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Johnathon stepped into the line of groups heading towards the gates, motioning for the others to follow him. They'd moved up a few spaces and the guards had begun to relax a little when an ungodly roaring seemed to shake the ground beneath them. Preceded by a chattering of nails and a beating of feet something akin to that of a horse, a shadow passed over the group. Reflexively, John looked up to catch what looked to be a furry man soaring over the palisade wall. For a moment, he was jealous that their own exit wasn't so simple, and then realization of what he'd seen had kicked in. Was that monster the cause of the fire? It was certainly responsible for the strange movements of the guard they had observed. The man crying wolf suddenly made a lot more sense. His attention was called away from the sky by the sound of something splashing against the cobblestone, and when John looked down he was almost sick at the sight of Adrian vomiting. He turned away sharply, with an exasperated groan. While he reeled, a panic had overtaken most of the crowd. Some rushed back into the town, others rushed the gates, all trying to get to safety after seeing, of all things, a werewolf in their vicinity. A veritable torrent of guards arrived late behind the wolf, flooding the plaza with some groups demanding passage in order to chase the monster. The quiet, tense air of the plaza was gone now, replaced by the shouting of several factions all desperately vying for the door. The poor handful of guards actually manning it had given up or been forced to, and John called to the group, "If we're leaving we'd best shove our way in now!" He hoped the others would keep up, and joined the chaotic mass of people on their way out the main gate. He jostled past a few armed guards and some rough looking gentlemen who gave him a foul look, and ended up safely on the other side. He pressed his back against the palisade, breathing out, and began to scan around for his comrades in the mess. The guards, meanwhile, were not stupid enough to chase into the forests but began to fan out in small squads along the palisade. Their attention was far away from catching any rogues and brigands in the city at this point, but rather making sure whatever beast had attacked them didn't make a second pass at the walls.
Alrighty, see you around.
The guardsman staggered back, he was green but he wasn't going to let some monster walk up his sword. Anger cleared his mind in a refreshing way. The spite it had shown his captain would have drove him to lash out if he wasn't having a hard time standing up. Before he could even pull his sword arm back and make a swing at the monster bearing down at him it was upon him. He yelped and tried to leap backwards, but Soah's strike landed across his face. His sight was all at once red and his mind scattered by pain. A sickening warmth ran across his face and his extremities immediately felt cold. The guard was staggered back and he fell with a tremendous thump and rattle of his chain to the ground. He writhed there, hands flying to his mangled face. Before the fight could progress, newly summoned guards arrived, bearing crossbows and spears at the report of 'By all the fucking gods get to the docks.' The men at the front knelt down and fired their volley of bolts immediately in the general direction of the monstrous looking man standing by a butchered guard and a screaming one. The other set turned away the lightly armed Arcarti sailors and prepared spears in the event that crossbows weren't enough to detain whatever it was that had sent a soldier of the guard in utter hysterics to the barracks.
The young guardsman raced forward as he saw Soah rear back, aiming to protect his crippled leader's life. Even at the distance he'd been standing from the two, he was too slow to intervene. It was suicide to look away, even for a second, and the only thing he could take solace in was that the man died quickly. He backed up even further, pulling away and keeping his sword raised. No words now, not that he could have spoken through his chattering teeth, gagged by the smell of blood that now filled the street with the dying rasps of the senior guardsman. Nothing he'd ever seen before compared, the grizzly, hairy man before him was from the stories of the drunken sailors and wanderers, the stuff of myths and those dubious folks that meddled with the spiritual. Composing himself was too generous a term, but the new guard made himself ready, taking his sword in both hands and waiting for the best. Shouts sounding around them signaled that help was coming. The Arcartis didn't quite understand what they'd seen before but they understood the sight of a town guard with half his viscera poured out over the ground. As the rookie guard held his ground, the few among the sailors that had their straight swords pulled their weapons and ran towards the two at the behest of their officers.
"I've seen parts of the town's stockade from the pier. If the front doors are closed we could double back and climb out," John chuckled nervously at the very idea. That wasn't going to happen with the guard as alert as it was, but it was something to do if their plans fell apart. He followed after Griff as they went through the alleyways, weaving around building supplies and trash left in the pathways. At the end of the alleyway, a quartet of armored guards sprinted by down the narrow road, not even glancing in the group's direction as they raced for the harbor. Apparently, there was less focus on the perimeter of the town than one would expect. "Something terrible must be happening. I almost feel bad running off but I've seen an Arcarti stockade before and I can assure all of you that we'd be better off leaving," John said, surprised at how out of breath he was simply running through alleys and side roads. Finally, their minor road spilled out onto a plaza in front of Aldrun's main gate. Several guards stood in the passageway through the thick wooden palisades, looking out. Most of the guard had displaced and ran towards the center, either fighting the fire or what else, John didn't care to contemplate. Thankfully, they weren't alone. Several bands of rugged looking civilians, obviously travelers, mercenaries, or the other people expressly interested in leaving Aldrun were gathered around and slowly filtering towards the gate. The guards were checking over the groups loosely, asking a couple of questions, but so far there were no signs of violence at the gate. John looked around, waiting for the group's decision, both Crom and Griff seemed to know their way around unpleasantness like this far better than he did.
"I've seen parts of the town's stockade from the pier. If the front doors are closed we could double back and climb out," John chuckled nervously at the very idea. That wasn't going to happen with the guard as alert as it was, but it was something to do if their plans fell apart. He followed after Griff as they went through the alleyways, weaving around building supplies and trash left in the pathways. At the end of the alleyway, a quartet of armored guards sprinted by down the narrow road, not even glancing in the group's direction as they raced for the harbor. Apparently, there was less focus on the perimeter of the town than one would expect. "Something terrible must be happening. I almost feel bad running off but I've seen an Arcarti stockade before and I can assure all of you that we'd be better off leaving," John said, surprised at how out of breath he was simply running through alleys and side roads. Finally, their minor road spilled out onto a plaza in front of Aldrun's main gate. Several guards stood in the passageway through the thick wooden palisades, looking out. Most of the guard had displaced and ran towards the center, either fighting the fire or what else, John didn't care to contemplate. Thankfully, they weren't alone. Several bands of rugged looking civilians, obviously travelers, mercenaries, or the other people expressly interested in leaving Aldrun were gathered around and slowly filtering towards the gate. The guards were checking over the groups loosely, asking a couple of questions, but so far there were no signs of violence at the gate. John looked around, waiting for the group's decision, both Crom and Griff seemed to know their way around unpleasantness like this far better than he did.
The guard was surprised to see the man take the hit without so much as a flinch. He turned his wrist, trying to bring his sword around to a fighting stance even as his arm was extended, instinctively and now quite lucidly he understood that nothing was right. The man's hand had stopped his own, and it hardly looked human. The guard's eyes dashed over to the man's face, and he froze to see the radical changes that Soah had undergone. His expression didn't remain locked for long though, as his arm was pulled down and snapped out of place with an ear-rending smack emanating from his shoulder. He groaned in agony, his left hand racing to his hip and fumbling for his knife. He dropped the steel instrument onto the floor, still reeling. His compatriots were dumbfounded by what they were seeing. The younger of the two greenish constables dropped his length of chain and ran off down the road, screaming hysterically, "Wolf man! Wolf man!" The other man stood there, holding his sword out at length towards Soah. An absolute silence had fallen in the bustling street, as several groups of shocked Arcarti sailors watched the spectacle, not quite sure what they were looking at. The remaining guard trembled but remained firm. "A crew of the crown's men is right over there. I don't give a damn what you are, you kill that man and we'll see your head outside the the wall." He lowered his chin, glaring defiantly at the turning werewolf.
Johnathon had no idea what they were getting into but it seemed dangerous and he ill-wanted to spend another turn in Arcartus' 'hospitality'. He quickly made his way around the bar, following Griff into the ale room. The smell of alcohol was revolting to the man, but he tucked his head down and kept with the group. In a way it was relieving to see that the rest of the building was just as beaten up at the front, and he cursed the sawdust on the ground for getting inside of his shoes. He could finally breathe again when he staggered out into the alley, looking around nervously and half expecting a company of regulars to be waiting for them. Much to his surprise, they were alone. A man blabbering incoherently about wolf man ran by the entrance to the alleyway, and John seized momentarily until he realized that the man hadn't seen him. He settled up against the wall of the alleyway, trying to cut a low profile, and looked to the others. "If we just get onto the streets they'll take us for normal citizens right?" His eyes finally caught sight of the smoke and he stopped talking. There was an impressive fire at the foot of that column. No wonder the guards were out in force.
Johnathon had no idea what they were getting into but it seemed dangerous and he ill-wanted to spend another turn in Arcartus' 'hospitality'. He quickly made his way around the bar, following Griff into the ale room. The smell of alcohol was revolting to the man, but he tucked his head down and kept with the group. In a way it was relieving to see that the rest of the building was just as beaten up at the front, and he cursed the sawdust on the ground for getting inside of his shoes. He could finally breathe again when he staggered out into the alley, looking around nervously and half expecting a company of regulars to be waiting for them. Much to his surprise, they were alone. A man blabbering incoherently about wolf man ran by the entrance to the alleyway, and John seized momentarily until he realized that the man hadn't seen him. He settled up against the wall of the alleyway, trying to cut a low profile, and looked to the others. "If we just get onto the streets they'll take us for normal citizens right?" His eyes finally caught sight of the smoke and he stopped talking. There was an impressive fire at the foot of that column. No wonder the guards were out in force.
Something accumulated over years on the watch told him that something was wrong. An imperceptible change in the situation that weighed heavily in his gut. He wasn't going to let some boy-faced barfly hold him away from his job, especially not if the man didn't look like he was from these parts. The guardsman reared back, looking to his fellows and nodding. One of the men drew his sword and the other produced a length of slim chain to serve as a restraint. He himself turned back to Soah and advanced on the man. The other guards seemed rather relaxed, given the situation, they had no intent to pursue the man if he ran and felt they'd only be dealing with a bowled over tavern patron come the fight. There was no point starting a bloodbath in the streets but he need into the inn before whatever brigand they were really chasing could slip away out, if by some stroke of luck he was actually at the Mast. "Warned you," he growled, and with one last step forward brought his sword arm back and forward, making a sharp swing with the pommel at the side of the man's head.
John continued to smile as the group affirmed an interest in traveling together. Griff called attention to Crom's blade and he found himself noting the ornate nature of the sword for the first time. He hadn't an eye for weaponry, so he wasn't sure if Griff was complimenting it or if all that decoration made it a show piece. Either way, the man was built like a castle, and he felt confident, rather dearly hoped, that his new guide would have been effective if armed with a twig. An inconvenient truth was that the mountains would soon be swarming with more banditry than usual, and if they got all the way into the heartlands, well, those were just myths. They could avoid the deep woods anyway.
The bartender appeared when called, cleaning a recently used mug with a ragged looking cloth. "Door eh?" He cocked his head, looking up and thinking primarily about how to answer the patron. It was no secret that something was afoot, half his customers had just run out and now there was some altercation taking place at this doors. The store room did open to the alleys through a set of heavy double doors, all the better to wheel in kegs with. He didn't know what had happened outside, but between lying to the guard and lying to someone who just might be the reason the bells were still ringing there was one clearly safer choice. "The ale room goes into the alleys, yeah. It's not my head, though. If the guard gets in here asking questions... well, I've got a family to look out for y'know?" He jerked his head towards the dimly let passage behind the bar in a simple gesture: Get out.
John continued to smile as the group affirmed an interest in traveling together. Griff called attention to Crom's blade and he found himself noting the ornate nature of the sword for the first time. He hadn't an eye for weaponry, so he wasn't sure if Griff was complimenting it or if all that decoration made it a show piece. Either way, the man was built like a castle, and he felt confident, rather dearly hoped, that his new guide would have been effective if armed with a twig. An inconvenient truth was that the mountains would soon be swarming with more banditry than usual, and if they got all the way into the heartlands, well, those were just myths. They could avoid the deep woods anyway.
The bartender appeared when called, cleaning a recently used mug with a ragged looking cloth. "Door eh?" He cocked his head, looking up and thinking primarily about how to answer the patron. It was no secret that something was afoot, half his customers had just run out and now there was some altercation taking place at this doors. The store room did open to the alleys through a set of heavy double doors, all the better to wheel in kegs with. He didn't know what had happened outside, but between lying to the guard and lying to someone who just might be the reason the bells were still ringing there was one clearly safer choice. "The ale room goes into the alleys, yeah. It's not my head, though. If the guard gets in here asking questions... well, I've got a family to look out for y'know?" He jerked his head towards the dimly let passage behind the bar in a simple gesture: Get out.
What luck, it seemed everyone wanted out of this town. John glanced over his shoulder at the windows, and the silhouettes running frantically beyond them, and figured he couldn't blame anybody for looking outwards at this point. "I would hope cooler heads prevail; but you're right Griff. If there's going to be war it's best to travel together. All the better if we're all going to the same place," he said, happily looking between the members of the group. Saying another man's name reminded him that he hadn't introduced himself yet, and they probably hadn't overheard it while he'd been talking to Crom earlier. It wasn't a particularly hard name to guess, but still. "How rude of me, I'm John Wenigsten, by the way," he said, "pleased to meet you both, and even more to have you for traveling acquaintances." Quite so, Griff was confident in traveling through his own backyard, and the boy Adrian had an obvious enthusiasm for adventure. He recognized it as the same lust that had once driven himself to the road. Crom and Adrian seemed to be regarding the door, and it only then occurred to him that the guards would be making rounds if a ship really did explode in the harbor. His last experience with Arcarti hospitality was still enough to bring a scowl to his face at the memory, but these guardsmen were more northerners than they were imperial hands with any luck.
He didn't normally respond to drunken banter from men at tavern doors; they'd knocked down a few on their way into the establishments of Aldrun's port district today, but maybe that number was what put curiosity into him. A hot temper and a desire to know what exactly made people so god damn uncooperative chose his actions. "Aye, but the people of Aldrun pay me handsomely to keep the peace. You seem sober enough to me, so I'm gonna give you the chance to step away before I put you in the irons," the guardsman leaned in and said, his voice low and steady. He drew his sword and held it at his side, a battered broadsword of the rugged local make. A keeper of the peace did not draw his steel on a man who made no threat with a clear conscience, but there was little time before the Arcarti ex-sailors, still buzzing about with their heads full of wonder at the audacity of this attack, would start asking why he and his followers were not kicking down doors. The guards flanking him stood back and grasped their swords, eying Soah and praying their watch partner would opt for just pushing the man aside before a fiasco turned into a disaster.
He didn't normally respond to drunken banter from men at tavern doors; they'd knocked down a few on their way into the establishments of Aldrun's port district today, but maybe that number was what put curiosity into him. A hot temper and a desire to know what exactly made people so god damn uncooperative chose his actions. "Aye, but the people of Aldrun pay me handsomely to keep the peace. You seem sober enough to me, so I'm gonna give you the chance to step away before I put you in the irons," the guardsman leaned in and said, his voice low and steady. He drew his sword and held it at his side, a battered broadsword of the rugged local make. A keeper of the peace did not draw his steel on a man who made no threat with a clear conscience, but there was little time before the Arcarti ex-sailors, still buzzing about with their heads full of wonder at the audacity of this attack, would start asking why he and his followers were not kicking down doors. The guards flanking him stood back and grasped their swords, eying Soah and praying their watch partner would opt for just pushing the man aside before a fiasco turned into a disaster.
Johnathon sighed as the tension in the room ratcheted down. His gesturing had been for nothing, and Crom was even passing out drinks. He turned around and withdrew to the table he'd previously been sitting at. He fetched up his bag and his sign, slinging them over his shoulder and under his arm. A man emerged from a table to brush past the group quickly forming at the bar, bumping into a man and rushing outside. For a moment he wondered what that was about, especially considering that tavern wasn't as packed as it could have been. He shook his head and finished gathering his things, walking over towards the bar where the meet and greet was happening. The man had seen a fire down at the docks and the boy speculated the cause was an explosion aboard a ship. He dearly hoped it hadn't been the ferry that had shipped him up the coast, they had been nice enough people. The people in front of him were varied, definitely. The boy cut a wild look in that fur cloak, contrasting sharply with the well dressed man beside him. Crom completed the circle with his rugged, militaristic appearance. Then there was patchwork John. He'd had his fill of watching the bar while waiting for someone to see his sign. "Hopefully the town has a fire brigade, that fire might spread down the pier if the wind comes in," He chimed in as he came up alongside the group, withdrawing a blank patch from his bag. This would be worth stitching later and he'd have to start holding them in his head. "By any chance, are any of you lot planning to travel west?"
Outside, the town ran ragged. Arcarti troops ran about in their gray-green fatigues, some still pulling their equipment on as they emerged from taverns to muster before a handful of furious looking corporals. All at once a cozy assignment to a town as far from political meandering with the LET as possible went from a routine aid run to the mountain guards to counter-revolutionary duties. One of their few horses had already been sent running south as the rest of the former good ship Roumont's crew watched her burn. The regulars were being counted and sorted; the town's guard garrison was left to search the town. The assumption being that, of course, only someone among the ship's crew could have possibly gotten aboard. If they could scare the unknown perpetrator into flight they'd have found their mark. The Sailor's Mast was next on the chopping block, and as Soah set himself up at the doors a trio of guards emerged from the next-door tavern to approach the Mast. Secondary explosions resounded within the scorched hull of the crippled ship as the chain mail clad constables stepped up. "Stand aside, there's a traitor afoot and he's to be rooted out," the man said curtly, placing a hand on his sword hilt.
Outside, the town ran ragged. Arcarti troops ran about in their gray-green fatigues, some still pulling their equipment on as they emerged from taverns to muster before a handful of furious looking corporals. All at once a cozy assignment to a town as far from political meandering with the LET as possible went from a routine aid run to the mountain guards to counter-revolutionary duties. One of their few horses had already been sent running south as the rest of the former good ship Roumont's crew watched her burn. The regulars were being counted and sorted; the town's guard garrison was left to search the town. The assumption being that, of course, only someone among the ship's crew could have possibly gotten aboard. If they could scare the unknown perpetrator into flight they'd have found their mark. The Sailor's Mast was next on the chopping block, and as Soah set himself up at the doors a trio of guards emerged from the next-door tavern to approach the Mast. Secondary explosions resounded within the scorched hull of the crippled ship as the chain mail clad constables stepped up. "Stand aside, there's a traitor afoot and he's to be rooted out," the man said curtly, placing a hand on his sword hilt.
And we have a map. We're a proper, bona fide fantasy thread now.
Johnathon's eyes lit up as Crom accepted his payment. He smiled deeply, relieved beyond words that he'd found a way out of this mess. Once they were over the mountains he'd probably even leave the rest of his money with Crom anyway, a gratitude and a safety. Intuition stated that Arcarti currency, despite being the obvious standard, would soon draw untoward attention in many western countries. Even contemplating the tensions on the continent wasn't enough to bring down his spirits, he bolted to his feet, almost making to shake the man's hand in gratitude when Crom called to the man having trouble with his drink. Johnathon froze in time with the other patrons of the inn at the boy's reply. He'd seen plenty of bar fights over slights at mothers in his day. Oh dear, he thought, his gaze shifting rapidly between Crom and the boy. Admittedly, he was more concerned about walking away with his guide without the town constabulary asking questions about a dead man at the Mast. Between the two of them, there wasn't much of a fight to be had, but with any luck there wouldn't be a fight. None of them had traded so much as a glare yet, just some japes, but he still intended to quell any bloodshed before it began. The kid deserved his life and he, frankly, deserved the guide he just paid for. Everyone won that way. "Seems they're born feisty up here," he said loudly, chuckling nervously to himself and clapping his hands together, walking away from the table and just so slightly putting himself between Crom and the cloaked boy at the bar. "And what are you all staring at? Just two men trading jests, clearly," he said, turning on his heel to address as many of the Mast's glaring patrons as he could. They weren't going to play along, and the silence of the inn continued as all parties awaited what came next.
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