As Torus described Tiamat in all her glory, a smile crept on the cultists face. Her opponents seemed to be well aware of what there was against them, yet they thought they could handle the very Queen of dragons. She couldn't see much, if anything, but she could somehow feel that there was some sort of a visual display going around her. She could only hope that the display was accurate.

Once the druid leaned to speak into her ear, confusion spread across her face. The man sounded angry, but the words made no sense to her. She could pick up the words "you" and "hero", but that was about it. Soon after that moment she could hear the same voice guiding some people out of the room, but the sound of heavy metal boots that had entered earlier was nowhere to be heard. Not everyone had left. But before she could finish thinking about it, she experienced a miniature flood as the ball of cold water she could not have seen was released above her head.

"Pfbbbblllt!" she spat out, the water that had ended up in her mouth flying off in an arc. "Blahh!" she complained, sticking out her tongue in revulsion. She did soon draw her tongue back in and spat to her right, finishing up doing what she could do to clean her mouth of the wastewater. Soon she could hear the female voice again, them asking about her leaders. "Names? I've no need for their names. If a wearer of purple gives the order, I follow the order. And I don't know more about the dragon than you do", she answered.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher

"Fair you might not know their names," The low roll of the huntsman's voice came forth, revealing the captive was not as alone as she might have thought herself with the halfling after the others left, "But where did your band come from and where are they going?"

It was then he took a few methodically advancing steps forward, each rustling his chain links ever so slightly. Brannor was distrustful of everything the woman said, in that his belief was that she thought it all to be true, perhaps even if it were not. Thus far summoning this hellish dragon-mother was a far stretch, one reasonably beyond the cult's true grasp; they were raiding petty farming villages and towns for the few scraps of wealth the people had. None of this was likely to sate an average dragon, at least as the hunter knew for their greed was said to be unspeakable in its vastness, let alone their proposed queen. So the more she spoke, the more foolish she sounded, and it came high time in his mind that he would bring her back to the reality of tonight and the time leading up.

Looming before the soaked to the marrow figure, arms crossed over the chest, it became clear that the warrior was not going to prove patient for much longer with her; he had other plans in mind. If she would not cooperate further or denounce her actions and abandon her ways, there were not many paths left for her to follow that did not end in execution. So for her sake, he hoped she would answer the question - that her willingness to cooperate with Parum was not lost.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Parum leered at the prisoner, sensing something was off with her claim. Surely even a minion would do well to know the name of a dragon they are allied with, if not the servants of. Even dumb mercenaries would at least know what to call their suppose employers. Still she gave Parum some valuable information. And while the woman was certainly lying, it was also obvious that she did not intend to diverge any more information. But Parum would give her one more chance to cooperate; if she doesn't, than her life is forfeited.

"You must truly be a special kind of foolish to not even know the name of the dragon who is allied with you, or to follow the commands of anyone who could purchase a purple robe. Consider your next answer carefully. Because if you do not comply with us... The only mercy we have left for you is a swift end."

The prisoner listened to Brannor and Parum talk on top of each other, each having their own opinion of her words. "Do you listen to yourselves talk, whoever you are? You cannot even agree with yourselves!" She fully expected a blade into her stomach at this point, given how they seemed to be mostly done with her, but if they waited she would still answer with what knowledge she had. First she would have to have a word with the female voice: "I don't think you quite understand. I do not speak with the dragons, for I am not worthy of their majesty. I follow the orders of those who are, and that's that."

Now turning her attention towards the direction of the rougher voice, she gave her answer regarding their camp. "As for the camp you ask of, it would be a small miracle if you didn't find it once we are done with this town. Moving armies the size of ours doesn't exactly happen inconspicuously. As for where we are going, probably just staying back there. Would not want the dragon eggs to hatch without a parent..." A grin appeared on her face as she spoke of the eggs. The interrogators could not stop the entire cult, that was for sure. They might as well know their doom would be coming.

Nighthill tilted his head to the side at the mention of dragon eggs, unsure whether to believe it himself. The prisoner was but a lowly pawn as far as could be understood from her speech, but as a devoted member of her cult she might know more than her status would suggest. The governor tapped his chin with his healthy hand's fingers, wondering what to think of this revelation.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher

"So you have an army, supposedly of some 'great dragon', but you fail to siege even a miniscule, largely undefended town and its lone minor keep." Brannor laughed, the prison thundering with his disparaging bellow before he set his hand to his jaw, "And your blue monstrosity abandoned you."

While he knew the cultist could not see him, he wanted her to feel his spirit's overwhelming presence and how it burned more fiercely in a moment of humor, at least his sense of it. Love, laughter, liquor, they were all fine joys and spoils of life, all to be experienced in their own ways as fellow glints of hope in the night that was existence for many; Brannor himself had not a taste for some of the ideals the soul within him commanded he obey, like that of many humors so it came as no surprise it was a rarity, but this woman had earned a well deserved laugh. Every time she spoke about her beloved cult she made a supreme fool of herself by attempting to intimidate them.

Brannor drew in closer and snarled slightly with near fey power, the sudden change of demeanor silenced the echo of the laugh as the golden eyes seared vibrantly at her; the hunter not far from her side but now crouched down. The utterance he gave was primal, but so was the emotion that drove it, "Then we will dash your beloved eggs and lay to the earth your bodies."

"If you do not think us capable of that... I reason you previously had also not thought us capable of capturing or killing your fellows."

The greencloak's arm gently reached back behind his hooded head and slowly began to draw the great blade from its place of rest. The motion was unsettlingly slow, unearthly in patience, and surreal in the way it all happened as he spoke; with every word it moved slightly further. Near free up to half from its leather seat, the man looked back to the few remaining company, namely the nobleman of Governor Nighthill. The implication was clear - either let the hunter give her a clean death after but a few more questions, or deal with the madwoman all on his own. If Brannor were him, a living enemy unrepentant was as dangerous here as it were abroad.

But this was not his battle. Greenest's fate was not the knight of the wild's to decide.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

"Dragon eggs... A hatchery."

This was not good. A dragon's horde has always been the stuff of legends, full of treasure as well as deadly traps. A dragon's nest on the other hand was nothing but trouble. The eggs were a sure prize for any knowledgeable wizard or merchant, but if one thought a dragon's fury was bad enough when you tried to steal their treasure, when you try to take their eggs... No doubt the nest would be heavily guarded. The perfect place for a cult to safely call their base. Not to mention, a dragon who could hatch a full brood of dragonlings will no doubt be a terror for generations to come. Even benign metallic dragons would have a frightening amount of power if there was a whole clan of them.

Parum felt that there was not much more to gleam from this prisoner. She still had so many questions but Parum knew that the prisoner wasn't going to cooperate for long. It was time to end this. "Fascinating. A whole nest of dragon eggs... Certainly would be a sight to behold. I would ask you where such a place could be but I have doubts that a lowly servant like you would know." Parum turned around, making her footsteps rather audible as she began to walk away. "If there are still any secrets you'd like to share, you'd do best say something now. Because if that's all you know than you're no use to us. And as you may imagine we're not in any position to deal with... Waste." Parum left the prison and the prisoner to her fate. Parum hoped for her sake that she could satisfy the others with an answer. Otherwise Parum was done dealing with the prisoner.

Once the halfling was far away from the prison she stood in place and took a deep breath. She felt... Odd. Satisfied to finally be the one in a dominate position. But well aware that was just a transient role. The vision of that blue dragon flashed in Parum's mind, and it's deep, angry voice echoed in her ears. Before Parum knew it she was on her knees trembling. Finally all of Parum's fear hit her all at once as she sobbed quietly, trying to silence the panic attack. A cult, a nest of dragons, and Tiamat herself... What could Parum possibly do in the face of such a threat? What could she, a mere sage who was looking for new lore to explore, deal with such a cataclysmic event? She was no hero. Parum was not born under the star of destiny or even had a particularly important upbringing. She doubted her ability to do more than survive this event, if even that. But she had to pull herself together. Regardless of whatever her feelings about this was, both the fear and the duty to face it, she had to keep her nerves calm. If she couldn't... Parum wasn't sure what was going to happen. Something horrible no doubt. She needed somewhere quiet to play her viol.

The prison’s gate beamed broad, baring a bold blue-haired bard, bellowing out further into the basement. Her hair dangled past the druid, appealing a loftier confidence to those around. Glancing through the portal’s frame, the pirate gleaned a recognizable blade, unsheathed, belonging to the green knight. Its shimmering steel shrilled for blood or scabbard. The paladin bore its mighty weight before the cultist, as the interrogation exhausted its welcome.

The Tethyrian fang approached, in dull stride, rapping on the hefty door with its briny wood. Ignoring the contemplative Governor looming next to the chained captive, the senior coughed, clearing his throat as a courteous mockery to interrupt and grasp further notice.

“Enough! That which was taken demands reprisal, las. As long as you sow war, you will reap its chorus. Vengeance croons upon angry wings.”

A black beak soon jutted from within the old man’s beard, materializing dark feathers and silver claws. The bird quickly escaped the white labyrinthine twigs beneath the chin of its master, spiraling the breadth of the room. The rhythm of flapping ended as the charcoal avian nestled upon the head of the crazed detainee, tunneling its talons and harvesting meager exsanguination.

Torus burrowed and plowed once more.

“Judgment is now upon you. The throne of insanity that seats your bones will never know your title. The gavel will soon fall.”

The elder bequeathed a nod, first to the familiar, and then to Brannor, as the avian held the screaming head still.

“And, in your final thought, never forget."

A pause was allowed for reverent silence. Then more crowing ensued.

"When justice descends, the servant shall burn with its master.”



@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

The prisoner shook her heard as the bird clawed on it, a natural reaction from anyone. She registered Brannor's mocking words, but merely laughed at them. "Have you seen our main force? If we wanted this keep to go down, it would not be standing before our might. We are merely interested in what this town had to offer in treasure" There was no hint of lies in her voice, she truly believed in what she was saying. And given how the defenders of Greenest were vastly outnumbered and their only solace was in the walls of the keep, there was no reason to doubt her word either. At least it promised a quick end to this, rather than the situation evolving to a war of attrition where the invaders would starve Greenest to death.

As for the rest of what her adversaries had to say, the woman simply sighed. First of all, had this female voice not listened at all? The eggs were at their base camp. She had no need to go any further on that. And then the one person that had brought their bird to sic on her spoke, all of his words were the common heroic shebang that one could expect to hear in a cheesy saga by some minstrel, how heroes always won and the evil they were fighting would be driven to the night. Thing was, these people were definitely on the wrong side.

"I get it, I get it. Do your 'hero' thing if you so will nonbelievers. I have done my part. Kill me if you so will. I ain't in no position to change your mind", she finally stated in an annoyed tone. They had clearly dragged her here with no intention to leave her alive as had been evident from the moment how they did not even react to her dismissing their hollow promises of freedom. She had accepted death might follow as she headed out tonight. And now it had come to her.

Governor Nighthill lowered his hand from his chin and shook his head. "We'll need to discuss what this entails." That was all what the man said before tapping Sergeant Longwater on the shoulder. "Come. They seem to have an idea on how to deal with her." With that, the two men native to Greenest walked out, giving their nonverbal blessing on the adventurers going forth with their plan on how to deal with the prisoner now that she had ceased talking.

"You have yet to impress anyone with your mindless fanaticism and talk of some 'great dragon'."

Brannor spoke as he stood again, using the motion of his shifting armor and the calling of the ebon beak to cover the drawing of the vicious blade. Gripping tighter where his hand laid upon its bind, he hefted the sword and in one motion, set to ready its edge to her flesh; the obscure engraving upon the height of its fuller shown some in this process, but her eyes were not to have seen them, just as they would never again see her captors or those men she so foolishly set out with tonight. He continued after, unimpressed with her feeble efforts to mock them, instead showing her one last kindness none of them rightfully owed.

"All of this babbling for not... but let it be known that I would have honored your repentance. A pity that you were too lost."

The sword then sang an unrepentant song of steel, the blow landing square upon the throat, perhaps the only thing that had less remorse than the dragon worshipping woman. The only other noise that followed was the flutter of the black wings as their service in this particular task had come to an end and the grinding of the huntsman's foot as its pivot ended upon the filthy stone floor. Despite the mass of the mighty weapon in hand, the raw power behind it controlled it in a disturbingly smooth way for it did not shudder even slightly, not even as it was withdrawn from its grim duty.

With the point of the sword easing toward the ground, the knight of the green looked to Torus and shook the feral features of his head slowly from side to side. They gave her a merciful end, something the outlander of Brannor not thought likely for the rest of them if the enemy were to have them in such straights. He knew little of dragons, yet what little he did know of them suggested they were cruel masters and the sort to toy with anything that dared stand against them if they found it more worthwhile than annihilating it outright. After all, terror seemed to be one of their weapons, which tonight proved beyond reasonable doubt.

"I fear that she might have been the most reasonable of our enemies to come. If she was but only a lowly acolyte, the rest might be beyond any offer of redemption." He said after, followed by a step forward and the taking of a swatch of ruined cloth from her still person to run clean the steel's length.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

"I fear that she might have been the most reasonable of our enemies to come. If she was but only a lowly acolyte, the rest might be beyond any offer of redemption."

The blade and fabric exchanged roles in bearing the coagulated blood from the woman. One made clean again through polished refinement and resolve. The other drenched in the irrational debauchery it clothed. A garb, sewn for a wicked, illustrious purpose, lay in silence, as rags, worthy only to sponge the turpitude of their evil.

“The smallest seed of depravity can, at times, bloom against the gravity of righteousness. Just one persistent dewdrop of a dragon’s ambition eventually blemishes a soul even as stalwart as a saint’s, into a full storm of iniquity. However, the mightiest oak, when infested with rot, will always fall. Her spirit is now in another realm, though disowned from our history, remains hailing alongside a thunderous cloud of witnesses against our world’s fate.”

A lungful of scorn released from the decrepit pirate, as the elder’s lips divorced wide, teethed inlet agape.

“Come, Judgment!”

Recognizing its appellation once more, the raven bolted into elder’s mouth, disappearing in wisps of smoke and ember. The tongue ring spindled, issuing sparks of ash into the druid’s beard. Combing through his silver whiskers, flakes of charcoal dander snowed, peeling and collecting as patches in the sanguine pool beneath the cultist’s cadaver.

“Tiamat’s promised presence has seemingly transformed an unruly mob into a disciplined army. An armored ascension is emerging, lads. Aye! I fear that the shadow of their queen may descend upon the battlefield, at any moment.”

About facing and looking over his left shoulder, the man’s birdless aperture sutured words of encouragement, before pursuing additional counsel.

“Hope must rise to meet her. We must plant others with courage, to rally again against these fallow foes, before they take further root. Dawn is breaking; let us seek Nighthill before the day’s sun harvests another shadow on Greenest.”


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Orchid didn't have much to say or much to do as the others interrogation the prisoner. He stayed for the initial questioning, but once it became apparent that the others would be able to take care of questioning Orchid left. He felt that they had accomplished quite a bit so far, so now was a good time to rest as any. He wished for food but at the moment rations were being held as everyone was busy continuing their patrols. There was an occasional skirmish at the walls but nothing so large that needed to be worried. Eventually Orchid found himself sitting back at his usual spot at the keep next to the drake hide he was tanning.

Proper tanning takes at least a week with full exporsure to the sun. However Orchid used a method that could make the hide workable within hours, at the cost of quality. He doubts the hide could last more than a month, likely less if he does intend to put it on his shield. Still, he also imagined that there will be plenty of more dragons and dragonkin to fight in the near future. Orchid would by run out of raw materials, to say the least.

As the half-orc tried to make himself comfortable he pondered about his new friends. Admitidly they weren't quite the company he had thought. He figured his first adventuring party would be more... Jolly. Brannon was dour, Parum a coward, Kyra blinded by anger, and Torus old and wizened. Truthfully Orchid wished to join the orcish hordes he had heard his elders speak of. They fury and power on confidential rampages must have been a sight to behold. Orchid would've loved nothing but to be part of something so great.

But, what if he was part of something right now? How many other orcish warriors could claim that they faced off against a dragon at such a young as as Orchid? Sure, the Greenest militia weren't not a mighty force. But they held off against these bandit hordes and their dragons. Surely that speaks something about their skill in battle. Orchid couldn't really find it within himself to feel attached to these people of Greenest, but he could respect their resolve.

Yawning, Orchid could feel fatigue creep into his body. He wish he could've slept on soft grass instead of cold stone, but he wasn't going to complain. Shuffling his backpack into an improvised pillow Orchid rested his eyes until the next disaster struck.

Kyra had left the dirty business of the interrogation to the others. In the back of her mind Kyra couldn't help but think she should've been there. Granted, she wouldn't have done anything productive. She mostly just wanted to hurt the prisoner, make her feel the same pain as Kyra was feeling. But the priestess also knew, in a way, that there would be no way for those bandits to understand what Kyra was going through. What they did hurt her on a level that was far more than physical. Simply stabbing the prisoner with her blade wouldn't be the same as what they've done to Kyra. In a way, it would almost be too merciful.

Kyra had no illusion that Greenest was a small, almost defenseless village. The keep was nice to have in times of emergency, but without a strong militia the keep was basically an fortified crypt. They had a few gold soldiers to train the men into a self-defense force, but they hardly had anything resembling an army. Even their best mages such as Falconmoon simply lacked the power to change the course of battle on their own. They could cure diseases and break curses, but no amount of magic they had could stop an army. What Kyra hated most about what happened was realizing just how small she was. Before Kyra had pride; she believed that she was important to Greenest, to her world. As the new head priest she would lead a generation into a brighter future, bringing prosperity and glory to Greenest. But this attack just reminded Kyra that she was a small town girl living off in the distant countryside; even if they were wiped off the face of the world, she doubts anyone would realize what happened here.

Just the thought of being casually trampled from history, from all memory, is what truly frighten Kyra. That she wasn't even so much as a footnote in the grander scheme of things. It harmed her elven pride to know that. It's the reason why she's been so angry. Kyra wished she could say she had more selfless reasons, and she certainly does, but what drove her the most was just the thought that she was powerless to stop an enemy who didn't even recognize her. It made Kyra want to go out there and slaughter as many bandits as she could, just so they could remember the one girl who slew their numbers. Without remorse. Without pity.

"Kyra?"

Turning around the pink-haired farm girl looked to see a tanned, dark haired man with a full beard. It was her father, David Shepard. The two ran towards each other with a great embrace, and suddenly all thoughts of hostility vanished from Kyra's mind. "Dad! Dad you're alright! I tried to find you but I couldn't see you anywhere!" Kyra said as she started to cry. The idea that her father was killed in the village also drove Kyra to seek vengeance. "I know, I know. I'm sorry I worried you. I was out hunting when they came. I tried to get back to the village but they were everywhere. I didn't get through until just now." The two shared a hug for some time before parting, looking at each other in the eyes. David immediately noticed something off about his daughter. Her innocent eyes now harden with hatred. Putting a hand on her soft, warm cheek, David spoke.

"Kyra... What happened to you?"

"W-what? What do you mean?" Kyra glanced at her father, but looking at him directly suddenly made Kyra feel... Uneasy. She turned away and walked towards the wall. "It's... It's just horrible dad. S-so many people are dead... Just a few days ago, I've visited them at church, talking about silly things, eating with them, and... And now..." David walked over to his daughter and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. But try as she might, Kyra couldn't hide her feelings from her father. "I know what happened here is horrible. What you've seen... Horrible. But please Kyra, don't avoid my question. I know you're a good girl. When you see someone hurt you won't hesitate to do everything you can to help them. I know this. But Kyra... You can't help anyone just by killing."

At these words Kyra froze up. She had mixed feelings at her father's words. On one hand she knew that he was right. Yet she was also angry that he would think that was all Kyra could think about. And frustrated that he knew what's what Kyra was thinking about. "I-i-it's not like that, dad. I just... I just want to protect the villagers. You know that, and you didn't teach me how to use a bow just to shoot deer."

Shaking his head David tried to look at his daughter's face, but she couldn't look back at him. "I know. And... It's not easy for me either. I trained you, but I prayed to every god who'd listen that you'd never need to use those skills. I wanted to make sure you're safe and protected, but I never wanted you to fight." At these words Kyra turned to her father and lashed out, albeit quietly. "Why not!? Do you think it's just because I'm a girl? Just because I've only known Greenest, that it's personal for me!? Don't be like those strangers dad! Don't tell me I can't care about my friends and my family that I willing to kill for them!" Kyra grabbed onto her father in a moment of anger, trying to get answers out of him. "Everyone thinks they know better than me! That just because they don't live here that I could just brush off everything that's happened! This is my home, dammit, my people, what do they expect me to do? Just stand by quietly and pray to Chauntea that this will all be over soon!? That's not what I've been trained to do dad! I don't just pray and pray and hope for someone else to do it for me! I was given these powers and blessings so I can do it myself!"

What came over was unexpected. David gave Kyra a swift, firm slap on the cheek, followed by a hug. This quickly distracted Kyra and left her stunned for a moment. "I do know Kyra. I know how hard it must be for you. When I came back to the village on fire, I... I thought I lost you. The reason it took me so long was because I hunted a few down myself. I thought... I could kill them all. Or at least their leader if I saw him. I'm pretty sure I did. A man in a purple robe. I thought maybe with my arrows, I could end this attack at once." David let go of Kyra and looked at her directly in the eyes. Kyra looked back at him. "But it's not going to be that easy Kyra. Even if I could somehow kill that man with a single arrow, I couldn't stop his army or the dragon. I'm sure I'd do something to help by killing him, but I couldn't save the village. And I'd likely die before I could get back."

David left go of Kyra and slumped to the floor. "You can make it your duty to save the people and to fight against evil. But you can't just believe that it'll be as easy as killing one or even one hundred people. The enemy you're facing is... So much bigger than that. What I saw at that camp it's... This is no normal enemy." Kyra absorbed these words, resonating with her current feeling of smallness. She already felt like a speck because of this attack, and her father's words just confirmed it. Much like before however David picked up on his daughter's feelings and spoke up. "But I know that you can do it. What you need to do isn't just take up your bow and start shooting. It requires someone with not just a steady hand but a strong will and a good heart. And you have that Kyra. You know everything I could teach you about hunting and archery. Even despite the odds and everything that's happened, you've still got a fighting spirit. And everything you're doing you're not doing just for yourself. You're doing it for everyone here in Greenest. All you need to guidance. You need help from others who can show you the way and help you stay on your path."

Kyra looked down at her father, uncertain. Like always she could sense truth in his words, yet there was uncertainty within herself to accept it. But all she had was doubt. There was no real evidence to back her doubts that she needed help. But she just couldn't believe it herself. "I know you're right dad but... Who could I possibly ask to help me? Greenest needs everyone's help now. I don't even know if I can leave Greenest now..."

"No... You can. You're the only one who can. The town needs their leaders. The mayor, Longwater, Falconmoon, Lake. Even me. The town needs those people because right now they're weak and hurt. But you Kyra, you're still strong. I know you think that Greenest needs your help, and you'd certainly be useful, but your talents are needed elsewhere. Greenest will survive, and when they do we'll still be here to help it back onto it's feet. But there's something worse outside of Greenest that needs to be stopped. And the only one who can do that... Is a hero. It's you, Kyra."

It was done. The defenders of Greenest were now just a little wiser and the dead body of a once fanatic cultist hung limply in the chains that had restrained her. None of the heroes showed interest in letting the corpse down, so it was left behind as they split, Orchid leaving for yet another nap while the others went after governor Nighthill and sergeant Longwater. It was no surprise to hear from the few guards keeping order around that they had headed towards the roof of the keep once again: It seemed as if that was the spot the governor preferred to be in during this raid.

The arrival of Brannor, Torus and possibly Parum seemed to interrupt a discussion between the two men, but as they noticed who the newcomers were, Longwater waved them closer. It seemed that they didn't mind their presence, perhaps even preferring it to the absence. "Where might the rest of you be? I would have thought you all would be interested in sharing your opinions on this matter.Well, nevermind that, their loss..." the guard sergeant asked and replied.

"Truly, I had also expected more of you, even if I did not specifically request you to join us. You have already shown initiative to head out there... Escobert told me that much. It was a risky move, but the knowledge we gained for it may well have been worth it. But what do we do with said knowledge? I've already shared my thoughts with sergeant Longwater here... what would you say?" the governor greeted them in turn, getting straight to the point.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought@Ryonara

The hunter, now in greater company again, offered a nod to the two as they acknowledged their small collective. As it was prior, the aged man had been elaborating more on the nature of the enemy they faced in this Tiamat and its role as a queen of dragons. The man was... senile, at times, but his current lucidity suggested to Brannor there was more to be known and done. This was unquestionably confirmed with what the governor and his martial escort had to say in turn.

"It was a risky move, but the knowledge we gained for it may well have been worth it. But what do we do with said knowledge? I've already shared my thoughts with sergeant Longwater here... what would you say?"

The voice of Nighthill said to the party present, to which the wilder of sorts instead looked out over the city from the keep's stone parapets. He leaned atop them, hands against the stone and thinking for a few long, silent moments. The only thing that disturbed the calm of the night in the wake of the attack were the voices of the occasional guardsman speaking in the distance, the rest seemed to be the rolling breeze of the evening.

"There are only a few things we can do." Brannor said, not taking his eyes off the horizon beyond or what few stars were still visible tonight, "There's little doubt that we need to find their camp and destroy it, later on if not at the same time we need destroy the eggs as well."

"But for your town? You have no army and whoever you owe your pledge to is unlikely to come soon enough." The man paused, his leather guarded knuckles tightening against the stone and his jaw gritting some. His fierce eyes followed suit and he thought again before speaking, attempting to work his way through the mire that was the concerns of normal people.

Greenest needed to mount some sort of defense, the positive news being that there seemed to no longer be a reason for the enemy to return here - at least not now - as all they were doing was creating some "hoard"; whatever that meant beyond anything valuable thrown into a pile. But what could they even do? They found these small scaly things and their worshippers to be an overwhelming threat. There was no way they could fend them off and they would be totally unwilling, knowing the average peasant and their concerns, to abandon the town for safety at a near one under the same noble domain.

"That leaves you with... us, at best, and whatever else you and your master can muster here in the days and weeks to come."

The outlander transitioned conversation slightly, "But I know, at least for myself, we would be at our best hunting the enemy rather than awaiting them here to return, whenever or wherever that might be."

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

The to and fro between the paladin upon the citadel sparked a second wind within Torus. The ash, flavoring the fluttering gales, hinted a haunting excursion. Cinders and fretful residue singed the elder’s nostrils, taxing memories of seaward battles of old.

Facing the divine aspirant of the Silver Lady, the tongue ring singed a song of concomitant urgency.

“My bones might require some respite after dusk’s end, but I echo Brannor. I do not disagree with ya, lad. These hoarders are wild pigs, feeding off the crumbs of Greenest. Ferret them out? Yes! The cleverness of foxes deracinates the cunning of devils. Timing is everything, though, as this morning will bend its hot eye upon us, soon, unveiling a wasted kismet.”

The druid turned to Nighthill, beckoning a slight veneer of fatigue and exhaustion. Old age had ripened the pirate, taunting an unabated sleep to mull over as languid bags under his briny eyes.

“Governor, grant us any guards that you can spare, to take on our hunt. This town shall feast on the spoils of our bounty. Their still hearts will become our quarry! We will fly like eagles, kick like mules and hide like hermits. We must go now or forfeit until tomorrow’s eve.”

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Parum took to the ramparts to play her music. It was so odd how, only hours ago, this was a place ripe with the stench and cries of death. But now the air was stale and deathly silent. The guards were ever vigilant but there was no sign of attacks. Not even so much as a spotting of scouts or an arrow flung in their direction. Parum could still see parts of Greenest burning in the distance, but even so all was quiet there. She looked to the dark clouds half-expecting to see a giant dragon looming overhead, but there was nothing. Somehow this didn't comfort Parum. She took out her instrument and tried to play a song, but in the end she couldn't find the music within her. She mealy settled for plucking away at the strings as she tried to think of a ballad to describe Greenest. A dirge perhaps.

It wasn't long before Parum found herself in the company of the others, sans Orchid and Kyra. She knew that Kyra likely needed to reflect on her actions for today and Orchid... Was probably asleep somewhere. Parum knew orcs were strange people, but she never realized just how odd they were until she met him. Perhaps he's just an oddity among orcs? Either way Parum focused on the governor and the others. The Governor didn't beat around the bush: he wanted to use the information they gained in some way. Brannor spoke the simplest plan: Find the camp and the hatchery, and destroy both. Easier said than done of course, but at least they had a clue of their existance. But Torus was right too: They need rest.

"We need to find their hatchery and cause as much damage as we can. We can't hope to defeat their forces with what we have here, but if we can cause mayhem with their precious hatchery that may give us more time to withstand their assault. But we certainly can't do that today. While we still live I've exhausted all the magic within me and no doubt the others are running low on energy as well. We need rest, at least for the night, before we can even begin searching for the camp and the nest." Parum glanced towards Torus at his request for more soldiers to accompany them. While Parum would certainly like to have numbers on her side, she shook her head.
"If we leave now we'll die tired. And if we try to muster a force out we'll die en masses. We know that a nest exists and that their camp should be easy enough to find, but until we actually find their camp and nest we shouldn't move in a large force. The fortress is already short on manpower as it is, depriving them of more will simply make it easier for the bulk of the enemy to overtake the fortress. We need to rest and recuperate, gather what resources that could be spared, and find our targets. Stir discord and confusion among the enemy. Only once they are disorganized could we possibly strike back against them with our meager forces. But not while we're at the disadvantage."

Sergeant Longwater could not help but smile as the heroes of the night one by one offered their aid to Greenest in the near future, and to be fair once Parum had spoken a faint excuse of a one could momentarily be noticed on that damaged features of the governor as well. But if one missed that split second, it was long gone. The older man had listened to each of the present adventurers sharing their view on it and once they had done just that, he was ready to share what he himself had thought: "I had dared dream that you would offer your aid in finding their camp. Good to see that the hopes of an old governor are not something to discard as flight of fancy!" Having joined the conversation once more, he headed to the edge of the battlements and motioned the adventurers to join him.

"While I would love to send a few of my guard out there with you, you have seen with your own eyes what has happened to our town. We need most, if not all of my men to rebuild. Judging by the words of the prisoner, they have no intention of returning. And what would they even have to gain?" He shook his head, before turning to face the trio instead of his beloved town. "I cannot offer much aid for striking at their camp, but come morning I should have been able to gather all the supplies you may need. I have a feeling they won't be staying around that much longer... there are fires all around. They must have had the chance to go through the belongings of my fine people by now. Thieves and no-goods..." It was evident that the situation hurt the governor more than just the sum of his wounds.

As the man sighed, sergeant Longwater interjected from the side: "But indeed, I would also like to suggest you to rest and prepare for tomorrow. If the Governor is right, you might well need to move early." That was all he had to say to the two men and the halfling, as he next moved to the governor's side. "Governor Nighthill, sir, I would suggest you to rest as well..." he suggested to the leader.

The governor was having none of it. "Nonsense. I will not rest if the good people of Greenest are still out there. If they can stay awake, so can I! They need a leader now, not some old man snoozing away while they look for guidance."

@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Registering the weight of words exchanged, the druid suffered the thorns of enervation and exhaustion, seeping through the hoary cracks of his venerable constitution.

Yet, he remained enamored by the stamina of the Governor.

“We could no more abandon this town of Greenest than the stars could possibly vacate this dark sky.”

Noticing Nighthill's maturity rivaling that of the sailor’s, the tongue ring offered its remarks, as each cold exhalation wavered as smoky incense in the air, with every passed breath while a chin nodded in subdued thought.

“If you cannot spare one soul for the hunt in the morn, at least, heed your sergeant’s omen, and pardon yourself from the worry of this anxious eve. Hibernation has its value in the deep sleep of winter. Allow morale, though aslumber, to rekindle fresh, to a new sunrise. Even, the most dutiful bee rests with the hive, before dancing amongst pollen again the next daybreak. Your people will note the worsening erosion on your face, for the mind will have to eventually submit to a weathered body.”

Stumbling feet began to pace in concert with his Tethyrian fang, conjuring a gallop upon the citadel’s roof. His stride was purposeful, heading in the direction of the spiral stairwell, only to hesitate to allow a raven's curious glance, peeking around from a beard, to visually capture the crew once more, while the pirate did not flicker from his position.

“However, I truly understand your tender devotion to your flock. One cannot be heralded a good shepherd, if he does not dream and long for his lost sheep to return to the fold once more. Judgment sensed greatness upon your wing. As do I. In the soil of your leadership sprout the seeds of victory, but only if they remain dormant, nestling in the bosom of the land's retreat, to finally emerge in due season.”

The crow disappeared back into the whiskers, whilst the swashbuckler muttered, descending the stony helix to the staccato of briny boots and a white staff.

“Nothing of nature nor of mortals can stand forever.”

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

"Take your leave when you can," The huntsman mentioned in what one could assume was casual for him in both gesture and tone, removing a hand from the stonework and motioning to the side leading back down to the keep's stairs, "I will think nothing less of your doing so."

It replaced itself thereafter, leaving the unusual, towering paladin back where he was to begin with. The words, like anything else about him, were as forthcoming and as direct as they could be; conjured from a place of honesty, even if it were blunt and with relative if not absolute disregard for station. He was an outsider to Greenest, even if he were one of its "saviors", but more than anything a man well outside the line of the realm and its dominion. Not that he was evading them with some criminal purpose, instead it was born of his very person and relation to the world around him. It was a simple matter of necessity to be as far from these things as possible. This gave great weight of reason to those times when Brannor was called to places such as this city, even if he knew no conscious reason. Wanderer or not by blood, he had not the opportunity or drive to delve into the finer intricacies that came with civilized folk and their magnitudes of authority.

The times like this, where real danger was afoot - or at least had been earlier on in the night, particularly with the blue scaled fiend - there was no time to care as to who was who; only what was what mattered. If man or woman needed rest, they took it. If they took it at the cost of others and added peril, there was none to blame but them for that. Undoubtedly if Governor Nighthill, as battered as he was still, took his rest someone would step in for him if not his armed and armored liaison who joined them here out in the night air.

"I doubt many would argue at this hour as it were..." The whisper spoken beneath breath still was throatily rumbled by Brannor thereafter, looking over the town.

The druid, or some form of naturalistic wizard as he too might have been, the savage only wondering now truly what the man was or did, offered his elaborations in the meantime, capturing the present audience in his characteristically bizarre and esoteric speech. Torus was an odd man, even among men, while Parum and Orchid were both familiar - the same for Longwater and Nighthill. He was the tipping, perhaps slightly addled wisdom to the naïve intellect and personable persistence of the halfling. Orchid and himself? They were, for lack of better words, violent spirits by nature - the half blood seemed to thrill for battle, but posed a sort of practicality and insightfulness not known or expected among orcs. Brannor was his own animal, something intense and focused, inherently otherworldly.

Kyra? The young priestess was their outlier in her own way. She like the other two more naturally inclined fellows clearly had some relation to the Silver Lady's will, some all too familiar. Perhaps when they rested and set out on what would surely be a long walk there would be time to discern just what this all meant, but now? Now the question came to mind where the other two wandered off to. Not that they were departing as of yet, such an effort would have been suicidal from fatigue alone, rather that they needed to be aware of just what was being said here.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Kyra and her father soon parted ways. Though relieved that she was well, her father had suffered a few minor injuries on his way to the fortress. Nothing deadly, but he certainly wasn't going to be able to fight well. After Kyra found him a place to rest she left him to heal while she wandered the fortress. She was lost in thought about her father's words and what she was suppose to do. IN a way they almost seemed contradictory: She wasn't suppose to let her anger consume her, but she still needed to pursue these people. Her hated enemy. Of course she also understood that the point of her father's words, and probably everyone else who keeps talking to her, was that she needed to think clearly. While she may have the perfect plan to kill as many of those robbers as she could given her resources, it ultimately wouldn't be helpful in saving Greenest. She just wished she knew what else she could do. Her magic wasn't nearly strong enough to defeat all her foes or save everyone. She only had so many arrows. What could she do?

"Well... I guess the first thing I can do is figure out what the others have learned." It's been some time since Kyra left the interrogation room, and hopefully the others had managed to get some meaningful information from their prisoner. And if not, than Kyra hoped that her death was painful and excruciating. To that end she needed to find one of the others to speak to, ideally Brannor. Kyra didn't want to have to decipher Torus's archaic linguistic, nor sit through Parum's lecture about Kyra's behavior. Orchid was nice enough but Kyra knows he wasn't the sharpest arrow in the quivver, and thus Brannor was Kyra's target. He seemed logical enough to speak plainly to Kyra, while at the same time isn't as condescending as Parum is. Blunt as he may be, Kyra could respect his honesty. If she had to guess Brannor was probably with the governor, and after asking around she learned that the governor was last seen on the ramparts. Kyra headed on over there, and sure enough she met Brannor on the way to the walls.

"Brannor. Anything important that the prisoner had spoken about?"

@The Harbinger of Ferocity