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FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Iliskra inhaled and exhaled sharply, ignoring the blistering cold that passed over her teeth and down her gullet making her chest burn. She turned her head round and about, looking over her company as the ragtag band trudged on steadily with the rumbling wagon. Most everyone maintained the steely faces and silence they had shown since leaving early that morning. What idle talking that had been done was mostly earlier in the day, and mostly between the strange man with the mask at his hip and whomever would entertain time with him. The brute with the large blade had apparently made an impression on several of the younger sword-arms in the bunch, three of which were gathered near him and spoke amongst themselves during the trek east. The Helmite woman kept to herself much like Iliskra did, eyes steely and focused on keeping watch on the roadside and along the River Ashaba that currented several yards out from the road. The two halflings stayed shoulder-to-shoulder as did the two dwarves. The grizzled wizard and most of the rest of the hirelings kept a distance among them. Everyone for the most part it seemed was solely focused on finding Lord Hastlon’s man and getting to the encampment soon, a sentiment Iliskra shared. Though she did not let it show Iliskra’s legs were growing weary due to the hard march through the slick snow, having to keep her footing firm and putting extra weight into her steps to avoid slipping and falling. The twenty travelers had not made it far past the crossing to Scarsdeep before the first complaint was heard - bursting from the mouth of one of the swordsmen that trudged along near the heavily armored man.

“How much further can it be? This man we’re looking for surely couldn’t be anywhere near to the city…”

“Hopefully nothing happened to him,” said another, “I don’t want to have to go tramping through these hills and thickets looking for a hidden camp.”

“He should be somewhere near.” the wagon driver spoke up for the first time in a while. “Everyone just keep your eyes wide.”

Iliskra’s head swiveled on her shoulders, her keen eyes darting in their sockets like minnows in the shallows as she looked over every bramble, grove of trees, and row of bushes she could see. Something felt wrong. Iliskra could not say what but her instincts were on edge, she immediately noticed the lack of any noticeable sounds around them. The chirping of birds and tittering of squirrels that had been a constant since leaving Chandlerscross had ceased rather suddenly it seemed. Everyone else noticed it too, the driver yanked the reigns of his pull-horse making the overly piled wagon come to a groaning stop. Iliskra and all the other hirelings stopping in unison, hands coming to rest on weapon hilts and shafts.

“Something’s wrong.” Said the huntsman in brown that had joined the band, stating the obvious. “The woods are suddenly so still.”

“Maybe it’s us?” grunted one of the mercenaries inquisitively.

“So suddenly the woods do not take to us?” the Helmite woman asked with a raised brow. “After the whole of the day?”

“There is someone… or something… nearby.” said one of the halflings carefully.

Iliskra heard a sharp whistling sound - her hair prickling - followed by a thunk. A sharp cry of pain tore out from among the band, Iliskra’s mace and dagger coming free from their sheaths as the half-elf crouched into a defensive posture - turning her head towards the source of the scream. It was the wagon driver - the man lurched forward suddenly in his seat before tilting off to one side and falling down into the snow with a sploosh near Leon. From the drivers’ chest, right over where his heart would be, sprouted the unmistakable shape of a crossbow bolt.

“Ambush!” someone yelled. Swords and other weapons came up as everyone scrambled about, looking for where the shot came from and preparing to defend themselves. Iliskra heard more whistling sounds followed by the Helmite woman shouting, “Watch yourselves!” She raised her shield, two bolts ricocheting off and landed in the snow. Two bolts hit the wagon missing their mark - the man with the mask. One of the mercenaries near the heavily armored man crumpled to the ground suddenly - a bolt lodged between his eyes. The young huntsman took a knee and hastily strung his bow, looking the treeline off to the left of the road where the first bolt seemed to have come from. Iliskra saw as the young man’s head suddenly tilted back, his bow dropping to the snow as his arms flailed and he shouted in frightened confusion. It was as if some unseen force had grabbed hold of him. A red slash appeared across his throat and blood began to pour down across his shoulders and chest, the young man collapsing over to one side gurgling as the life seeped from him. As she saw the unmistakable scurrying of something moving in the snow away from the dying man Iliskra shouted, “Invisibility, they’re using invisibility magic!”

A crossbow bolt struck the side of the towering swordsman’s helmet, bouncing off with a pang and causing the oaf to stumble forward by three steps. “Cowards!” he bellowed as he steadied himself, “Come and face us!” As if in response there was a sudden cacophony of shouting as ten figures came charging out from the treeline toward the road with swords and maces raised over their heads. Eight humans and two very large orcs with ruddy-tan skin. Brigands. Iliskra thought, noting their mismatched assortment of leather and mail armor and the unkempt, shaggy appearance of the humans. The orcs bared their upward jutted tusks, their beady yellow eyes filled with savagery as they lead the howling charge down the small ridge. The oaf swordsman raised his broadsword and dashed forward to meet the attackers directly, followed close by half of the hirelings - the rest staying back near the wagon. Iliskra caught site of a line of footprints streaking across the snow with no feet to make them - the invisible attacker. And they were moving straight for the mask-bearing man and the wagon. Iliskra shouted a warning as she would not reach the unseen foe in time before they reached him.

Shu’s Character Catalogue

碇ナツミ

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Female | Aged Nineteen | (H) 4’11” (150 cm) - (W) 100 lbs (45.359 kg)

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Short Summary ~ Ikari Natsumi is the second child and sole daughter of Ikari Masato, head of the Ikari clan and a vassal to the Saitō clan. Born on a windy mid-year day graced by a shining golden sun she was given the fitting name of Natsumi, “beautiful summer”. Natsumi was raised alongside her brother, Masato’s heir, and was afforded all the education and other privileges of her families’ wealthy status. Natsumi’s father ensured his daughter was also mentored in swordsmanship, Natsumi at times trained alongside her brother who was instructed in the ways of bushido. As a youth Natsumi was very close to her brother and father and many would describe her as tender and bright-eyed girl. As she aged she became firmer and at times some would call her “distant” and “aloof” but she retained her inner kindness and the warmth she showed to those closest to her.

When she came to adulthood Natsumi was intended to be married to an ideal suitor, as expected of a proper woman. Ikari Masato wished to see his daughter married to a good and honorable man while also intent on a marriage that came with the benefits of an alliance with a notable clan. At one point Natsumi was meant to be betrothed to Takeda Nobuchika, the younger son of Takeda Shingen - which would have been a substantial political gain for both the Ikari and their Saitō overlords. However, Shingen ultimately declined the proposal. Later Natsumi was officially betrothed to a minor retainer of the Kitabatake clan however he was slain by bandits while on his way home from pilgrimage a month before the wedding was to be held.

Eager to be married and see duty to her clan fulfilled and her father elated Natsumi waited in a state of “discontent patience” as her father continued to search for a proper husband. And then the war with the Oda came. Oda Nobunaga, the fool of Owari - eager to claim Mino from the Saitō - has for many seasons now lain siege to the province. Saitō Tatsuoki has been unable to drive back the Oda and his retainers have even begun to defect as the Oda beat the Saitō time and again. The Ikari remain loyal to the Saitō however and Natsumi and her brother will soon find their world forever changed as the Saitō are brought to their knees and Mino succumbs to the will of Nobunaga.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

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NIGHTAL 2, 1372 DR
WEST OF SCARDALE TOWN

A night as a guest for one of the most prominent men in Scardale was a welcome occurrence for a hotchpotch of wayfarers, mercenaries, and common brutes. The evening meal was nothing short of delectable and was served with more Arabellan Dry - the servants politely encouraging the visitors not to overindulge, which most avoided doing. The beds were soft and comfortable and every room had a fireplace that burned through the night keeping the cold away. A pleasant change for those accustomed to camping in the woods or sleeping in cheap, ratty inn beds. Throughout the night the guards kept close watch over the guest house and grounds and much to Lord Hastlon’s contentment there had been no sign of thieving efforts and nothing was missing come morning - the nobleman’s guests taking his words of warning close to mind it seemed. That and he imagined there were some among them who, while daring by nature, decided that filching trinkets from nightstands and drawers was not worth the trouble given what Hastlon had promised them.

Early the next morning after a short breakfast everyone had as expected assembled again in the foyer where Lord Hastlon went over things a second time. The nineteen of them would set out together heading east in the direction of Scardale Town where they would be met just a few miles west of the city by one of Lord Hastlon’s agents. The agent would direct them to the nearby base camp that would be used for staging actions within the city. When asked who would the lead of everything Lord Hastlon revealed that a man named “Breck” was in charge of overseeing efforts in Scardale Town. “You will receive your orders and tasks from Breck, who will in turn send progress reports to me as necessary while I handle affairs here in relation to Scardale Town. Breck will also be the one whom pays you all your coin and keeps the camp supplied, just something to note.”

“All you must do,” Hastlon explained, “is get to the base camp together. And from there Breck will be your guiding and financing hand alike.” When asked by the Helmite woman why they should all travel together, as it would slow them down, the nobleman pointed out that the closer to Scardale Town one got the more dangerous the road became and that he had no interest in casualties before the band even reached their forward encampment. “Once you pass the crossing near Scarsdeep the surrounding woodland and hills are infested with brigands and other refuse that were run out of the capital by more powerful forces. A large, heavily armed group of which there are also magic casters will prove far more intimidating than a small group of four or five.” Lord Hastlon stated. It made sense of course.

The band left Lord Hastlon’s estate soon after, dispersing among the streets to avoid drawing heavy attention as they all moved toward the eastern gate of the city. The morning air was bitterly cold and a light snowfall added some cover as few of the commonfolk were out in the city streets. The sun was just peeking over the far horizon as all the hirelings reassembled outside the city gates where they met with a large supply wagon which would accompany them to the encampment - a parting bit of information that Virjas had shared as he had seen everyone out the gates of the Hastlon Estate. The wagon driver was one of Hastlon’s men and assured the group he would deal with any guard patrols or overly curious passerby’s. The fact of the matter was that Lord Hastlon was quite obviously interested in keeping things under wraps, which Iliskra and many of the others found themselves in a way appreciating - even if guarded. The point of query was just who the noble Hastlon was keeping out of the know when it came to this whole matter.

The journey out across the dale was not quite as arduous as many had expected. The snowfall had ceased not long after the small company and the supply wagon were beyond eyesight of Chandlerscross which helped visibility. The snow that covered the ground was wet however which had formed a slush along the road and more than once the wagon had gotten stuck forcing several of the hirelings to push it free from the icy mud. The air was bitingly cold but the wind had ceased late in the morning which had made the lingering chill more tolerable as the day passed. The large group had just passed the crossing near Scardsdeep - a trade post that had in recent years begun to grow into a sizable settlement, particularly after Scardale Town descended into chaos. With the capital lost Scarsdeep had become the closest settlement in the dale to the sea - along with being so near to Sembia - and the population swelled. A patrol had met the group on the western side of the Scarsdeep crossing, the wagon driver lying and telling the six men they were heading into Scarsdeep after the patrol leader warned them to avoid the eastern reaches of the dale. Once the patrol was out of sight the wagon and accompanying mercenaries pressed on ahead. It was mid afternoon by now and everyone was keeping their eyes out for the agent that was supposed to guide them to where Hastlon’s men were encamped.

What Are You Listening To?

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Lord Hastlon’s hands came unbound from behind his back, his arms dropping at his sides. A glower creeped to the edges of his face though it did not overcome him, the nobleman remaining calm and prim at the direct and barbing question aimed at him. “If you wish for me to proclaim a set amount of gold that you will be given for assisting in the efforts of reclaiming Scardale Town then I am afraid I cannot do that.” Hastlon’s tone was flowing but tense. “I would not wish to pay a modest amount and then you all go above and beyond in your expected service. Of course I am hardly going to promise you bags of finely cut diamonds and rubies and your efforts be unworthy.” Hastlon ended with a smirk.

The nobleman was this time expecting perhaps two or three more of the arrivals to turn and leave, but none did - a welcome little surprise. Perhaps they for the most part appreciated the forwardness? Regardless, Hastlon immediately followed up this statement with another honeyed assurance. “I give you my promise that you will be paid handsomely in coin, and perhaps there are other rewards to be had if things go even better than I am so greatly hoping. In fact, an up front payment awaits you all just outside of Scardale Town.”

“What?” blurted out a warrior up front followed by several murmurs of both disbelief and curiosity.

“Indeed,” Lord Hastlon smiled, clasping his arms behind him again, “I sent a large shipment of supplies out yesterday to a small encampment that my agents have set outside of Scardale Town, which you will all use as a base camp for our efforts in the city. Among those supplies was a large shipment of gold - up front payment for those willing to hire on.”

“How much?” the heavily armored brute from earlier barked out.

Lord Hastlon smiled, “One thousand gold per hireling.”

Not at all bad. Iliskra thought to herself with an arched brow.

A clamor began to spread among the near twenty in the foyer to which Lord Hastlon sharply raised both hands up in a “halt” motion. “No more questions this eve. My steward, Virjas, will see you to the guest quarters for the night. As we speak proper meals are under preparation for you all and will be brought to your rooms. The added hospitality aforementioned by Virjas.” Lord Hastlon smiled crookedly. “Come morning you will assemble here again and have a proper sending off and then you will be guided to my agents’ encampment. From there they will direct you in the days and weeks to come. You will receive your tasks, expectations, and regular compensations from them.”

Lord Hastlon paused one last time, eyes passing over the crowd of hirelings. None turned to leave once again, all would remain it seemed. Most now had looks of contentment or at least calm reservation on their faces which suited Hastlon just fine.

“Follow Virjas then. Enjoy your meals and sleep well this night, for tomorrow you are in for a long, cold day. And… just know that the grounds are watched closely and my estate heavily guarded - by men and magic alike. Any thieves present will do well to remember this.” Lord Hastlon turned on his heels and with that dismissed himself, clomping back up the carpeted stairs as the heavyset steward scuttled down into the foyer and with a clap of his hands and a single waving indicated for everyone to follow him.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“You should not speak into an empty corner, people might think you are mad.”

The lithe form of the woman suddenly faded inwards as if she were stepping back into a dark shadow before disappearing right before Leon completely. The man would feel a slight sting as the right side of his neck was suddenly flicked by the unmistakable shape of a finger.

“Nor should you speak to a stranger in the shadows so carelessly, it is not a safe thing where I am from, human.”

The woman stood now behind Leon, completely disinterested in him for the most part - her eyes lain on Lord Hastlon as he spoke further, “Over the past several weeks I have dispatched agents to Scardale Town. They have… sent word on the goings on in the fallen city. The good people of the dale have no idea the danger and evils that fester within. Thieves and street gangs are the least of concerns now. I have since approached the governor and members of the council with this information and still they remain noncommittal.” Hastlon’s upper lipped and inner brow crinkled into a sneer. “I can no longer sit idle while gods-know-what stirs within our capital. And there are many others that feel the same.”

“And so you seek to hire adventurers and mercenaries to destroy the growing threat you speak of in Scardale Town.” the Helmite woman pointedly stated, many heads in the room turning to her and then back up to Lord Hastlon expectantly.

“Yes.” Hastlon replied flatly. “I wish it were something I was not compelled to do. I do loathe going beyond the governor and my fellows. But I cannot waste time appealing over and over while we sit vulnerable. I am a man of action.” A pause. “I do not expect all of you to reclaim the city entirely on your own. You will, should you all accept to be part of this, have my support and the support of my agents in this difficult endeavor. Not to mention there are many in the city itself who wish to see it free of the chaos that has gripped it so. And you have my word that you will all be greatly rewarded for your efforts and successes.”

“What are these ‘dangers’ and ‘evils’ of which you speak?” came a voice from the crowd followed by grumbles of added interest.

“I will leave the deeper details to my agents whom you will all meet when you arrive on the outskirts of the city,” Hastlon said carefully, “but I will tell you that there is a particular criminal organization that have quite ambitiously begun taking over the entire city in the past two months. And then there is also report of a new cult and wizard activity.”

More grumbles of uncertainty followed by a third person turning on their heels and marching toward the far door. Lord Hastlon stiffened visibly, eyes darting about the room, obviously looking for anyone else who may turn to leave. But no one did which made the noble relax after a moment.

He is keeping something from us all, Iliskra thought, I just wonder the gravity and implications of whatever it is.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Oi’, is that Lord Hastlon?” asked one man.

“No, you bucket, that’s the steward or… whatever e’ is.” snapped another.

Standing now at the diverging platform of the upward staircase at the back of the foyer was a rotund man of modest height with a short-cut white beard and poorly combed thinning hair to match. His cream-colored jerkin laced tight enough to present his girth in full and the golden breeches and sequined shoes he wore making him look quite dandyish. He was the one who had first allowed the armed arrivals into the mansion just short of an hour ago after everyone had been standing out in the cold for who knows how long. As all eyes rested on him the man raised his arms up halfway, palms facing downward. “Good evening,” the man began, his voice smooth and tone practiced, “I know you are all eager to see Lord Hastlon, to hear of this grand foray of his and the rewards to be had.”

Scattered grumbles flitted about the room.

“I apologize for my lord, he had a sudden affair that needed to be tended. He shall be down straight away. Your patience has been greatly appreciated as his lordship knows that this has been a long journey for some of you, particularly in this treacherous winter. I hope you all have enjoyed the wine, a well-aged Arabellan Dry!”

Damn, Iliskra thought slightly woefully, I do adore Arabellan Dry…

“Lord Hastlon has plenty more hospitality to offer, rest assured -…”

“That will do Virjas.”

The portly man’s voice stopped, his head turning to his right toward the top of the stairs - everyone else in the room following in suit. There stood without a doubt the man that had to be Lord Berald Hastlon, patron of the Hastlon noble house and one of the nine councilmen of the Scardale’s provisional government - known to many as the “government in exile”. Iliskra knew somewhat about the councilman and frankly his appearance fit quite well with the scattered murmurings and passing conversations she had picked up on him since coming to Scardale. He was tall and sturdily built, his wide shoulders and chest noticeable even in the heavy green dress coat and light brown vest he wore. His face was expressionless, cold one might even say. His sharp, thick brows, half-lidded eyes, and strong jaw gave him the look of an uncaring type. His neatly trimmed mustache and goatee painting a sort of refinement about him. He descended down the stairs, brisk but not in a show of hurriedness. Everyone had gone quiet, even the more mouthy of the mercenaries present.

The steward Virjas dipped his head humbly and stepped back as the nobleman took the center piece of the stairs. His narrowed eyes passed over the mottled collection of warriors, mages, rogues, and other sorts - his face betraying neither dissatisfaction or impressment. He simply took a moment to observe those that had answered his call for able venturers. The sun was nearly set and the small amount of light that bled through the purple stained class behind Lord Hastlon washed over him. This and the great chandelier that hung just overhead gave him an even more regal appearance.

“I see my call did not go ignored.” Hastlon stated the obvious with a wry half-smile, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am of course Lord Berald Hastlon, and I am the reason you are all here. Rather, I have a reason to have all of you here before me.”

Lord Hastlon let the sharp end of his opening remark hang over the crowd before continuing, “My reason for having you all here is because… there is a matter of grand import to me. Me and the folk of this dale.”

Another pause, and then he continued, “I have need of… worthy and capable sorts for an expedition, if you will. Perhaps it is better to call it a ‘plot’, but that is an ugly word, isn’t it?”

A stray chuckle from somewhere in the foyer.

“My interests lay in Scardale Town. Which some of you most likely know, if you pay any mind to affairs of the dale these days.”

Stray grumbles around the room, several people, including Iliskra, knew that Lord Hastlon and others on the council had been chomping at the bit ever since the fall of the dale’s capital - Scardale Town. Iliskra remembered two years ago when word spread of the plague that had stricken the coastal city and killed half of the people there. Not long after that chaos broke out, criminals and other armed sorts took to the streets and the government was driven into exile as it were - albeit an exile just up the river, here in Chandlerscross. Some were content with abandoning the city and leaving it to destroy itself in its’ current state of endless gang war and whatever else was going on within the wretched confines of the place. Others, such as Lord Hastlon, had been trying to stir the good people of the dale to retake their capital. Currently things stood at a standstill with the weak excuse of a governor unable to commit to a final stance on Scardale Town. Iliskra suddenly felt butterflies in her stomach and her heart quicken, Hastlon’s next words making her tense up greatly.

“I will spare you all the pomp and grandeur. I am sending this little… ‘effort’ east, into Scardale Town. That is of course, those of you who think yourself capable and willing of such a dangerous undertaking. Dangerous but very profitable, I assure you.”

Hastlon paused again, his eyes taking in every reaction he saw.