry by now...

"Mother." Gregory simply greeted the wrapt gargoyle as she was led towards him. Like some prize stag or game, bundled together so she could not escape. There was no love lost between them, not really at least, she went off her way to provide for her family and he forged his path. Whichever one made it out better would be decided now. "How fares my Half-Brother?" Given her current state, Gregory's immediate concern was to his next of living kin.

"Before we speak, I wish to know more of my mother's captors." He looked down at the small woman who was dressed as scant as he. An easy request, as he lowered his wings and completely folded them behind him. It would be a sign of compliance, given that he could not fly away without having to spread them out once more. Although the action could be swift to do so, it was more of a symbolic approach between the Gargoyles to do so and speak between friends.

---

Elsewhere, back in Greenfall, Kenneth was a bit busy counting out his daily stipend to find himself a meal. Given that his Master has been gone for some time now, maybe it would be a longer business trip? Although there was a good few dozen golds left from the week's payments, surely Master Gregory wouldn't mind if he appropriated those right? And sneak into the bar with a heavy purse of gold?

The woman's smile stretched only a hair further at Whitetail's request. The first was fairly expected, but the second was surprising. Perhaps he was brighter than the others of his kind she'd dealt with. That was good, she always enjoyed a challenge. Out of slight respect for the intelligence of his request, she gave him what he'd requested.

"We are the Blood Vines, and I am Keelie, the warlord. And we are not your mother's captors, merely her masters. She is here, willingly, to pay for her mate's debt, for it was her servitude, or his blood."

As Whitetail enrobed himself in his wings, Keelie followed suit by crossing her arms, though her predatory gaze never lessened. Her smile, however, became a bit more jovial now. This relaxation led to an immediate response from her people, who immediately took up a defensive perimeter. The mountain of a man looked down at her, awaiting instruction. "Gerhein, it seems we have a few unwanted guests, due east. Bring them to me, it is nearly meal time. Keep them alive, for now."

The large man nodded, and slipped into the shadows of the trees, much more stealthily than one might think possible of a man his size. The woman sat down, legs crossed, gesturing to Whitetail to do the same, across from her. Her playful expression continued to study him, in silence for a while.

The Treggers began shifting nervously, glancing about them, while Vegarra continued peering through the darkness of the copse. She could only make out slight movement, from the Screamers, not the gargoyles. The Lieutenant wished to be closer, in order to hear the conversation at hand. She found it hard to believe that Whitetail would be a traitor. It seemed more likely that he was being coerced, and probably didn't know about the Screamers until their arrival.

"Down!"

Vegarra flattened herself to the ground, an instant before a massive axe-head sliced above her, taking a few stray hairs as payment. She'd never seen a weapon so large move so fast. She immediately picked herself up to a crouch, and rolled forward, trying to get out of range of the unknown assailant. Her long swords were drawn, as her eyes took in the massive, tattooed Screamer. The Tregger brothers, completely identical save for their weapons of choice, were being forced back. Royce and his large, curved knives were struggling under the weight of the giant axe, while Talif and his maces were being fought off easily with a single gauntlet covered hand. She'd never seen the Treggers at a disadvantage before, and they were known for taking down entire raiding parties of Screamers. She silently circled around the man, knowing that the longer this fight lasted, the worse it would be for the three of them. Charging forward at the man's back, both swords slashing, one for hamstrings, the other for the ribs, Vegarra hoped to end it quickly.

She just barely had enough time to pull the swords in defensively as the massive leg kicked out from the giant, the massive boot crushing the swords against her chest, and throwing her several yards off her feet. The landing on her back, knocked the breath from her lungs and stunned her for a moment. In that moment, she watched as the Screamer cuffed Talif, knocking him out. Royce quickly followed suit. Why wasn't he killing them? By the time she managed to get to her feet, a large, metal fist rocked against the side of her head, and her world went black.

Keelie's smile brightened, as if she knew that Gerhein's mission was already successful. "Now, down to business, for that is what we are, Whitetail. Businessmen. You should know by now that I have no need to sell your mother to you, and while she may not be very useful to me now, I could always sell her to someone else. Her fate is really no skin off my nose. So what is she worth to you, Whitetail?" She didn't bother looking up as Gerhein dragged the three Ebon Knights into their little clearing, and deposited them roughly to the side. Immediately other Screamers set about relinquishing them of their weapons, and tying them to the trees.

He took his seat on the ground, although sitting on the ground was a rather awkward task for a Gargoyle, especially one of Gregory's size. Kneeling down and crossing his legs was difficult, given the need to maneuver three limbs into a position and elevating his folded wings higher from the ground. It took some finagling, but eventually, after a few slow plods of knee, claws, fists and a few slams of his tail did he manage to sit upon the cool earth. It might have been rather comically really to watch a massive gargoyle attempt to sit down with the grace of an elephant.

So they were followed. It seems the Ebon was not all too willing to let business be conducted without sticking her nose into it. Technically speaking whatever this may have been, prior to such knowledge, was none of her concern. Although now with these Screams casting their lot here, well, perhaps it was now. either way, the ruckus the made fighting suggested they had at least attempted to put up a fight. Although it seemed it only took one giant of a human to finish the job and take out an Ebon and her two associates. Seemed rather unfair give the numbers, yet the human seemed to be able at combat.

"Very well. Warlord Keelie of Blood Vines, what is your base price." It was not a question, but perhaps a statement. "And what of those three." Gregory broke eye-contact for a moment to refer to the three less-than-conscious fools which had followed for some odd reason. Although again, more of a statement than a question given the flat-tone Gregory ended upon rather than the turning of the inquisitional phrase. "And will the blood-debt be paid by blood?" This one was a question. Inquired simply rather than the last two flat statements.

Interesting. This man, this gargoyle man, had just made the negotiations more difficult, for himself. Showing even the mildest of concern for the Ebon Knights gave their lives, and deaths, value. However, his final question lowered her esteem of him. She decided to address that first, her smile softening in her disappointment, "Such an archaic view. All things have real value, blood included. The only reason he would've been killed, before selling his mate, is because I would've acquired the remainder of his assets anyways. Killing simple because he owed me is pointless, I gain nothing from it. If you should learn anything from our meeting today, know this. I always come out ahead."

Her displeasure was quite evident now, and she made no attempt to hide this. The rest of her tribe shifted a bit nervously in their positions, with the exception of Gerhein. "Furthermore, when I ask you a question, specifically that concerning business, I expect you to answer properly, not with more questions. If you are here just to waste my time, I will take my profit from you and be on my way. My base price for your mother is a single copper, for she is worth nothing to me."

Gerhein quickly removed his gauntlets, as if he were preparing to use those monstrous hands properly. Her tribe looked on with both nervousness and fear, all of this building into quite the palpable realm of tension. For the briefest of moments, it seemed as if the tattooed vine upon her body wiggled in anticipation, while her eyes appeared crimson.

Then all of a sudden, the tension died with a sigh of relief from Keelie. "I apologize. This interruption of these Knights has annoyed me. I am not greedy, and I'm told you are the same. I could ask for exorbitant sums for your mother, that you could not possibly afford, but why kill the herd, when I can simply take a single deer every so often? So my price, as you requested is this. Your business. I wish for you to supply my tribe, through an intermediary, with weapons and armor as needed. And we will pay a fair price for these, whatever you would charge a normal customer."

One of the Treggers began to stir. Keelie tsked lightly, drew her long, curved hunting knife, and with the ease of breathing, loosed it quickly. It plunged deep, all the way to the hilt, between the bones, deep into Talif's heart. A single breath forced its way out, then he was forever silent. "As for these three, well two now, their fate depends on the deal we make, or don't make. You could ask how, but I find that it is much more enjoyable, especially where Knights are concerned, to leave a few things in mystery. So, what do you think of my offer?"

A small change in tone. Discernable, although her expressions were less indicative than her fellows around her.

"A dark cave echoes questions louder." A simple phrase used by the Gargoyles in reference to her annoyance at his own interrogation and lack of definitive answer. The analogy was rather easy to imagine, given the nature of the vivid expression. Henceforth since Gregory had no knowledge of this woman, he was the dark cave which gave such a response prying to know more about her. But he simply nodded in understanding of her less than satisfactory critique of his inquiries. "The alternate would have been preferred. Selling her for his own hide. Disgraceful." There was an odd moment as if Gregory was caught between a grin and a growl. Perhaps the suggestion of the hypothetical was supposed to be taken as a joke? In honesty, had his step-father been killed, Gregory would be more enthusiastic for this trade off. To which he gave a dead-eyed stare at his mother who, looked back pitifully bound.

There was something about watching her conduct business with all the cards on her side which was entertaining to watch. Not entertaining in the sense of wanting to record it on TiVo and watch it religiously, but more impressive to watch a shrewd business woman wear pants without wearing any pants. Then again Gregory wasn't exactly wearing pants either so the whole anachronistic allusion was rather moot. After little consideration, and probably watching her wet her phallic knife into another man's heart there was really no way to refuse and leave with three bodies."Warlord Keelie, your gracious terms are acceptable. My forge and hammer are yours." Gregory bowed his head slightly towards her with a nod.

"A missing Ebon would not bode well for business. Ebon in good faith in lieu of Mother until the first transaction is satisfactory." An odd sacrificial move. Although there was reason for Mother to stay there, she would be safe with them in order for Keelie to maintain leverage. Taking the Ebon back would put the ebon knight in the pocket of the business venture. While also ensuring fewer people were harmed in the process. One already died during negotiations another is not needed. "Warlord Keelie, will you honor my proposal?"

Keelie was truly happy with her business adversary. The fact that he surprised her just now made her respect him all the more. While she did expect him to take her offer, she didn't expect his counter offer. Most Ebonfortions would be fearful of being caught, would want the knight killed or kept, but this man, this gargoyle used them as pawns in his trade. He probably was going to keep the knight in his pocket, so to speak. Whitetail certainly was no mummer, not like the rest of the cattle in Ebonfort. Quite unexpected, and delightful, and it showed in her beaming smile. He was thinking about his future, and thus, their future as business partners. Yes, he was definitely a good choice.

Satisfied with the terms, she pulled out yet another knife, and lightly sliced it down her left forearm, before handing offering the blade to Whitetail, hilt out. She then touched two fingers from her right hand to the bleeding wound, brought them to her lips, then skyward, then finally extended a hand for a shake, looking expectantly at the gargoyle.

The moment the deal was concluded though, her smile slipped into a deep scowl. Looking at her new partner, "Take the female Knight back with you. We're about to have a lot of company, and you need to look like you escaped, while rescuing her. Don't worry about this one here. He'll be left alive, and will likely make his own way once he wakes up." She looked at the rest of the goyles, "Fly low, southbound, only Whitetail needs to be seen leaving."

She didn't bother to take the knife back. The other gargoyles took their command and walked out the back of the copse, and flew off. The remainder of the Screamers, however, went northside, and took up defensive positions. Keelie flashed a grin at Whitetail, standing up now, "You might want to watch, you might learn a thing or two." It was now obvious that the red vine tattoo over her body was moving across her skin in the most unnatural of ways. She moved through the trees and waited.

Coming full speed from the direction of Scream Watch was an entire Squadron of Knights, all atop various steeds, mostly horses. They were being led by two large lizard creatures, the mounts of the Treggers. Keelie held a hand out in front of her, and the tattoo began ripping itself from her body, becoming three dimensional. It took several long moments, but the tattoo formed into a large bundle of blood red vines, half the size of the copse. The Squadron slowed at this sudden display, assuming it is magic.

"Kill them my love."

Wiggling in glee, vines then lashed out wrapping around steed and rider whole, and yanking them from the earth. Some were crushed, some were thrown, and some were dragged to the center, and disappeared, as if eaten. It was a massacre. Keelie walked amongst the carnage and battle, the vines weaving their destruction around her, blood splattering over her body. She approached a man, a young man, blonde, barely more than a boy, on the far edge of the gory scene, stuck beneath his dying horse, his leg pinned. Keelie bent down, "Don't worry soldier, I'm going to let you live. I want you to tell your soldier friends what you see here. Let them know that Warlord Keelie and the Blood Vines are to be feared above all others." She then bent down and pressed her blood stained lips to his own, before turning back to watch the destruction, casting a single, coy glance toward Whitetail's position.

An interesting ritual. Though nothing less could be expect from a woman who seemed to carry a limitless arsenal of knives. Where she manages to keep them all comfortably eluded Gregory as she cut herself with the tip. He watched with lidless eyes as metal streaked itself to soft skin, calling blood forth from the deepest recesses. Thin skin of easy cuts, letting the red bleed out. Then she offered Gregory the handle, to which he took the time to examine the handicraft of perhaps another smith. The weight was fine, but slightly off-center, the balance favouring lower handle than the blade. The tip was beveled, sharp and angular, slightly nicked as it ran down towards the handle. A knife used often and had some wear certainly as the gargoyle paused to consider how many different bloods this blade has tasted. To which he returned his attention to Warlord Keelie after a rather unsubtle judgment of the knife. It may not be uncommon to see a smith handle a weapon without seeing the quality of the work. Although he kept these thoughts to himself.

The knife however would definitely need to be sharpened at the shop, as he put the tip to the test against his own hide. Gargoyle hide, though appeared as stone, was more of a hide of an elephant or rhino. There were some which held roughened thick skin, usually belonging to the darker coloured Gargoyles, others like Gregory had smoother skins which were reminiscent of polished stone. Regardless it would be slightly more difficult to liberate blood using the blade as it cut against the flesh, not as quick a cut as Keelie's skin, but neither like drawing blood from stone. And for this reason did the Gargoyle allow his blood to pool within the palm of his right hand, flowing from his forearm weakly as it painted white roses red, before dripping off his claws to the floor. And with this bloody claw did he exchange the shake. By virtue of blood the deal was done.

"Horn."Gregory remarked. Well, rather he made some indication of his displeasure of having to correct the warlord between a grunt and growl. He had remained silent on the issue for quite some time now, however if they were to become business partners she would at least need to learn his name. Whitehorn, not Whitetail. Whitetail was a type of deer. No Gargoyle worth his wings would care to be called Whitetail, and those within the Whitetail family stuck to the mountain caverns to avoid the ridicule when their species learned of what those below call deer. At which the matter became a trivial affair once the tattoos around her moved.

While normally the revelation that the rumors of magic returning would most likely shock and amaze the normal Ebonfortian. If the ability to lay ways to an entire Squadron of Ebons and their horses was impressive to Gregory, his facial expressions remained as stoic as ever. Although Gregory was never one show much interest in magic, the ability to call forth a rather merciless ally was intriguing. To which his reply was a turning of his gaze towards the slaughter occurring a few hundred feet away. His new partner was ruthless, admittedly, but there was something captivating in watching the woman work her power stride through the still warm bodies of the fallen. Blood bathed her freely, as she teased one of the entrapped Ebons with his life. Enchanting to watch a woman who flaunts it: the refined savagery that would bite your lips off and kiss them.

And back to business. As Gregory gave the bloodlusted warlord a deep nod and walked towards the body of the unconscious Ebonknight. A brief nod and glance to his own Mother was all he gave her as he tore a strip of cloth from the ebon's clothing to wrap around his knife cut and feign a wound. She would not mind, at least he thought as a blacksmith's apron was far harder to tear than simple weave. Lifting her limp body up was the easy part, though she had some weight, Gregory was more than capable of easily handling her in his arms. A bridal carry, as awkward as it may be, but over the shoulder would restrict his flight abilities. And certainly not to crush her pelvis should he choose to wrap her around his muscular tail. "Be Still."

With the traditional parting of the Gargoyles, which could be analogous to 'be at peace' or 'may all be well.' The White Gargoyle unfolded his great wings, to stroke down the sanguine air and take to the skies above. The Ebon may need some medical assistance, should she have injuries, and certain he would need to have his injuries attended to as well. While he could fly both of them back to Green Fall, he would rather not have to carry an unconscious Ebonknight all the way back home. Ruby Banks would be a good place to catch some breath, and certainly there would be a healer there. Right?

Edoward was walking his patrol on the outskirts of Ruby Banks, whistling a tune that he couldn't remember ever hearing. He loved being assigned to this section of town, there weren't many annoying bystanders, nor an excessive amount of danger. But his favorite part was the little blonde herbalist in the shop in the distance. He'd first met her a little over a year ago, after she took care of a particularly nasty rash he'd acquired during survival training, courtesy of a couple pranksters. She'd not judged him, though did make light of it, and was kind, caring. She probably didn't know it, but he'd been in love with her ever since.

But Edoward was more frightened of approaching this woman than fighting rogue hill giant. Fighting was easy, the goals were clear, and the path to achieving them equally so. Women, however, were not, especially this one. She was pretty, kind, successful, and probably had more suitors than he had scars. He just needed an excuse to be around her, he was sure of it.

That was when he spotted the flying dot in the distance. It wasn't too terribly odd, many things flew, birds, dragons, those weird bird people whose race he'd forgotten. As it grew closer, and seemingly larger, he realized it was a gargoyle, a large one. Closer still, Edoward noticed a woman in Ebon Knight armor cradled in his arms. His thoughts immediately assumed her to be injured, so he reached into his patrol pouch and grabbed his horn. Putting the hollowed ox horn to his lips, he gave one short burst, signaling an injury, followed by four quick sputters indicating the west side of town.

As the flying pair neared, Edoward was joined by a few close knights, one of whom was the Lieutenant on duty, Skarborough, a surprisingly jovial drow. "Looks like you have your excuse to visit the herbalist, Edo." The boy flushed crimson, before his superior continued, "I think that's... by Lolth! It's Vegarra! From Green Fall!" Vegarra and Skarborough trained together at Scream Watch, it was quite common for most Lieutenants to be from the same year.

"Edoward, as soon as they land, take her to the herbalist, I'll question the gargoyle." The boy nodded, "Yes Ser." Skarborough had many questions, what happened? Why was Vegarra so far from her station? Who or what was responsible for this. And if the winged monster didn't answer them, he'd find himself in chains.

With folded wings did he sink. Roosting atop a makeshift perch of the wall. The outskirts of the main branch. Upon the western edge. The sound of the horn beckoned him down, they had noticed him. Ebons. Always Ebons. Stalwart and on patrol. He had half a mind to throw the unconscious woman in his arm at them and continue flying. Although that would not be best for Business. To which he needed to secure Vegarra to be open to the idea of trading with the Blood Vines to whom she owed her life to. Not that Gregory wanted the Blood Vines to go on slaughtering people with his steel, but there was really no choice in the matter. A deal is a deal, and must be honored.

A boy had approached them both. Well an Ebon, probably older than what Gregory assumed he was. Certainly a bit older than Kenneth, who by now would have probably either panicked or gotten himself in trouble. And indeed Kenneth did get into some trouble at the Bar in Green Fall unbeknownst to Gregory, although certainly foreseen. To which what sort of trouble the apprentice had found himself in would have to be dealt with later.

"Vegarra. Possible Injuries. Healer." Gregory made some growls as he stepped towards the younger man, who was now accompanied by perhaps his superior as they appeared. And he thrust the body in his arms towards the boy, waiting to drop it in his awaiting arms as he turned towards the other man. "Screamer Ambush." No doubt he had to explain himself, "My injuries will heal." He made mention of his own blood-stained makeshift bandages torn from Vegarra's outfit. "Got her out alive."

Skill Points
Negotiation: 2
Subterfuge: 2
Blacksmithing: 1
Weaponsmithing: 1
Aerobatics: 1
Investigation: 1
Socializing: 1
Observation: 1
Weapon (Knife): 1
Disguise: 1

Knowledge
Contact: Krigar Stonetongue
Valley of the Screamers Location: Copse of the Blood Vines
Screamers' Tribe: Blood Vines
Contact: Warlord Keelie of the Blood Vines
Contact: Gerhein of the Blood Vines
Gerhein: Stronger than 3 Knights Combined
Keelie: All Things Have Real Value
Keelie: Scary When Agitated
Keelie: Can Kill with Ease
Blood Vines: Trade Ritual
Keelie: Always has a Knife
Keelie: Has a Magical Tattoo
Ally of Keelie: Giant Crimson Vines
Keelie: Stronger than a Squadron of Knights

Other
Trade Agreement with Keelie of the Blood Vines

CS Notes
Add the skills to your existing skills.
Create a separate section for Knowledge, and add those in.
Add the things in the Other Category to the appropriate CS sections.
I'll be creating the Continuation with Trix here shortly.