Tide of Shadows

[Academia Nut]

*Fade of black, hours pass*

A quiet calm had settled upon the town of Ashvale as the day faded, the clouds dissipating with the setting of the sun until it was night, half clear but damply cold to most.

But not for one being walking along in the wan starlight and by the half full waxing moon low on the horizon. Partly it was because this creature did not care, partly it was because it was juggling burning torches as it approached.

The guards up on the wall saw this light show coming from a long ways away and immediately began to sweat. If he was coming then they didn't know what to do. They immediately sent a runner to rouse the mayor. If it was him, should they let him in this late at night? Those of them that remembered the last time he had shown up like this did not want a repeat incident.

Already they could hear his voice carrying out over the plains, low and booming, a rythmic song, a chant in fact. To a few of the experienced soldiers, it held the distinctive cadence of a timing chant for the manning of giant fortress destroying seige engines. Some of the tales told about him said that he had wandered up into the northern mountains and served as a mercenary for a time, either with or against the dwarves, or possibly both. No matter what, he certainly knew his way around machines of destruction as he had once had his tribe build a trebuchet just to show everyone he knew how.

...then after firing a single shot to prove it worked, he had it burned down to show that he didn't need it.

Already those who had heard the song before began to prepare, shuttering doors as if in preparation for a storm, for to many that was in fact what was approaching. Rumours began to spread. The whole town began to bunker down, with the exception of the Spanked Tiefling Tavern, which immediately began to take stock of its cellars to see if they would be prepared.

Garxon the Boundless was coming to town.

[Rogue 9]

The refugees had long since had their fill of water, and the light on Bartel's cudgel had faded after the first hour. He had considered using a sunrod, but they weren't cheap and couldn't be extinguished when it came time to sleep.

After doing all he could for the refugees, he stepped out into the street, well after dark. He had expected it to be nearly deserted as he went to find out where the guards had left his cart and mule, but instead found quite a commotion. He stopped a rushing guard.

"What is it, man? Are there raiders?"

[Academia Nut]

"Raiders! Bah! Raiders I could bloody well understand, this is worse! I..." In the poor lighting of the night the guard took a moment to notice that he was addressing a priest of St. Cuthbert, but when he did he immediately changed his tone. "Oh! I apologize father! I thought you were one of the ignorant merchants who ask that sort of stupid question. No... this isn't raiders, this is... worse. This is the Demon of th Wastes, Garxon. He's the leader of one of the bigger barbarian clans, a position he got by slaughtering everyone who stood in his way no doubt. He's some sort of gods damned monster, but he's completely loony too. The last time he was here, he demanded to be let in to do business or he would bring back an army and sack the town... and when he was let in he spent more coin, ill gotten I'm sure, than most traders get in a month. His partying also nearly caused a riot. Which incidentally is what I have to take care of right now, making sure everyone is off the street before he's let inside because the time before that he did start a riot, although he claims it was our fault for attacking him and all the people dancing with him. Sorry father, I must go!"

As the guard rushed off, Father Almos held up a torch and said, "Brother Bartel! Come over here quickly, I have heard that Garxon the Boundless is coming. We need to prepare, and I require your help."

[Charon]

Eight had spent the hours in the tavern, listening carefully to the rumor mill and the stories that were being passed around by the barbarians and the lower-class ilk. While most had eyed the construct warily when they first came in, they'd begun to treat as more of an item of armor on the wall than a machine of death.

After several hours however, Eight was growing rather bored with the facade, though the monotony was broken up by one man's frantic enterance to let the barkeep know that Garxon the Boundless was on his way. The entire bar seemed to freeze for a few seconds, and just before the frantic movement began the entire room seemed to rumble with a noise as though rocks were rubbing against each other. Then the noise turned to a quiet chuckle, and then laughter. Eight spoke. "Garxon, I've heard a lot about him. This trip might have been worth it after all."

[Academia Nut]

There was a sort of delayed shock as everyone who had heard Eight's words tried to figure out if he had said them, before the bartender shouted out, "No time! They're letting him through the gates last I heard! We need to get prepared here people!"

Turning to the cook, the bartender said, "Get the pig prepped."

"But-"

"No 'buts', you remember what happened last time!" The bartender cried out, causing the cook to pale and immediately rush for the cellars.

Turning to a line of serving girls the bartender went down and judged each one. "Sluttier. Sluttier. Good. Sluttier. Good. Sluttier. By the gods, less slutty! I can't believe I actually said that, but for all of our safety tuck those in a little more... yeah, we should be good now."

Someone cried out, "He's almost here! Theyre escorting him down the streets as we speak."

"Alright, stations everyone! This is the big one, the one we've all trained for!" The bartender cried out while the barbarian guests all chuckled excitedly. Garxon was coming! This was sure to be a party!

[LadyTevar]

A horse tiredly came to the crest of the road, and the rider looked down onto the city with a slight frown. The rain and her ward's exurberence had made them late. They might be turned away at the gate.

Either way, time to call the child in. The cloaked, armored figure pulled forth a ram's horn from her saddle, and taking a deep breath, she blew into it with all her might.

The horse's ears flickered, but no true sound came from the horn, merely a low drone more felt than heard. The armored woman put the horn back on her saddle and waited.

[rhoenix]

Bounding down the stairs two at a time, Fehl was finishing the process of putting on his shirt as he emerged into the chaos of the bar downstairs, his feet still barefoot, looking deeply displeased.

"What in the name of the hells is going on?," he yelled. "I just had a very pleasant evening interrupted."

[Rogue 9]

"Yes, Father," Bartel answered, and rushed off behind the senior priest. Catching up to him, he asked, "Should I get my armor? It's in my cart, wherever the blazes the guards put it."

[SirNitram]

Volemack was winging over the town in silence. He knew why you had to be quiet(Auntie Ceri took your Horde away). He flitted around and landed by the paladin, quickly changing form. Silver Dragon baby gone; teenager in a squire's regalia replaced him. The gaunlets were adjusted. "No sign yet."

[LadyTevar]

'Auntie Ceri', more commonly known as Lady Ceridwen SilverStar, Paladin of Bahumet, smiled at the young dragon, relieved that he'd come when summoned. She'd had to threaten to take his horde away several times already.

"You did a good job. We should see if we can find an inn to rest tonight. You remember how you're supposed to act, right?" she asked the young dragon, who thought he looked older in the guise of a teen, but was still small and looked younger than a squire should be. She held out her hand to help him mount behind her on the horse, who had by this point became well-accustomed to the young dragon's scent.

[Charon]

Eight looked over at Fehl, though he did not move from his spot. "A man named Garxon is coming." The construct was back to speaking in a monotone manner.

"They say he is very powerful, starting trouble is not suggested."

[Academia Nut]

"Yes, Father," Bartel answered, and rushed off behind the senior priest. Catching up to him, he asked, "Should I get my armor? It's in my cart, wherever the blazes the guards put it."

Father Almos chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he said, "That may be wise. Your cart is around back, I can show you where it would be. In any case, you still have spells from St. Cuthbert left? Because there is a notorious troublemaker and monster coming into town, and those sheltering in here are rightfully terrified that he is the same as the ones who took their homes. Personally I don't think he did that in particular, mostly because we all would have heard about it if he had been responsible, but still, we need to show them, and the community, that we wll not tolerate bullying. I would go myself, but I have already exhausted the abilities granted to me for today, so it is up to you. Do not antagonize Garxon, but I want you to watch him like a hawk, to let him know that if he breaks any law within this town we will rain down upon him with furious anger for trying to poison and destroy our community. Can you do that Brother?"

'Auntie Ceri', more commonly known as Lady Ceridwen SilverStar, Paladin of Bahumet, smiled at the young dragon, relieved that he'd come when summoned. She'd had to threaten to take his horde away several times already.

"You did a good job. We should see if we can find an inn to rest tonight. You remember how you're supposed to act, right?" she asked the young dragon, who thought he looked older in the guise of a teen, but was still small and looked younger than a squire should be. She held out her hand to help him mount behind her on the horse, who had by this point became well-accustomed to the young dragon's scent.

Approaching the town, they saw that the walls were alight with torches carried by guards running about. Once they entered into the pool of light cast by the torches, one of the guards pointed and called to his fellows, before calling out, rather nervously, "Who goes there?"

Eight looked over at Fehl, though he did not move from his spot. "A man named Garxon is coming." The construct was back to speaking in a monotone manner.

"They say he is very powerful, starting trouble is not suggested."

Almost as if on cue, the door to the tavern was ripped off its hinges. A deep, oddly modulated voice said, "Oops! Sorry about that, I forget my own strength sometimes. Here, take a couple of gold to cover the cost of that."

Then he strode into the tavern, a little spring in his step, and everyone who had never seen him before could see him in all of his glory. If one did not look at his physical features, one might not think him a barbarian for he was spectacularly well dressed, wearing a shining, polished breastplate inscribed with intricate, swirling patterns of unknown origin, while a long, flowing cloak was drapped across his back. Ornate rings and heavy, well made fingerless gloves covered his hands, and everything about his clothes screamed wealth, even if there was also a certain lack of care towards some of the items.

Of course, that was only after you stopped staring at his physical features, which could take a minute. Because Garxon did not look entirely human. Actually, scratch that, he only looked vaguely humanoid. Small, sharply edged red and black scales covered his skin in beautiful patterns, thinning out around his face, which was captivatingly perfectly shaped... despite the fact that he had a tiny pair of ridged, yellow horns sticking out from about his temples and sweeping back protectively, or that his eyes glowed bright yellow and were slit almost cat-like, or that his mouth protruded forward slightly with the sort of razor sharp teeth that could slice through plate armour with alarming ease. The reason that his gloves were fingerless was because his hands ended with twisted claws. And of course there was the fact that he was built with the sort of muscles that would give ogres a hard time.

This was Garxon.

Grinning a broad, shark toothed smile, Garxon announced, "Well, well, looks like we have a good crowd going tonight, but I must say that the atmosphere is... what was the word I wanted to use? Oh yes, the atmosphere here seems insufficiently jubilent. Well, I just happened to have recently slain the dragon Grimspike, and after celebrating with my tribe, I realized that I hadn't been here for a while. So, since that itself calls for a party, I say..." Garxon then slung a large canvas sack off his back, the innards clinking in an interesting manner, and then he hurled it into the centre of the common room. Patrons scattered, and the bag smashed into a table, breaking the shoddily crafted furniture and bursting the seams on the bag, causing coins to go flying everywhere. The vast majority were copper and silver, but there were also a significant number of gold coins in there as well.

"Beer me up boys!" Garxon shouted out, and two half-orc bouncers grabbed a large casket of beer and tossed it to Garxon. Catching it with both hands, he raised it up over his head and bite into the wood, shattering it and letting the contents drain out over his head. After it had half emptied over his face, he tossed it casually aside and cried out, "PARTY!"

The barbarians in attendance all cried out their agreement, while less wild patrons had more mixed reactions.

[LadyTevar]

Approaching the town, they saw that the walls were alight with torches carried by guards running about. Once they entered into the pool of light cast by the torches, one of the guards pointed and called to his fellows, before calling out, rather nervously, "Who goes there?"

"Something's going on. Stay human, but be prepared for trouble," she murmured to her ward before answering the guard, while wondering just what had the town in an uproar.

Standing on the stirrups, Ceridwen raised her voice to announce herself. "I am the Lady Ceridwen SilverStar, 4th rank Paladin of Bahumet, along with Volemack, my squire. What trouble has hit the town?"

[Academia Nut]

The guards whispered amongst themselves for a moment before one of them shouted back, "A madman has come to town that we dare not keep out. Ummm... technically we shouldn't open the gates, but at this point we don't think it particularly matters, and maybe some sort of law abiding citizen would be of great help. He's kind of dragon-ish too, so if you know anything there that would be helpful."

The gates were cranked open and several worried looking guards with halberds ready were waiting on the other side, one of them demanding, "We need to see your identification as a paladin of course."

[Rogue 9]

"Yes, I can," Bartel answered hastily. "I'll need help getting my armor on. I'll bring it inside," he told Almos as he started rushing around to the back.

He soon reentered the temple lugging the crate his armor stayed in when he was traveling. "Someone help me with this," he said as he began pulling the burnished plates from their casing.

[Charon]

Eight was quiet again, but not out of shock awe. Garxon was a beast, and the stories gave justice to him. The man had slayed a dragon, no doubt by himself.

Eight watched as all hell broke loose around the construct and in reaction simply took a step or two back to stay out of the way, the head turned and looked towards Fehl, then jerked to imply the Half-elf should come closer.

[Academia Nut]

Father Almos and two of the refugees immediately came forward to assist Bartel. As they strapped on the plates, Almos said, "Remember, do not confront him unless he does something blatantly illegal, as aside from being personally powerful, he is also very popular amongst the barbarian tribes and has given them a lot of knowledge on seige warfare, so while the kingdom might be able to push them back, if he dies here the barbarians might consider turning Ashvale into his funeral pyre. Of course, if he makes the first move you should of course defend yourself. Just... make sure he knows he can't get away with whatever he wants, got that?"

[LadyTevar]

The guards whispered amongst themselves for a moment before one of them shouted back, "A madman has come to town that we dare not keep out. Ummm... technically we shouldn't open the gates, but at this point we don't think it particularly matters, and maybe some sort of law abiding citizen would be of great help. He's kind of dragon-ish too, so if you know anything there that would be helpful."

The gates were cranked open and several worried looking guards with halberds ready were waiting on the other side, one of them demanding, "We need to see your identification as a paladin of course."

A half-dragon madman. Great. She nudged Hurin forward, and the tired horse ambled through the opened gates. Ceridwen pulled out her holy symbol, the platnium dragon's sign shining brightly in the torch-light. If the state of her armor was not enough, good quality if battle-scarred, then the brightly polished shield with the sigil of House SilverStar also announced her lineage. In addition, there was the long braid of sliver-blond hair falling down her back, as well as the nearly true silver hair of her ward.

Their bearing, their gear, their hair -- all would tell the most common guardman these two were nobles. The similar faces said paladin and squire were kin. Yet Ceridwen gave the guard her papers as respectfully as any minor merchant, waiting patiently for the guard to see they were in order. "What is this madman's name .. and where has he gone in your city?"

[Academia Nut]

Looking over it, the guardsman said, "Ah... welcome to Ashvale my lady and good squire, although I wish it were under more favourable conditions. The madman's name is Garxon the Boundless, although around here we prefer to call him 'the Hingeless', and he's currently drinking down the hill at the seediest tavern we have in town. We've currently got every available guard we can spare from the walls and streets surrounding the place to make sure that if a riot breaks out nothing untoward happens. You can check it out, but the man is truly mad and has the ability to back it up, not just by himself but with the bloody lot of barbarians he has over in the wastes, so we can't do anything to him. Maybe you should head down there and talk to the captain, he's the guy with the biggest plume on his helmet. Either way, gods be with you two if you want to get close to him."

[LadyTevar]

She didn't even have to feel the excitement coming from her ward to know he wanted to go see for himself. "Down the hill, hmm? What is the Tavern's name?"

[Academia Nut]

The guard sighed and said somewhat embarassedly, "The Spanked Tiefling Tavern... it's about what you would expect. There are a lot of mutt-ish creatures out in the wastes, and enough wander over here that the bar only hires those with a touch of the underworld in their blood."

There was a distant burst of fire from down the hill and one of the guards noted, "They must be cooking the pig."

Sighing, the guard who was primarily talking to Ceridwen pointed to where the fire had come from and said, "That is where Garxon is staying."

---

In the tavern, a whole salted pig had been set on a spit and soaked in cooking oil and wine, in fact its guts, already long removed, had been stuffed with combustibles and then sealed up. Lighting up immediately, the pig had exploded, sending a gout of fire out of the flue. The cook and his assistants had then used borrowed polearms to pull the pig out of the conflaguration and existinguished it by pouring beer over it.

"Ah, perfect!" Garxon commented.

[LadyTevar]

One eyebrow raised at the plume of smoke.

"Volemack? Unless you are attacked outright, do nothing without asking me first. Understood?"

[rhoenix]

Though he glared at Eight briefly, Fehl did saunter over to stand next to his friend. Leaning a bit toward him, he said in a normal voice, which in this chaotic situation was equivalent to a whisper. "I suppose that big guy knocking on the door was your way of wishing me well, right?"

Watching the proceedings, especially as this Garxon almost blew up a salted pig, Fehl shook his head. "What a jackass. But, it does look like he knows how to have a good time, I'll give him that."

[Charon]

Eight didn't look over at Fehl after he came over, and didn't seem to hear his comment about the man that had shown up, or had ignored the comment.

"You'd do well to give him more than that. He could probably kick both of our asses with one hand tied behind his back." It was rare for Eight to actually admit someone could beat him. "And don't get fooled by the act, he's smart. If he wanted to he could get the barbarians in this bar alone to take over this whole place." As Eight said this it was clear that, as usual, if something did go down the construct would side with who offered the greater sum.

[Academia Nut]

Almost as if he had heard Eight, Garxon chose that moment to leap up onto one of the larger tables, a charred leg ripped off the pig in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

"I just remembered! Today is the anniversary of... oh damn it, I forget which battle it is now, but considering how long we've fought, it's surely the anniversary of some battle! So I want all of you to sing this little ditty with me. If you have pipes, drums, you all join in now, because I know you know this one.

Chucking aside his foot, Garxon inhaled deeply and then began to sing. It was... elemental, the sort of performance that shook down to the bone, down to the core of one's soul, no matter the . Within seconds those around him had picked it up and were accompanying him in whatever ways they could.

"Axes flash, broadsword swing,
Shining armour's piercing ring
Horses run with polished shield,
Fight Those Bastards till They Yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Follow orders as you're told,
Make Their Yellow Blood Run Cold
Fight until you die or drop,
A Force Like Ours is Hard to Stop
Close your mind to stress and pain,
Fight till You're No Longer Sane
Let not one damn cur pass by,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Guard your women and children well,
Send These Bastards Back to Hell
We'll teach them the ways of war,
They Won't Come Here Any More
Use your shield and use your head,
Fight till Every One is Dead
Raise the flag up to the sky,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Dawn has broke, the time has come,
Move Your Feet to a Marching Drum
We'll win the war and pay the toll,
We'll Fight as One in Heart and Soul
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

Axes flash, broadsword swing,
Shining armour's piercing ring
Horses run with polished shield,
Fight Those Bastards till They Yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!"

It was impressive, and somewhat chilling, to see nearly two dozen tribals all singing along, but even the most drunken, off key addition to the entire performance was overshadowed by the pure, perfect pitch and tone of Garxon, stirring up the crowd even more. Some were even reduced to tears by the performance. It was clear that Garxon had a great deal of power to persuade people as well as the ability to tear things apart.