Griznuq Gaming

The Duke walked with Jarmok at a brisk pace and spied that Jarmok had little, if any, trouble keeping up. In fact, he noticed that Jarmok could out pace him. Not with his stride- for Jarmok's stride was certainly not longer than Corwynn's- but with his sheer speed in self locomotion. A speedy ranger Jarmok must be he thought, truly a tenacious adversary in the forest or anywhere for that matter.

"Those four guards, men, if you will take my meaning..." the Duke's words hung in the air as his thoughts trailed away. He continued to walk absentmindedly it seemed though Jarmok could see that his mind was anything but blank. "...they are very loyal to me...my family and I to them. My family's bond with their clan stretches back for many generations...back to when the Valley was in Darkness." Corwynn looked to Jarmok with a nod and a smile. The tall Duke's stride began to hasten as he noticed the sky lighten in it's indigo and purple shade.

The three large men looked at each other with a common understanding as though Jarmok had said something that they also felt in their hearts.

Sven pursed his lips and nodded his head. "Aye, we understand what you mean. Our clan was from the mountains but was driven out by the giants from Fomor. Perhaps we might see a holiday in Threshold though."

Jarmok could see that Mirak and Corwynn were heading back to the group while finishing up their private conversation. Varhuk decided to address the question of Laren, "I believe your friend said he was going to the library." he said with a shrug.

"Well, Jarmok, are you ready to get out of the city? I imagine just being around these fleshy walls..." the duke said playfully while glancing at the four giants "...would make you claustrophobic if the stone walls haven't already." Corwynn gave a hard scratch behind Fionndougal's ear and tousled the shock of white hair that hung down the noble horses forehead. He secretly believed that he would soon see what a warrior this horse was sooner than later. The "dark stranger" would soon come to know dark strangers.

"Mind the place men...enjoy the peace." The duke said with tint of a warning.

Read this from my new phone

Corwynn looked at Jarmok quizzically. Mirak cocked his head and raised his eyebrow in his recollections at Jarmok's proclamation. "Ah yes!" the giant guard exclaimed nodding his head. "Your little halfling friend went out not long ago. Charming fellow he is...good sense of humor."

"Alright, alright...can't let you lunks scare the man away." the duke stated. "We'll be out for a time to my thinking spot and back before the food gifting. If we're not back by then, you know what to do. Try not to let the place burn down in the meantime, eh?" he said with a playful wink. He then motioned for Mirak, the presumptive leader of these massive men, to step away with him.

As the two we're speaking with each other off to the side (OOC: Yes, if you wish to make a Listen check you're free to do so) the closest guard, Sven, by Jarmok's memory, looked at Jarmok approvingly and asked, "So, how do you find your time in the city?".

Varhuk huffed and rolled his eyes, "Rockhead, he's barely seen the city...they just got here yesterday don'cha know?"

"Oh...heh...yeah. Didn't think of that." Sven said, somewhat foolishly. "So, anyway, what do you think of what you've seen? Bjarnin laughed aloud at Sven's innocent and somewhat child-like inquiry.

"It's not too far from here" Corwynn replied. "We'll need to walk to the city walls and from there it's easy travel." The duke was now aware of Jarmok's restlessness in the city and tried his best to enforce the idea of breaking out of it's binds. He could empathize with this feeling because he felt it too in his own way. The Arch-Duke loved his people and his city but there were times when he wanted to not bear the responsibility of it. He did not at all regret having the city under his charge but there were times he just wanted the freedom of the hunt. Parents may love their children, but time away from them is sometimes required.

Jarmok and Corwynn soon arrived to the front gate under the watch of a 4 Troop. They were similarly dressed and armed as Jarmok's escort and saluted upon seeing the Arch-Duke approach. Corwynn nodded and two of the guards pulled open one of the doors.

The Duke cleared his throat in part to get Jarmok's attention but also in part to speak. He offered a sidelong glance and smirk pointing his head forward towards the open door. "I tell ya, with those Azgaard Clan pansies watching the place I'm amazed that the gutter rats haven't taken place!" Corwynn barked forcefully but not too loudly.

From beyond the door Jarmok could hear a deep voice, "See, I told you that you would wake him with your goon calling while we spoke with the little fellow. And here he is...awake."

Corwynn walked quickly through the door with a hearty chuckle prompting Jarmok to follow. "Bah! Don't let him push you around...I'm an early riser!" The Duke proclaimed truthfully. "Boys, this is one of our guests from Threshold, Jarmok. He's here for a few days as an emissary and guide for the others." He said looking at the ranger with reassuring smile. "Jarmok, these are the elite guards of the Keep." He pointed at each as he sounded off their names. "Mirak, Bjornin, Varhuk, and Sven of the Clan Azgaard." Each of the guards stood tall, about twice the height of Jarmok, as the Duke introduced them.

The four behemoth guards were an impressive sight of raw muscle power. Their arms alone seemed as big around as Jarmok's mid-section. And although they wore studded leather armor the could be no doubt that their chest were nothing but muscle. They wore the tunic of the city and each of their weapons were crafted with runes entwined with lupine images. Each of them had copper hair of various hues with braided beards and hair. It was almost as though some one took four dwarves and made them quadruple their size. They all looked at Jarmok each having a wide inviting grin as they held out their hands for a friendly shake.

The sound of the hooves on the cobblestone was a common din in the city during the day but at this early hour it was far more distinguished. The lower rank guards looked around to see who it might actually be. "Bronzwood! A nice gift indeed!" remarked the officer excitedly. "You must have done a great ser..." The sergeant continued to say though his attention was abruptly pulled.

Jarmok could plainly see what was stealing everyone's interest. Riding up on his horse was the Duke. He was plainly dressed as before but with the addition of a plain hard leather tunic. The horse was perhaps the most massive horse Jarmok had ever seen. It was a magnificent black steed that stood clearly a full head above other horses. The one distinguishing feature the horse had- aside from it's size- was the snow white mane that hung off of it's think neck.

It was immediately noted by the observant ranger that the Duke rode his horse bareback, an odd thing for city folk and villagers. The horse was not without trappings on it's back though. Corwynn had leather strap bags and sheathed weapons hanging against the horses flanks.

"Sergeant, I trust you've treated our honored guest fairly with no trouble, aye?" The Duke inquired. Jarmok could hear the slightest zephyr of an accent coming from the Duke.

"No trouble at all sir...no trouble at all." Sergeant Radmun replied as he stood at attention. The other guards remained as still as statues with eyes forward and head firm.

"Excellent. My thanks to you for escorting the good Jarmok this far. I shall see him out from here." Corwynn replied with a smile as he dismounted his horse landing with a subtle thud. "That will be all Sergeant. Good work tonight."

As one, the four saluted the Duke and Radmun stated a final offering, "Thank you sir, and may Paladine watch your back on the road".

Jarmok stepped forward when the soldiers were dismissed and grasped the Sergeant's hand as he had seen done in these parts. "Is thank." He said to the officer. He turned then to Corwynn and said, "Is good man."

The Four Troop walked back the way they had led the escort while Jarmok and the Duke continued forward. Glancing back at his charger Corwynn remarked, "His name is Fionndougal but most just call him Tempest...which isn't short for his actual name mind you. It's because when he was younger he had a temper unlike any the trainers had seen before." The two walked on further. "It took my wife to sooth his spirit. She has way of her. She kept calling him Fionndougal...Fionndougal she would repeat. Sometimes she would simply whisper it in his ear. For weeks she was the only one who could approach him. Fionndougal she would say."

"Of course, I had to ask her what the word meant. She said it meant 'the white dark stranger' in Wildlander speak." Corwynn related.

Clop clop on the cobbles

Laren listened close to the any sound that came from beyond the secret door. He could see a sapphire glow coming from his pouch as his sight faded to black. It was as though his eyes were pushing through the door and through the tapestry that covered the door. At once was revealed the private domain of Gibble just as Laren remembered it. Only now there was a one eyed dwarf and a young bandit that Laren had seen earlier. It was as though Laren was in the room...he could see the distress on the dark haired boy's face, could feel his fear...could sense his desperation. Laren could also sense that Gibble knew something was listening to the conversation.

At once Laren was looking through the eyes, rather, the memory of the boy. He was looking at a dark figure cloaked in shadows with three other figures behind him, "I want you to keep an eye out for any activity...watch to see how they act with the bartender. I want to know if they are Hawk or if they are drunk. If you see the ring with a bloodhook on a Halfling, tell me. I'll have people watching you watch. So I'll know if you're lying or just stupid. Cross me and you're family will never again see the light of day...not that rats like light."

"How will I know it's him" Laren asked though he asked in what seemed to be a young human voice.

"That's where the test of your skill comes in. Fail me, and you may live, though you won't want to." replied the dark figure as he tossed a pouch of money to Laren. It seemed to Laren that while witnessing this exchange he was much taller than the height of a Halfling.

"How will I know how to find you?" Laren, with the boys voice, asked.

"Come back here and ask for Vasago." The robed figure stated as he walked away.

Laren woke from what seemed to be a dream as the young rogue in the room said "Vasago" just as Laren recalled the boy's memory wherein he heard the name. It was as though he heard and remembered it at the same time with two different voices: Vasago.

Laren regained his normal vision and could see the glow that was once blue now red, dim from it's brightness.

Sergeant Radmun wasn't sure if Jarmok understood the question given his loose common speech but didn't want to make the honored guest uncomfortable with what he knew to be invasive questions. During the initial encounter with Jarmok Radmun did notice that Jarmok's axe was of a peculiar make. Perhaps that was a more appropriate angle to question from.

"Your axe. Nice weapon indeed...looks to be made of wood. Is that a special metal that looks of wood?"

The troop rounded a corner of the keep though it seemed there were many corners given the various additions to it. Jarmok could only tell given the difference in angle from which they turned. Again it struck Jarmok as unnatural how devoid of flora this keep seemed save the ivy and the garden that was now well out of view. Not too far away Jarmok could hear the animated steps of a horse.

The Sergeant cocked his head trying to understand Jarmok's broken common and place his unusual accent. He knew for certain that Jarmok was not from anywhere within the city-sates but also knew for certain he didn't know where he was from. Instead of trying to guess at the exotic ranger's origin he would find out through conversation.

Sergeant Radmun nodded sidelong at his troops to stay their weapons back in a peaceful carrying position. He smiled again at Jarmok, a reassuring smile, and nodded at him glad that his offer had been accepted. Sergeant Radmun motioned for Jarmok to walk with him the direction that Jarmok was going. "Come my friend, it's not too much further to walk."

The escort took them through the gardens that seemed quite out of place in the stone surroundings. It offered a slight bit of comfort for those that found the walls confining and barren. Although with Kossuth continuing to wake Jarmok did notice that much of the walls were covered in ivy. During the walk in the garden Jarmok's could hear one of the guards whispering something about his bronzewood axe and the rarity of such an item.

"So, Jar-Jarmok?" The Sergeant asked making sure his pronunciation was correct, "If I may ask, where are you from? You're accent I can't seem to place."

As Laren descended the stairs that led down to Gibbles private room he could hear Gibble talking. As always he had a calm and even tone that was a smooth as the whiskey he served. "I don't know Lasher, your boys being in here peeking about...how can I trust it? I know you wouldn't send them which means someone else did. Sure I could cast it off as..." Gibble paused. Laren knew it was for maximum effect. Gibble was a master of linguistic theatrics and drama. "...a foolish indiscretion on their part. But Lasher, you know the creed on the street: know who to fear."

The tapestry in Gibbles room that concealed the door blocked any hope Laren might have of witnessing the exchange between Lasher and Gibble.

Lasher replied, "Aye know...I know tha' creed. Me boy here though...he dunna know no better. Now I know what yer gonna say and ye be right. I should taught them the smart way o'things..." Lashers tone became decidedly stern, "..and believe me he'll be knowin' them after t'day. But ye I tell ye Gibble, ye not be harming a hair on his dumb head. He messed up being here and peeking on yer people. But no harm'll come to him."

Laren knew what was next...and Gibble didn't fail to deliver.

"Well Lasher, you know that's not up to me. And you know right well who I may have to report this too, aye? So don't try to play it tough with me. You're in no position."

Laren could hear a grumble from the one eyed dwarf. Gibble continued, "I'll tell you what will clear this slate though. We want the name of who hired your boy here and your muscle if it comes to it. Sound reasonable?"

Lasher declared, "Nay...fer being in yer bar and lookin' 'bout? Even you know that dunna be a fair exchange!"

Gibble laughed, "Lasher, you're right, it's not fair...but that's the offer."

Laren could hear the heavy breathing of the dwarf. "If'n me boy here gives you a name, it may well get him killed...ye know that...I know ye know that! Ye can't expect me to agree to them terms knowin' his life be on the line."

Gibble, again, calmly spoke, "And I assure you that any actions, if they're taken, will not lead back to him."

"Ye canna promise such a thing." The grizzled dwarf said. "But we dunna have no other way. Tell him son...tell him who be paying ya."

Jarmok instantly saw that there were four guards cautiously approaching him. Two had clubs in their hands and one had a sword and one carried a torch. Each of the guards were fully armed. Their armor was polished scale mail and they wore black tabards embroidered with a silver wolves head on the front.

One of the guards who carried a club appeared older than the other three and the one bearing the torch looked to be the youngest- barely a young adult- and seemed to be uneasy at the encounter. The other two, though probably had not seen real battle, seemed a bit more confident. It was the guard with the sword that asked, "You think maybe he was thieving, Sergeant?"

The older guard, clearly the leader, replied sarcastically, "Yes, private...he's a thief. That's why he introduced himself to us and isn't running away." The other two guards visibly restrained their laughter. The guard that asked the question lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Front gate, eh?" the squad leader, a sergeant by rank, asked rhetorically, "Well, keep walking the way you were going 'round the keep and you'll be sure to find it. We can escort you if you like." The sergeant had been briefed earlier by his captain about the visitors from the south who had been accompanied by the Duke's advisor Sayer. Judging by the respected company Jarmok arrived with the sergeant he had no intention of letting his soldiers hassle them. In fact, he was glad that he had come across Jarmok in the hopes that maybe a favorable mention might be made on their behalf.

The leader extended his hand to Jarmok "My name is Sergeant Radmun. And these three are in my squad. The one with the club is Pyter, the one with the sword is Fredik, and that youngling back there holding the torch trying not to wet himself is Mardel." A wide smile came over his face, "You're friends of Sayer, yes?"

sort of turned out that way...oops.

Though it was difficult for Jarmok to tell the exact size of the Keep he knew it was big...bigger than any building in Threshold including the Fortmount. The Keep looked to be a series of buildings of various shapes built into each other as though they were built at different times for different reasons. Judging by the ramparts Jarmok had seen in the past it was not a building built to withstand a siege- that's what the outer wall was built for.

The high outer walls seemed to loom over Jarmok and appeared more as a prison than shelter to his sensibilities. No wonder the Duke wanted to get out as much as possible! The walls were guarded by armed soldiers pacing back and forth on the torch lit walls though from this distance Jarmok could only see their silhouettes against the soft purple glow Kossuth cast on Akadi and the occasional glint of torch light on polished steel weapons. The inner courtyard was still quiet and Jarmok could see the various utility shops snuggled into various locations. Soon all would be awake and bustling, just like Threshold. Mercer once told Jarmok that everything had a sort of predictability...races especially. They were all so predictable. They longed for whatever passed for comfort. This was not a bad thing he would say as it's their nature. He would also say that nature is not always predictable and that once you believed it to be, it would kill you. The way of the Ranger is to overcome and adapt to Mahiya's tests of unpredictability. The way of the responsible Ranger is to guide others on how to do so as well.

Jarmoks eyes had no trouble adjusting to the dim torch lit courtyard to make his way to the entrance of the Keep. As he rounded the corner of another wing he saw what could be considered an uncommon sight in a walled monstrosity of human engineering: a flower garden. Here amidst all of the stone work, industry, beaten dirt and cobblestone was a delicate and wonderous flower garden.

As the cat-like Ranger took in the full sight he heard, "Hold! Who is over there!?"

Okay...been out of action for a spell. I'll be back on this in a day or so.