Shu

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Impressive. Maybe there is more to that chattering man then. Iliskra thought with a raised eyebrow.

“To the right!” the Helmite woman shouted from where she stood not far from Iliskra.

Iliskra turned her head spotting two crossbowmen standing off the right side of the road, risen up from behind a fallen, rotting tree that was just large enough for the pair to hide behind. There were two low thunks, Iliskra reacting fast enough to duck to her left side as a bolt whisked past, the other bolt bouncing off of the front of the Helmite’s raised shield.

“I’ll take the right!” the Helmite woman shouted, she and Iliskra surging forward, weapons raised. The two men cast aside their crossbows and drew their short-swords, leaping over the log to meet their opponents. The Helmite slammed her shield against her opponent’s chest, sending the brigand stumbling back as she moved it to strike. With a savage shout the other man swung at Iliskra, the half-elf brought her mace up to block his strike successfully. With a graceful spin Iliskra twirled behind the man and brought her left arm around and plunged her dagger into the his right shoulder blade. The bandit shouted in pain, managing to cling to his sword but buckling at the knees and impulsively grabbing behind himself as Iliskra pulled her blade free. Iliskra raised her mace up and then swung it down hard and with a sick crunch cracked open her foes’ skull, blood pouring as he weakly groaned and collapsed into a heap. Iliskra knelt down, slipping her dagger down against the fallen brigand’s neck and with a sharp jerk slit it open at the side.

Iliskra looked around, watching the Helmite woman slay the other crossbowman with four savage strikes to his chest - the man’s last sound a wheezing cry for mercy. With a quick glance between them the two women rushed back in closer to the wagon, Iliskra looking over the scene of the battle. Another of their number lay dead, the other male dwarf lay in a puddle of blood amidst the clash along the left side of the road - his kinsman madly swinging his twin axes nearby splintering through a brigands’ rickety round shield. Two of the bandits lay dead, Iliskra watching as the shadowy wolf-thing that the masked man had summoned tackled another of the brigands down into the snow, pouncing on the screaming man and tearing at his face. The large human in the horned helmet and heavy armor was locked in a vicious duel with one of the half-orcs, both grunting and growling fiercely as they swung their broadswords at each other in a flurry of both well-performed attacks and wild flails like a greenhorn woodsman at his first tree.

Two of the mercenaries rushed at the other half-orc, both armed with longswords and sturdy kite shields. The half-orc’s long, strong arms gave it the advantage as well as the reckless charge of the two humans - with a single two handed swing of it’s broadsword the half-orc cleaved one of the mercenaries’ heads clean from his shoulders, his head then flying free from it’s helmet as both sailed into a snow patch. The other man hesitated as his fellow was so easily felled, giving the half-orc an opening. With a snort the brute swung his sword - once, twice, and then a third time, each blow barely blocked by the humans’ shield. Using the pommel of his sword the half-orc batted aside the shield and with two more savage strikes flayed open his smaller opponents’ chest killing him.

Iliskra suddenly heard a chanting-like sound from nearby. She turned her head to see the wizard standing at the front of the wagon making a spiral-like motion with his hands that resembled a spinster working her wheel as he chanted some incantation. There was a bright flash and the wizard made an outward thrust with both hands in the direction of the melee, a dozen or so bluish “darts” of magical energy burst forth into the air and raced toward the cluster of fighters. Several people on seeing the incoming magical attack leapt into the snow for cover only for the bolts to pass them by and race straight for the half-orc that had just killed the two swordsmen. The brutes’ yellow eyes widened as he stood frozen in place his hands gripping his sword tightly - he had no idea of what to do. The blue bolts all slammed at the same time into the brigands’ chest with a crackling flash of more magical energy - the half-orc bellowing in pain as his feet was lifted from the ground and he flew back into the snow with a loud whump. The half-orc did not move, the wizards’ spell striking him down with ease.

A wave of dismay seemed to wash over the brigands as they realized their numbers had quickly shrunk and their advantage was lost as the mercenary defensive line rallied together and began to drive back their attackers. Two more of the brigands were quickly cut down by the invigorated defenders and the shadowy creature that the masked man had summon had finished off his first victim. Now all that remained were three of the human brigands and the other half-orc that was completely focused on bringing down his sizable adversary.

S A M A Y O K E N

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S A M A Y O K E N

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カッコーが鳴かないなら、殺してしまえ。」

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A C T O N E

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“Tatsuoki sama is nowhere to be found! Has he fallen?”

This cry carried through the air over the chaos below. The hot, late summer sun glared down from above like a single blazing eye of a discontent god as a great battle raged. Nobunaga, head of the Oda of Owari, had for the last fourteen days lain siege to Mount Inaba and the grand castle that sat perched atop it - the stronghold of the Saitō, rulers of Mino. Early this very morning the Oda had finally made a daring move, marching their armies up the mountainside in an attempt to take the castle in an onslaught. Saitō Tatsuoki, head of the clan, ordered his men to the walls and the defense of Inabayama. Tatsuoki’s advisors believed that a single vicious defensive effort would drive the Oda forces back where they could then be routed and pummeled down the face of the mountain and scattered to the forests. “Let them flee back to their lands where we then may finally defeat the Fool of Owari and crush his insolence and his people!”

At first things seemed well enough. The Oda army trudged uphill, at a great disadvantage as Inabayama’s defenders rained arrows and stones down upon them. It was then that a terrible explosion shook the whole castle and a fire broke out in the keep. Fearing a hidden attack Tatsuoki’s commanders ordered half of the defenders to fall back to the interior and moments later the front gates of the castle came swinging open to everyone’s dismay - Oda spies it was revealed had snuck over the walls earlier and cut a path to the gatehouse. The Oda war drums thundered and in mere breaths Nobunaga’s army stormed the keep, quickly overwhelming the shaken defenders. Swordsmen scurried along the walls, cutting down Inabayama’s now vulnerable bowmen as Oda and Saitō samurai clashed in a bloody fray in the courtyard. Tatsuoki himself was nowhere to be seen, an angst quickly spreading among the castle as Oda forces were not only overtaking the interior but many of their warriors had forced their way through the fighting and were entering the tenshu itself. It was well-known that in recent months Saitō retainers had defected to Nobunaga’s side amid his long war with Tatsuoki - and who knew how much about Inabayama’s makeup and defenses the betrayers had shared with their new master.

The fighting’s ferocity grew even as the battle began to enclose around the tenshu at the heart of the castle. Blood soaked the dirt turning it to reddish mud and bodies were piled with little space between them - most of them were fallen Saitō samurai and infantry. The most steadfast and unwavering of Tatsuoki’s sworn held their ground, willing to die as true samurai in defense of their lords’ domain even as the Oda encircled them slowly. They hacked and flayed Nobunaga’s men, teeth bared and eyes burning with fire from within their helmets even as they collapsed one after the next. Among them was Ikari Masato - head of the Ikari household and one of the Saitō’s most courageous vassals. He had served Tatsuoki’s father Dosan sama and now he would die for Dosan’s son it would seem. The castle and the mountain were surrounded and aflame, and the Oda army vastly outnumbered the Saitō. The last thing Masato would hear on the battlefield would be the call for Tatsuoki before three arrows flew into his chest, felling him among his fellow samurai. He felt himself being dragged, thinking it first to be a physician retrieving his body, then perhaps the terrible Oda planning to humiliate and mangle his dying form. No - it was his son and daughter, Ichiro and Natsumi, both their faces coming into view as Masato struggled to see. His breathing was painfully ragged and he tasted blood in his mouth, his head ached and throbbed and his ears were filled with a shrill whistling. The arrows had gone deep and Masato’s chest roiled with pain so great he could not scream or even groan. His mouth hung open, words catching in his throat as his eyes moved between his son and daughter - their agonized young visages running with tears. Masato turned his head and struggled to look around, he was inside somewhere but he could hear the battle close by still. He was laying on hay and he smelled horses - the stables near the tenshu.

“I told you… stay inside.”

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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.