Open Chronicles Atlia Calls for Aid [Noct Yaegir]

[Sigrith]

The hillside town surrounding the old Keep didn't look like much, but it looked a great deal better than it had a decade ago. Once left to rot, retaken by lands, the original town and Keep had stood as the beacon of Lord Atlia nigh 200 years ago. A just man, if not a bit heavy-handed with a sword, he'd staked out his claim to the lands by leading a battalion of men against an incursion of orcs. Through his success, the King granted him svelte and fertile lands at the heart of his Kingdom.

Sadly, Atlia's rule from his holdfast over his town died alongside himself, but that was a story for another time.

---+---​

Warden Ciradyl sat within her study at an old wooden table. Upon the table in a rumple of cloth sat a gleaming crystal sphere which she delicately pressed her fingertips to. For a time she remain silent and listening. Long enough that the sun crept across the papers of her ledger and the notes therein. Atlia Keep was a quiet place and had been since her arrival some years ago, but the town had once more begun to prosper and with the help of the attending Yaegir, the Keep was now being granted the reparative attention it so desperately needed.

It would still be some time before she would be willing to call this place fixed.

"The issue at hand, Warden Sionoma, is I do not have enough seasoned Jaegir here to deal with the problem," Ciradyl's voice rang clearly within her study and through the stone.

"I've sent Bolton out to deal with the beast on the eastern traderoute with his Apprentice and Jira, but just this morning I received three more bids for aid from three different directions. All dire. People are dying and I need backup."

Cira could sense the cogs of thought churning within Sionoma's mind and her mental gaze shifted to the Warden on the commune from the Cortosi Coast. There was hesitation from them. Recent times had been tough. War had torn apart kingdoms, leaving landholds of civilians vulnerable to the wyls of the world around them. It was once said that the realm of monsters bided their time and struck whenever crimson opportunity pervaded. ...there had been a lot of blood spilt as of late and the beasts simply could not resist.

Atlia Keep wasn't the largest of those within the Noct Yaegir, nor was it populated by a great deal of Yaegir. She'd collected a few over the years, but death was easy to come by in such a dangerous lifestyle and many of her present Yaegir were young, inexperienced.

"I have a few in mind I can send you. One just returned from a hunt," Sionoma nodded, "they'll be there as soon as they can."

"I'll see who volunteers," said the Cortosi Keep Warden, "our hands are quite full here as well."

"Thank you," Ciradyl nodded, "but please... whoever you send, make sure they know what they're doing. Gabriel... can you try to send my message on to the others?"

"I'll try again later tonight," he replied, "I have nothing pressing to tend to." He smiled his droll little smile that Ciradyl could never decipher clearly. Was he having a laugh at her expense?

"I'm sure... tell them they can all have a good bath in the hot springs after their done." Cira lifted her hand away from the stone and left the commune. Gathering it up within a length of fabric, she sighed and strode from the study to make her way down through the Keep toward the stream that ran through the rubble of its foundation. She would cleanse it while she waited and perhaps see if the Apothecary had arrived per her summons ... she was due any day.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Noct Yaegir.​

Bastards had been cutting into his business in some instances. Do-gooders with a purpose. While admirable in some areas, and generally, Arnor didn't dislike them... he wasn't exactly always a huge fan of people who did his line of work. Arnor, at this point, was a professional, a seasoned veteran, capable of handling most monsters. From ghouls, goblins, orcs, ghosts, and even the terrifying Lord Naleze.

He sneered at the thought of the vile, wretched Lord as he approached the keep. Atlia Keep. From what he was told, a rather quiet area of the world. Until recently. It was beset by problems, beset by monsters, and therefore-
Beset with opportunity for independent contractors. Arnor rode in a carriage now- the loss of Rhi, the King of Horses, still fresh on his mind. After all, Rhi was Arnor's steady companion. And now he had to travel in a fucking carriage.

The Axe of Knottington, the Hunter of the Spine, came to Atlia to deepen his pockets. He wondered how he'd fare here, compared to his recent jobs. After the business with the Golden Masks and all that creepiness.... a Monster hunting gig, didn't sound too terribly bad. Come into town, talk to someone, get hired, haggle on price, find the monster, kill the monster, bed a few unmarried women, woo them with talks of settling down, leave the next day for the next town.

Not a terrible life for an out of place Nordenfiir.

And one of the few that he knew of left in the Summerlands.

 

[Emmeline Hildebrandt]

For Emmeline, it was the call for assistance posted upon a board in some forgettable village that caught her attention. Troubles were about, and from some of the whispers she'd heard among the various inns and taverns she'd stayed the night at, there were rumors of bodies mangled much like the humanoid thing that had taken the lives of her parents, that had left her and her brother helpless and at the mercy of kind souls around them. What money the woman had made for herself as a guard was put down to ensure that the meager home her family owned would remain in their name: the deed was hers. And yet, with her brother missing, what good was an empty home?

It was that search that brought her to this bulletin board, to the call for aid, to where she now walked, just crossing into the keep as Arnor's carriage struck thick mud and sprayed it upward. Flecks of dirt clung to her armor, to the pale cheek of one side of her face and she lifted a gloved hand, smearing it. Her nose wrinkled, lips pursed, but not even a swear was cast his way--she simply kept walking.

And when she reached the keep, when she entered it, green eyes swept over the front courtyard, at the carriages that delivered other interested parties, at the horses being taken to the stables for keeping. She had neither to worry about, and instead watched in quiet silence to see where others were congregating, where others were going. As she did this, she dropped a hand to the satchel at her side, tugging loose the tie that held it and flipping the lid up to retrieve a piece of parchment where she'd copied the information.

Emma was a little different from the others. She was green in the way that she had little experience fighting monsters. Laughably little. And yet, despite her smaller stature, there was confidence even in the way she stood, great sword strapped to her back. She was a warrior, that was true: but her foes were typically of the mostly human variety. The woman stood there, weight shifting to one leg and arms crossing over her torso, and seemed to simply exist, nothing more.

 

[Castro Keane]

Castro Keane sat on the ground, well into a meditation session. For all the stories of the practice being about calming one's mind, he found that instead his brain worked overtime on thinking about, well, everything. There was just something about a moment where all the outside things fade that he could never experience except inside his own head. He had arrived to Atlia a day or so ago to find a new request, get some more on-the-job training and such to prove his worth to his superiors.

He still vividly remembered his first encounter with Yaegirs Varis and Elodi and his first visit to a den, the moment when his life changed. For good or bad, though, that was still to be decided. The two hunters had since taken to calling him “Kiddo” as an inside joke despite the fact he was about as old as both of them, which was funnier some days than others. He opened his eyes and stood up, took out a small notebook from the side of his pack and wrote his name at the top of the second page. Couldn't forget to do that.

With the help of the aforementioned pair he had managed to effectively expedite his training, becoming a Yaegir in good time on the condition that he keep detailed record of his missions as a sort of way of learning through doing. He figured that couldn't be too terrible a restraint, for he either reported back having helped complete the request or fucked up and died. It was not wise to worry over one's future in a line of work involving hunting Monsters, and Castro did not plan to start doing so now. He put away his book and sighed.

One request he had seen on the main board particularly interested him not only because its beginning point was Atlia Keep itself, but the sheer brutality of the words used to describe the aftermath of this monster encounter. Ultimately, he figured most Yaegirs did their job for the money that came along with it, maybe some out of a personal issue, and he was not arrogant enough to pretend he was not partly the former. However, he also felt sure that little grin at the thought of walloping a being who had caused so much pain was not fully motivated by greed.

He had no copy of the request because he had seen it on the keep board, but he had written it down in his notebook, so out the little bugger came again. Ah, here it was, on that little bit of parchment before the first page. It seemed like the quest was rather urgent, so he settled upon following the mob of carriages and people and hoping for the best. Not quiiiite the genius strategy he had hoped for but better than nothing. With that he began to move toward the big group, having gotten quite tired of sitting around.

 

[Aderyn Verchtegid]

Aderyn drove a wagon with two horses from Alliria toward Atlia Keep, as she typically did every second or third month depending on what the previous trip had allowed her to provision for them. The wagon wasn't hers, it was borrowed from a farmer on the eastern side of the strait just outside of the city walls and slums.

She had long ago charmed him into letting her use it and while at times he seemed hesitant to continue their arrangement, she had a certain way with him... with everyone, really, to convince them to do the right thing.

It wouldn't be long before she arrived, she thought happily. While she had often found herself on more journeys than she had imagined as a child she ever would have, nothing felt better than the ends of a trip, both home and away.

The hill with its little town and the keep in need of repair were just becoming visible as the wagon creaked and groaned along. The horses were getting agitated, themselves knowing it was nearly time to rest and being entirely done with travel.

She held up the polished chrysocolla stone, one of many on thongs about her neck, and held it to her lips - new beginnings, healing, energy... she reached out with her latent Empathy, wishing the horses calm and renewing their tired muscles. She wasn't really aware of it in practice, but had so long been used to succeeding in her wishes and prayers that it was wholly second nature to her now.

The horses doubled their pace, feeling temporarily refreshed. By the time she pulled up through the town and to the keep, though, they had exhausted what little she would offer. A pit in her stomach yearned to offer more, to simply give for giving's sake, something, anything. Her store of Charity would need to be replenished soon with the rate she had burned through it to get here.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

His arrival here was not entirely by chance. Erën's travels had always taken him from the Eastern Falwood and on into the Spine and back, and he rarely followed along the same route. He entered into town on the back of a dark horse, garbed in knightly, well weathered armour. He pulled his hood from his head and looked about, as if confirming that this was the place he thought it was. He seemed to remember Atlia, the Keep itself distinctive enough at a glance, but his memory of this place was far away from what his eyes beheld now.

Time had a way of changing things.

It didn't take long for him to realize there was work to be done in this place, and as the mention of monsters and hunters reached his ears, conversations from the past were rekindled in his mind.

Erën was no Yaegir, not exactly, but he was a warrior and a hunter through and through. His people lived this way. And through his many years he'd been a partner to many things, such as a small band of would-be Monster Hunters in the Spine. Through them he'd learned of the Noct Yaegir, and it was now he realized he'd found himself on their grounds.

Soon he made his way to the obvious attraction of the Keep, following after several others who went there with purpose. It was there he would find his own purpose here, or he would not and carry on his way, as he always had.

 

[Sigrith]

TEN DAYS AGO

"Take Uhtred with you, Darkstride," Warden Sionoma had said before her departure of Crobhear Keep, "he needs the miles and you-"

A white-tipped ear flicked back at the man where the direwolf stood in the doorway of the feast hall, waiting for Sionoma's usual dogged quipping.

"need a handler."

Ah, there it was.

He just couldn't fucking help himself. She did not need to look back at the man to know the wry expression on his face. He didn't even have the decency to hide it behind a mug of tea or cloud of pipe smoke. Bold, that one. With a snort, she left the Keep and began the day's journey it would take to reach the Crobhear Portal stone.

"Darkstride!" a voice she knew, accompanied by the hoof falls of the young Yaegir's horse. Uhtred had caught up. "Darkstride," he said breathlessly as he caught up, "the Warden said I'm to go with you to Atlia. You did not wait for me."

"If you can't keep up with a wolf," the wolf rumbled in response, "how can you expect to keep up with a monster."

She was near as tall as his own mount, but the months spent living among the Yaegir at Crobhear had given their horses a chance to acclimate to her presence. The beastly wolf might've been hunted by the very men and women she now associated with were it not for her orc traveling companion. He had moved on, of course, while she had been coaxed into staying and training the youth on her knowledge of all things monstrous and other-worldly.

Turns out a witch stuck in a direwolf's body had her uses.

Uhtred had been one of her pupils. An orphan taken in by Sionoma in his youth, though still a young man he was clever and skilled with bow and blade. Still had much to learn and a world of experience to gain. That and... well, it was better she had a less-beastly face traveling at her side lest she give the wrong impression to strangers.

"You're not exactly any old wolf though," Uhtred smirked but conceded her point. Yaegir had to be ready to move out at a moment's notice when their quarry came a-calling. "So what are we going to hunt?"

"I don't know," Darkstride replied, "but you have ten days to make your best guess."

PRESENT DAY

There seemed to be a caravan of people making way to the Keep. Other Yaegir from other Keeps, perhaps, if what Sionoma had told her was true. Atlia had called for the aid of seasoned Yaegir to help get an apparent beastly infestation under control. So it came as no surprise that the people in the town along the hillsides surrounding the Keep were quick to disappear when a young Yaegir rode through with the great black wolf ambling beside his horse.

"Do you suppose they'd have shot you full of arrows by now if I wasn't here..." Uhtred had a habit of letting his thoughts escape through his mouth.

"The Warden knows to expect me," Darkstride said in return as the dirt road they followed turned up the hillsides and toward the Keep ruins above, "but I am unknown here. So yes."

"Good thing I caught up then," Uhtred flashed her a grinned.

The wolf shook her head and set her nose to the crossbreeze. With it came the scents of stone and grass, water and pine -- but also scents of hunters, notably a Nordenfiir. There was no mistaking that scent, but it did catch her off guard to have found one here in the Summerlands of all places. There were also two aged beings, one she suspected to be the Warden whom she knew to be an elf. The other? She would soon find out.

They arrived to the stables where Uhtred left his horse with the stable hand and walked beside the great wolf up the many, many stone steps. Much of the keep was in disrepair, but it did look as though some reconstruction efforts were underway within its foundations. The Keep's main entrance only had one standing door of iron and wood while the other side was sheathed in hanging canvas. They pressed inside and into a small gathering of people loosely mingling about.

Uhtred pressed his hand to his Yaegir pendant as it gave off its telltale chime of brethren nearby. Dark stride felt the pendant hidden within the ruff of her neckfur do the same and pricked her ears to a responding chime echoing from Castro Keane's.

There were hunters present, but not many actual Yaegir.

"You there, brother," Uhtred gestured to Castro, "the Warden, is she here? We've come from Crobhear Keep."

Darkstride stayed silent, mismatched gaze sifting through the faces of those gathered and landing intently upon Arnor Skuldsson, the Nordenfiir.

 

[Sagarus]

Whispers. They pricked his ears and mocked him by weaseling away from his memory like rats from an innkeeper's torch. Perhaps he'd overheard it in a tavern, or somewhere along roads best not traveled, where waterlogged parchment disintegrated in bloodstained gauntlets and the impression of ink was more whisper than proclamation. Whispers had drawn him here, scraping like rope on damp stone, dragging their prisoner to a waterlogged cell.

Atlia Keep. That was the name of it.

It stood half ruined yet stubbornly proud, a gnarled mangrove root erupting from a once noble countenance. Dragging bloody-hued eyes over old walls, landslides of mossy stone and the more recent constructions that spoke to those living here, he found his roaming stare doing the searching his mind couldn't form into thought.

"Are you memory or promise?"

The muttering was dark, barely moving the impression of a mouth beneath his fighter's nose. Unintended vocalization; a sign of weariness. Now it was his brows sloping downward like brick from a damaged wall. Palm finding the pommel of his sword to rest, he panned a weary gaze over the travelers who'd arrived. Bookshelves in a library; none stood out immediately.

Forcing his mouth back to neutral as he let a shallow huff from his nose, he rotated and moved his armored bulk toward the keep. Best to avoid the others as long as he could. Strangers were best kept that way.

Approaching the entry, he looked down to make sure he wasn't about to drop his foot into a hole in a patch of thick grass. It put the state of his armor into view. Dried black liquid splattered his graves. They'd need cleaned, and perhaps some patching too. That thought was enough to dislodge the last branch in the dam of his mind. He remembered why he was here.

Thin lips tightening at the edges, he smiled with the grace of an amateur's attempt at chiseling joy onto marble. Sunlight turned to shade, and the chill embrace of old stone welcomed him as he crossed the threshold.

 

[Monroe]

Timing seemed not to be on her side this day.

What she had hoped would be a few days of rest before taking up a new bounty had been slashed the very moment she entered Atlia Keep from the training grounds, hoping that the ruins would hide her presence and allow her to steal some time to unwind in a hot spring somewhere.

"Yer not foolin' seasoned Yaegirs with any hidin' when ya smell like tha'." Came the familiar gruffness of Basilius. More father than mentor, it had been the previous Warden of Atlia Keep that made Monroe feel and call this place home.

She cursed, loudly, so that he would hear, and he answered with a barking laugh.

"Then by Lessyda allow me to wash this stink off so that I may be more presentable to your nose." Monroe shot back.

Bas' face fell, turning sheepish after a thought. "Ach. You've no time, Mon. Warden needs ya." With some afterthought, he grimaced as he gave another whiff of the air. "Cold bath."

"But it's fucking freezing!" Wouldn't the water just be ice at this point?

But there was no fighting against Basilius. Monroe walked the preserved ruins of Atlia Keep, ignoring murmurs of a certain smell, and even at one point lifted both hands in a crude gesture as a letai stared too long at her. She made her way towards Atlia Town, where she had called and claim a small home that quickly ran out of room over the years of her keeping certain rewards from her bounties. Mementos, things to remember by, and in general, pretty things that she appreciated. It was there that she presented herself in fresh gear, but the underlying stench of traveling through a bog found in the Falwood forest still seemed to sear her nostrils.

Now she was happy to respond to the Warden's summons. Monroe grunted at the crisp air clinging to the lush hillside, heading back to the Keep when she noticed people gathering. It was not townies of Atlia, that much she determined, not when they were armed and geared.

Fuck. She was going to have to wait for that precious and secluded hot spring much longer now, wasn't she?

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The bear, the beast, the man.

Arnor dismounted the carriage, his heavy form landing on the ground with a distinct "thud" sound. He was heavier than most, heads or more taller than the others gathered. And for the record-

Arnor, at six and a half feet tall, was short for a Nordenfiir. And he looked- quite different. He carried two swords, an axe, a dagger, and a belt full of pouches and remedies. He was not armored like others were, either. His armor was a mix of chainmail and leather, flexible at the joints and only lightly padded. Light, maneuverable. Fast, protection at the neck and at the arteries. Not made for fighting men, who used blunt weapons and stabbed. Protection from slashes, cuts.

From claws, teeth, and bites.

He was a Monster Hunter more than most gathered. He had fought a great many number of creatures. He had done it without magical tomes, spells or books- just his wits, and the occasional transformation into a giant, rampaging bear the size of a wagon. The last part wasn't really a selling point to his services.

But it did come with a reputation, one that he intended to uphold. And amongst all the other things that Arnor was, a brute, scarred lightly on the face and on the hands and most of his body, tell-tale signs of aging with his hair peeling back-

He was clean.

Very clean. And he smelled (to most) like lilacs. But for some... they knew what he was. He set horses on edge. He set animals on edge. The same scent of a bear. A predator. Horses drew back from him, dogs barked as he walked through the keep. Chickens returned to their nests, cowering together for both warmth and safety. His arms were crossed when he crossed the threshold into the main gathering area, where he intently shifted his killer, unnerving eyes around the group.

He wasn't sure about any of them, but he had been surprised quite a few times before. Arnor leered at the Direwolf, as it did to him. But there was something peculiar about it. Direwolves were not creatures that remained so still, so quiet. They moved, they cooed, they wanted to be pet- they very rarely sat eerily still, and even more so, rarely looked like that.

Arnor's feet moved forward first. He had a way of walking, sort of gliding. He was always ready to draw swords, fight, be balanced and on two well-practiced feet to engage the enemy. He narrowed his eyes at the Direwolf, not hearing it speak before hand.

"Odd one, aren't you?"

Was all he remarked, stepping back. He didn't make it clear if he became aware of the Direwolf's true nature- perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't. Arnor was more clever than he let on. Maybe he smelled familiarity. Perhaps he sensed something close to it.

Or maybe he just saw a big Direwolf and made note of it. Hard to say. He was a hard man to read. Arnor was not one to be standing for a long time, so he found an unattended chair, not occupied. He made a joke about the seat meeting his ass, and promptly sat down, leaning back in it, stretching out his long legs. He folded his hands on his chest, and looked up towards the ceiling, waiting patiently for whatever came to brief them on the real nature of the situation to begin.

In fact, Arnor was getting....rather.....

Tired....

 

[Emmeline Hildebrandt]

More and more arrived, some on foot, some on horseback, others fortunate enough to be equipped with their own carriages. Luxuries Emma never truly knew, beyond the back of a passing wagon led by a kind soul. She never expected, nor in her life had encountered, a beast the size of the wolf that tread alongside a youth and his horse.

As Uhtred dismounted and he and wolf ascended toward the keep, Emmeline's curiosity finally roused her from where she passively stood by. Winding her way through passing people and carts, the armored warrior followed behind, yet not so close as to impede upon the others' personal space. It was easy enough, considering many were still in the process of dismounting.

When she reached the top of the stairs not long after the others, it was to slip across seating to lean instead against a wall where she could simply watch, unbothered save for the occasional glance her way. There would be a lot for Emma to learn about fighting things that weren't common in city limits, of monsters, too. But if that was what it took for the woman to find answers, to find purpose, than it beat sitting in the empty, boorish confines of her family home--if it could even be called that.

Adventure was a smaller bit of what drove her; excitement wasn't something the woman often felt. Perhaps all the finer things in life were nothing to her because she had lived with so much hatred biting into her shoulder like the proverbial chip. Either way, her path brought her here to this gathering of... creatures, it appeared, to address a threat likely beyond her ken.

Once comfortable in her perch, the woman reached for the knife at her hip and tugged it free. Seemingly interested more in the dirt under her nails than that on her face, she began to distract herself as best she could from the anxiety that standing still seemed to bring with it now. Nonetheless, she was aware of those that sat nearby, of those whose heavy footfalls brought them past to another row of seating.

 

[Castro Keane]

Castro looked around for a little and turned back to the threshold, grinning a little as Arnor stepped out of the carriage. The massive man was no fairytale prince a small child might associate with the vehicle, but fuck if he didn't look the most prepared out of all of them. People like him were special, called something different. Nordenfiir? From the histories he had gotten his hands on, that sounded about right.

Suddenly, his pendant chimed and he looked around, eyes landing upon an approaching young man. He waited while the man asked his question and thought for a moment. He wasn't quite sure whether the Warden was around, but another answer might suffice. "This mission is one of great interest, friend. I haven't personally spotted the Warden, but I assume they would be here for such an attention-winning request." he replied.

Despite being well aware he had engaged in a conversation, his attention was caught by the presence of a large wolf who loomed peacefully nearby. The domain of the Yaegir was of hunting monsters, so he did recognize the being as a direwolf. He never failed to be amazed at how odd his life was now that he had joined the business of slaying. Realizing he was now perhaps spacing out a bit too long his attention snapped back to Uhtred, and what he had said.

"Crobhear Keep, you say? That's quite a ways away, friend. I can only assume you are also here to join the hunt?" he inquired, eyes moving to observe exactly who he was talking to. The man was dressed properly in light armor and had his likely long hair in a ponytail, good for sight. His guess had seemingly turned into a surety, but anything could be possible.

Sigrith

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

"Crobhear Keep, you say? That's quite a ways away, friend. I can only assume you are also here to join the hunt?"
​

"I am," he interrupted, drawing near.

Now on foot, he'd passed beneath the hanging canvas just moments ago. His ears were more than sharp enough, and could hear the two speaking even before he'd entered in. Although he did afford a passing glance to the Dire Wolf nearby, finding its presence here a little odd, direct mentions of the business here was what interested him. By the steadiness in his step and the reigned authority in his voice, it was perhaps obvious he'd been involved in one or two such hunts in the past.

But he did not presume to be welcome simply because of that. Mention of a Warden meant there was some form of hierarchy. He might have been set quite high in the esteem of his own people, but that meant nothing here.

"If you'll have me, of course," he finished, coming to a halt just a few meters away.

 

[Sigrith]

"Odd one, aren't you?"

It was one of the kinder things to be called when one was like she. Odd. The wolf answered with silence, dignifying the Nordenfiir with no response to his quip and watching as he toddled off to find a seat where he presumably felt his age catching up to him in the form of an unwitting snooze. It reminded her of her mother and how the Jorn could catch a nap like a cat - practically anywhere, damn the setting, company, or consequence.

But Jorn Thurna of Hjerim answered to very few and cared not of appearances for appearances sake. Two things she might've passed on to her last daughter who now sat as a direwolf in a hall of the Summer lands with a human whelp at her side awaiting the word of an elf. Oh the places fate had taken her...

"Crobhear Keep, you say? That's quite a ways away, friend. I can only assume you are also here to join the hunt?"
"I am," he interrupted, drawing near.

Ah, here was the one of aged blood she'd caught a whiff of earlier. Another elf - this the first she'd ever seen with such frosted hair and tall ears, nearly a stark foil to her lost mate Sannoru. She was finding there were quite a variety of elves, something she'd never once given a single thought before.

"If you'll have me, of course,"

Uhtred looked to the elf with curiosity within his gleam of youthful fire and grinned, "Of course. We are a brotherhood, are we not? The more the merrier. The Warden sent word to us at Crobhear asking for reinforcements from any Keep that could spare them. I came to keep this one out of trouble," he wagged his thumb at the wolf who merely allowed herself to look less than amused.


WARDEN CYRADIL:

"Thank you all for coming," her voice rang out from the front of the gathering hall where she entered from the side and took a set of stone steps up onto a level several feet above the others, "I see some familiar faces from the other Keeps," her eyes surveyed those before her, "Lord Sagarus, good to see you again. And Darkstride from Crobhear, welcome."

The wolf nodded its head in return.

"Monroe, good you're back - to those of you who have answered the public call for aid: welcome to Atlia Keep. I am Warden Cyradil and I handle this region's Noct Yaegir contracts and bounties. The Heartlands have recently been beset by a growing number of beast attacks. Many people are dead and the reports are concerning. Brother Bolton, if you would please..." Cyradil gestured to a man that stood off in the doorway from where she'd entered.

Bolton stepped forward with a sack in one hand from which he withdrew the severed head of his quarry and threw it into the center of the room. It landed with a squelch and tumbled to a stop between several pairs of boots. Draconic in nature with scales of green and pointed spikes crowning its skull, the maw of fangs alone looked as though it could rend flesh and armor without much trouble.

"Wyvern," said Bolton, raising a hand and pointing toward the head, "and that is just a fledgling left it's nest. Damn near the size of my horse."

"We believe it has siblings. These reports all bare the same story: flying creatures stealing children, livestock, and attacking those who are vulnerable and alone. Not to eat ... but for sport. They are learning how to kill and they are very dangerous... and venomous."

"I need four separate teams," Cyradil looked around at the faces, "three to see to the reports of what we believe to be the other fledglings from the south and the west, and one to go with Brother Bolton to track down the whereabouts of their parents. Lord Sagarus, if you wouldn't mind taking young Yaegir Monroe - she is in need of an experienced mentor."

"Why don't you come with us," Uhtred said to Castro Keane with a friendly smirk, "could use some chattier company than Padfoot here."

The wolf rolled her eyes.

"Ah! There you are Aderyn," Cyradil looked to the only other redhead, Aderyn Verchtegid, as she arrived through the main Keep entry, "I was hoping you would arrive in time. We need antidotes for wyvern venom - can you make such a thing if one of these hunters can catch you a live one?"


!!!!##### OOC #####!!!!
In case you missed it in the server chat, we are breaking up into teams! Here are your assigned teams in order to put less-experienced hunters with seasoned pros:

• Castro with Darkstride/Sigrith
• Monroe with Sagarus
• Emmeline with Eren
• Aderyn with Arnor - Aderyn will be making anti-venom and will need Arnor to catch her a juvenile wyvern alive for this so she can extract the venom.

 

[Aderyn Verchtegid]

Aderyn patted one of the horses on the nose as she strode past the wagon and hefted a pack of medicaments, just a fraction of what she had brought. She made her way to keep's hall and had barely any time to survey those collected inside before the Warden called out to her.

She took in the question and thought for a moment before responding. "I'd have to inspect the thing but I see no reason why not. I'm more of forager than a hunter, though, I must admit."

She could protect herself to some degree, as well, but fighting such a thing? That seemed risky in both directions: she could fall short and get herself or her companion killed, or she could overestimate the thing leading to its death.

The pack shifted on her shoulders as she considered possibilities for how to achieve this. She hadn't much experience with wyverns.

"Do we have any pigs I can borrow?"

Sigrith Arnor Skuldsson

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Wyvern.

Arnor looked up, his eyes shooting open at the sound of the sack rumbling and the rather heavy head hitting the floor. His eyes went to the head, then to the Baron, to the redheaded woman.

Foragers. Mercenaries. And comparatively, inexperienced monster hunters. He took a deep breath, standing up from the chair.

“How alive does it need to be?” He said with a raised brow, approaching Aderyn. He was cruelly built, and definitively the more capable combat wise of the pair. And out of the room gathered- he felt that the others were best suited to the other tasks the Baron and Hunters would present.

He had an idea, sure. A rough one, but one nonetheless. Arnor hadn’t been after a dragon- or any variant thereof, but he was confident in his ability to go after them. They were difficult to deal with as a rule. And sometimes not nefarious. But as civilization encroached on the ancient lands of ancient beasts, conflict was inevitable. Arnor just so happened to be hired by civilization, not by ancient beasts. Their quarries and problems were not his concern.

Killing and capturing them, however, was his concern.

He looked Aderyn up and down- examining her in a mostly inquisitive way. Didn’t seem the fighting type. Any heavy lifting or danger would probably fall to him. Or she could surprise him. It was hard to say.

Time would tell.

 

[Aderyn Verchtegid]

“How alive does it need to be?”

Aderyn bit softly on her lower lip thinking about the last time she made an antivenom. It had been a snake, and snakes were easy to catch alive and unharmed. For that matter, nearly everything was easy to catch safely and without the need for hacking things off. Experience would not help here, she wagered.

"As alive as possible, I'd guess. We need it to survive long enough to guarantee results and I don't think either of us wants to go out a second time."

He was looking at her, eyes scanning over her. She stood there for a moment entirely still, letting him figure out whatever it was that he needed to figure out. Then she said, "Don't worry, though, I can keep you safe while you're being careful."

There was no trace of irony or insincerity in her voice. She certainly meant it. For his part, he looked more than capable but the question alone suggested that his preference was brute force over finesse. As long as he could provide the right amount of the former, though, she could probably make up any difference with the latter. Worst case scenario, she could carry him away and deal with his wounds. The main problem would be the obvious: a venom for which she had no treatment yet.

 

[Monroe]

Lord Sagarus, if you wouldn't mind taking young Yaegir @Monroe - she is in need of an experienced mentor.

It was a good thing her face had already been drawn into a scowl, for the Warden's words would have soured her expression some more for that. Monroe looked up at Ciradyl, raising her brows before leaving the elven woman with a look that meant she would speak to Cira once all of this was over.

Monroe was experienced and had one of the higher conversion rates of taking bounties and delivering on them in a timely manner. Everyone was satisfied with her work. She knew the Warden only hoped that her general unpleasantness would be something she could ease on, for the years of working beside Basilius and being raised by him here in Atlia had only shaped her to take after him. Not to mention that Monroe rarely worked on a team. In fact, she avoided it at all costs, and Cira had warned her that in order to be considered a true Yaegir, it was about time she began to put her hand up to work with others on a job. The idea of a Lord taking her on as a mentor made the Yaegir sigh deeply, but Baz heard it and guffawed, drawing attention.

"Ya wanna be Ward'n one day, ya gotta possess the ability ta talk shit wit' the other Ward'n folks all smart like, girl." He grinned at her.

"Saints forbid." Another sigh, meant for him, and Monroe began to move to a better spot to find this Lord Sagarus as she sidestepped around the severed wyvern head. Troublesome fuckers the juveniles, for the Yaegir could recall a time she had come across one of them as she was travelling back to Atlia a few years back. It was just unheard of and bad luck and coincidence that several calls had been made for aide to deal with them.

Catching the eye of the Warden, she saw the elf nod to a man stood to the side, and Monroe suffered a stifled sigh before moving towards who she believed to be Sagarus. "You ever killed wyverns before?" She asked by way of greeting.

 

[Emmeline Hildebrandt]

Height put Emmeline at a disadvantage, and even though the warden stood atop a stage, it was difficult for the warrior to get as good of a glance as one might hope--especially from her distance. Pushing herself off the wall, the woman stepped around the rows of sitting mercenaries so that she could better see the source of the squelching thump.

When the warden split the gathering into pairs, the only ones not mentioned appeared to be herself and the elf, Eren. She quickly came to the conclusion that that left them. Having already pushed off the wall to peek around those in front of her, she turned instead and moved to approach her partner for the hunt. She'd never fought a wyvern, but she knew what they looked like. She also knew how dangerous they were, as she'd been warned her choice of weaponry would be more a curse than a boon if she were to encounter one.

At the time she chose her specializations, the likelihood that she'd fight a wyvern was nil. A dry chuckle escaped her throat, pushing air betwixt her lips as she shook her head. Stopping beside Eren, she glanced sideways at him.

"I need to learn a more easily maneuvered weapon, don't I?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "How fast can they whip their barb?"

Her chest heaved as she took in a deep breath, glancing back toward the decapitated head.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor seemed to be in thought for a moment. He was thinking of if he could rip off the Wyvern's wings, and it still be alive, technically. Arnor crossed his arms, pacing away from the redhead. He looked up at the ceiling, turning his head halfway back to her.

"Ever even done anything this dangerous? Fought anything unsightly, unworldly?" He turned fully around after speaking, gauging her, examining her. His life was going to be in partially her hands, and moreso, her life was going to be in his hands.

He was an experienced monster hunter at this point, having slain many a foe, many a beast at this point. He wasn't sure about her, however. And despite his lifestyle and employment, Arnor wasn't exactly keen on being murdered by a giant sort-of-dragon. Or even a small one. Or anything, really.

 

[Sagarus]

As an explanation was given, the only indication the Dreadlord lived was the understated tip of his head in greeting to Cyradil. A wyvern wouldn't be so bad, and it would certainly be a sight better than a dragon. The tome could hopefully remain closed. Impulse guided his hand to the leather ledger and he had to fight it back to settle atop his bicep where he'd folded his arms across his chest.

One never knew what random motion could create when dealing with summons. He certainly didn't want one of those particular fiends worming into his mind like a cadaver all because he had a momentary loss in self control.

Not knowing who his partner was, he remained aloof until he caught a flicker of motion coming his way. Carmine gaze pinning her as she approached, his stoicism remained unchanged. This, surely, was Monroe.

Unfamiliar with one another, he was sure that was her hesitancy. Inexperience was not a word to suit her appearance, but perhaps monsters were new game. Giving her a hawk's piercing once-over he decided there was worse company to keep.

She looked like she didn't want to be here either. He could work with that. Digits scratching at the coarse hairs along his jaw, he remained silent a moment more, a thought spared for the color of her eyes. That would simmer for some time, as his vocabulary for color was limited.

"Yeah." A single word with the finality of a closing door. Yet, he continued. "Dragons; Basilisk; Wind Stalkers; People; Wooden doors." The words came with the steady, unhurried gait of a man descending stairs.

"Your satisfaction with my capability is not my concern, I need only know that you are ready. We will find out which lead we chase then we may take to the road."

There was a shift in his weight that stopped abruptly as though he'd entered a room to realize he was not alone as expected. Instead, he widened his stance somewhat and settled into habit, dropping a palm atop the pommel of his blade.

"Do you have more questions?"

 

[Monroe]

She wanted to wince, to express her unhappiness at being thrown into partnering with someone she did not know. Monroe wasn't one to fault Cira for her thinking, but she knew why this was to be her punishment.

Instead she snorted, so sure that her nerves would be tested by this very capable man, but she begged the Saints internally for the will and patience to do a satisfactory job on this obligation. "Yes. I am ready." And despite all the stories of the grumpiness and unpleasantness that was Monroe Cathmore, she would have done Ciradyl proud of the holding back from the snark she had wished to use as she responded to the Lord.

"And no further questions... for now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly now, using the stilled conversation between them to eye him closely. He had an accent and looked as if he knew his way around in a fight, between man or creature, but began to loathe the thoughts in her head. Ciradyl perhaps was smart in pairing her with him, perhaps Monroe could learn something new. "I suppose we better find out where we are headed then grab supplies."

Sagarus

 

[Sagarus]

Crimson flicking to the corner of his eyes, he viewed her askance before deciding to begin walking towards Cyradil (Sigrith.) "She usually leaves instructions on parchment for me." It was a statement rather than an explanation, and he was not about to bore Monroe with the fact he found briefings a waste of time, which meant he was both abjectly bored and unlikely to pay attention.

Sure enough, not far away he found what appeared to be what he was looking for and hefted it, intending to open it. Maybe he would get lucky and it was a disarmingly forward letter from an admirer, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

"Yes, supplies." He agreed with all the personality of plank.

Scanning the document, he tightened the corners of his mouth and realized they were headed further south along the coast. "Delgada. Apparently it's harvest time for the fishermen. Guess the beast caught a taste." Rolling it back up, he turned to his partner.

"Hope you like sand. And fish."

 

[Sigrith]

"Do we have any pigs I can borrow?"

"Pigs?" Cyradil echoed curiously, then realized the Apothecary would need them for testing. It would be a waste of meat - they'd be of no use once she was done with them, but the value of wyvern antidote was suddenly far greater than the life of any pig or the chop it might supply.

"Yes, I will send for some from the village. Whatever you need, Aderyn, I will do my best to supply. You will be going to the nearest location of attacks, a town called Worrin just off the western road." the Warden's gaze shifted to Arnor Skuldsson after having heard his clear doubt of the Apothecary's abilities, "I can send another Yaegir with you to assist if you need, I am expecting one more from our Keep on the Cortosi Coast."

 

[Monroe]

"Delgada. Apparently it's harvest time for the fishermen. Guess the beast caught a taste."

Delgada? Surely not the same town by the coast...

"Hope you like sand. And fish."

Monroe's facial features soured at the thought, but not because of the idea of sand and fish. That type of smell never left you really, even if her home as a child had not been a fishing village, the sea held a scent that she could recall even now. "Suddenly, I am glad I didn't waste time on using scented soap to wash up with." For the smell of the sea and fish would immediately overpower anything sweet and floral.

She flashed him a wry smile before turning away and headed towards the prepared bags of provisions and gear. With experienced fingers, Monroe sorted through the various vials available to the Yaegirs. There was nothing to help against the venom, but there was a particular component that could cause paralysis to a juvenile if she coated her arrows enough. With a frown, she procured one bottle with a sigh. She better spare this until a vital moment.

"That's me sorted." Cathmore declared. She stowed the vial into a designated pouch at the leather belt around her waist. Two swords crossed at her back, her bow and quiver of arrows left waiting for her at the door leading out from the room and into the Keep, an attentive falcon perched delicately and weightless from the top of the handsomely crafted bow. The Yaegirs of Atlia knew not to dare touch the gear for the falcon, a Guardian of the Wyld, had been known to defend.