RP:A Method for the Madness

Part of the Township Troopers Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Emrith assembles several members of the guild to discuss the strategy he has developed for the looming mission to Gualon's Nameless Desert. While gathered, Eirik addresses his belief that a stronger sense of teamwork should be crafted, and Lionel cannot disagree.

Frostmaw: Snowless Training Yard

Emrith exits the nearby building onto the dirt and sand of the training yard, moving at a slow, dignified walk. This is as much in deference to his healing leg as to his idea of decorum, which dictates that he be reserved and completely in control of his emotions. The last meeting nearly devolved beyond tolerance, and if Emrith Kohl is to lead anything, warrior's guild or not, then he owes it, both to himself and to others, to make sure a tight rein is maintained this time round. The spell-blade does not want the guild to get a reputation for slipshod behaviour at meetings. All this, though, happens in his mind, and no indication whatever of his inner monologue is given to the outside world save that slow and stately progress across the training yard. The vampiric elf's green eyes scan all of those gathered as he approaches the center of the wide-open space, and once there, he stops, waits a beat in the quiet, then raises a hand to beckon them closer. Dressed in soft deerskin breeches and shirt, with a head of tousled-looking blond hair and a pair of short swords crossed on his back, Emrith Kohl may not look like a leader of men, but here he is, and the success of the next mission might depend on what happens here this evening. "Welcome, and thank you to all who managed to make it here," he intones. Despite the relative softness of his voice, it still manages to carry well, ensuring that virtually anyone in the vicinity will be able to hear it without having to strain. "We have been set a daunting task, but we are well begun upon it, I think. I stand here before you to talk strategy, to take counsel, and to further formulate and hone our plan of attack, which is set for a week from now. I have been hard at work over the last several days, attempting much and learning little, I fear, but I have managed a few ideas. If the rest of you are even half as lucky as I have been, then collectively we will have much to talk about. Come, though. It is your ideas, your questions, your concerns that I would hear first." He shakes a small leather scrip dangling from his left hand. "Mine, you see, is comparatively simple, so we will get to it in due time." His eyes flick to each in turn as he falls silent.

Lionel straightens his collar, staring into the mirror with trepidation. He’s only just barely made it back from his business in Cenril, and he’s not found occasion to consult with the queen, nor to speak with Brand concerning Khitti’s condition. In fact, he’s not found occasion to do much of anything. “There’s never enough time,” Esche states casually from behind him, forcing Lionel to take a surprised step back. It’s precisely what he’d been thinking. With a sigh, Catal’s Last Prince walks over to his cabinet and retrieves the mysterious journal entries found during the mission to Southern Sage from a small bronze compartment in the topmost drawer. “I conducted a more thorough analysis,” Esche continues, fetching his old oaken staff. “And?” Lionel stares, waiting. “And, your smith -- Ranok, was it? -- yes, he has the right of it, I believe. The obvious link here is that this magister had been experimenting with altering the size of various objects. The insects, meanwhile, can best be described as having a distinctly altered size. I believe this is our connection, but I am unfamiliar with any of these nations mentioned in the script.” Lionel nods. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a start. Rorin’s mosaic and these bizarre journal entries. Combined, they’ve given the team a hint of things to come. And now, the guild’s chief strategist, Emrith, will present his mission briefing to several members. With the elven Esche behind him and to his right, Lionel exits the fortress by way of the eastern doors, entering the training yard where a small crowd has begun to form. Two other members of the guild have just recently arrived, as well -- the instructor named Howe, battle-scarred and grizzly, and a young initiate named Anton. The men take their places, and at Emrith’s beckoning, Lionel steps forward. “Many of you have faced these creatures before. You know their style, their patterns. I urge you not to fall victim to that knowledge. When we fought them previously, we all know what we saw: they adapted. I don’t know much about bugs, but I do know this -- they’re alarmingly good at keeping their colonies apprised. We have no reason to assume that doesn’t hold true across colonies. If there -is- a colony in the Nameless Desert, expect them to be waiting for us. And expect them to have some new tricks up their…” He pauses, wincing. “...chitinous… limb… layers.”

Eirik marches into the training yard, left arm in a sling and a half pressed grin on his features. As per usual the berserker is clad in usual arms and armor. Sleeveless black leather jerkin, scuffed steel greaves, matching pants, and a single fur covered pauldron over his right shoulder. Brann Forbruker, a runic longsword, lies tied to his hip via means of a leather baldric. However, etched over his left shoulder is the sign of stitch work indicating the last wound he had received in the Titans of Winter Tournament. Perhaps this is why the mad man smiled? As Emrith enters the same ds from the building, the lycan comes to a full stop, heeding the words of his superior officer. Though their last mission had been a sort of scramble he wondered if another mind could make a difference. Near six foot frame leans against a nearby wall, as eyes shift to watch the scene unfold. Certainly, if Eirik had anything to add, he would do so. For now his own objective is to listen to the others. Lionel and his entrance has the lycan shaking his head. He always seemed to have an entourage.

Rorin relaxed in the currently unused training yard on this somewhat pleasant afternoon. There's still plenty of light left for him to play with a winter wolf, apparently a yearling pup though it would easily be up to his knee, a mottled white colored canine with a grey face in a mask pattern. It seemed to be enjoying playing fetch with the Pilgrim as it rolled about in the warmth of the golden sands and returned the ball to his companion. Rorin looked refreshed from recent battles, hair a little less of a black-blue mop than usual, grey-blue eyes focused and calm. He was in fact currently enjoying a roll of herbal cigars as well, their particular blend designed to clear the mind, while both a number of thoughts and an absence of ran through it. Isangrim would draw Rorins attention with a bark to Emrtihs approach. Rorins dark coat would flap a bit as he rose and dusted himself off, waving, before jogging a bit towards the center with his new canine companion not far behind. Rorin looked as simply garbed as anyone else in his tunic and slacks, gloves, boots, all very normal, his weapons belt the only thing denoting any regards to station. A hand stuffed Isangrims ball into Rorins pocket while Emrith spoke. Even the wolf payed attention, a respective attentiveness of ears and eyes as it sat on its hindquarters. "We set on Gualon, no? The desert is not home to many save for bandits, madmen, and the odd local or two. I suggest we'd start there. It's more than likely that if a whole village dissapeared inv the means of Kelays Sage Forest, that there has to be some type of rumor spreading around the desert there. Old places. Among the rocks and crags. Shamans and native tribes, if we can find them. If not- I'm certain an outlaw or two has dug themselves a hole. We just need to know who and what to ask. I'm certain the trade routes would go first and no one might know why but local businesses could suffer. If we pour resources into information gathering we might be able to snuff out the bugs before they can start to become as much of a problem as they were in Sage. If course the problem there is trying to spread ourselves out. Do we have any contacts, know any locals we could start with? They might just help us there." Then it would be a matter of attacking this new hive. But Rorin didn't believe in charging in head first. Know thine enemy, he'd always been told. What they knew was little. Now was the time to probe. Find the enemy then attack. No use marching aimlessly into scores of miles of ancient deserts no one's been able to effectively map for years.

Ameno wiped the saliva from his shirt, and glared angrily at Yasha his wyvern, who had apprently spat him out at the training yard. He mutter intelligible angry words, as he wiped himself down shaking his wings to get the stuff off. His ears soon picked up on the voice of his commanding officer and listened as well as he could. Posing a question he asked. "Perhaps these nests are linked by some higher authority, some kind of creature that is linked to this hive mind, and can anticipate the destruction of a node, and work to create counters, perhaps if that were true we could search for this main nexus?

Emrith listens to each of the gathered warriors in turn - save Eirik, of course, who is as taciturn as ever - letting his eyes linger on each speaker as he has his say. "Facing the same enemy more than once, using the same tactic more than once, is one of the first things I was taught not to do in my training years ago. It was sound advice then, and it is sound advice now. I have borne it in mind with my own planning, and I am glad that you, too, have seen fit to remember it, Lionel. Forewarned is forearmed." Turning to Rorin, the spell-blade nods his head in a bow of acknowledgement. "I confess that my own knowledge of the region is patchy at best, and that I have let my mind be occupied with other matters." He gives his leather bag a shake; something thunks inside it. "If you know the local terrain of Gualon, or know someone else who would be well-suited to this sort of reconnaissance, please do let me know." Turning to Amenno last of all, Emrith nods to him. "A higher authority is something I am banking upon, but for now, I believe that the best thing we can do is to prioritize queens in each colony we find, and to let the colonies themselves make a sort of trail of breadcrumbs, as it were. In my experience, when a greater picture is formed - such as that suggested by the journal entries and the mosaic of which we have been apprised - then randomness can be taken out of the issue, and following the trail usually leads to good results." Emrith hefts his bag, then opens it, pulling from its depths a large squarish clay jar, a stick, and a whole bunch of finely-woven mesh. "For my contribution, I have focused on an advantage we might be able to use, since we have not assayed it yet. The trick, I believe, is to make that advantage so powerful or so sudden that our foes simply do not have time to adapt to it. To that end..." He raises the heap of meshlike fabric. "This used to be twine," he says, "and I have taken great pains to craft it into what you see now. It is rune-painted such that sudden windspeed will cause it to heat rapidly. It will not be set afire, but will expand and become far more porous, gaining a netlike consistency." He lowers the mesh, and lifts the jar. "This," Emrith says with a grin, "is nothing more or less than molasses, or treacle. It is extremely sweet and sticky; most insects, especially those who make honey or collect nectar, are drawn to it. I need do nothing to this substance for its effects to be known; a bug bound up in sticky molasses, silly as it sounds, may not be able to fly, and it looks as if our foes will possess that advantage." Last, Emrith displays the stick, which has a circle at one end. "And this is for launching," Emrith concludes. "My idea is to give each of you one or two mesh bags full of molasses, as chilled as it can get. If it is chilled, it loses its strong olfactory signature and will not alert the insects on its presence alone. You stuff the mouth of the bag into the loop at the end here, swing back your arm, and let fly." He demonstrates, heaving his arm forward. The stick whooshes loudly through the air. "The bag sails through the air, the runes heat it and essentially turn it into a net, the treacle sprays out all over your target and the net falls on top of it. Needless to say, it is best if you try and throw toward masses of insects rather than a single one."

Lionel allows a small smirk to tug at his lips, but it is the veteran instructor Howe who appears the most amused out of this bunch. “Good old-fashioned trapmaking,” the man bellows, nodding his approval. “Will this truly work?” Anton, his voice as young as Rorin’s, widens his clear blue eyes at the materials. “Recruit,” Lionel reminds him, “Emrith has been given full clearance to plan this mission. We owe him our confidence.” He now steps swiftly, past Esche and past Eirik and past Ameno, and his gaze locks with Rorin’s. “I know of a spot,” he starts, and then he projects his voice. “There’s not much more than an old married couple, but they’ve lived there for decades, collecting salvage from the ruins of the Nameless Desert, and selling them to traders for half as much as they’re worth. It’s a good vantage point, too, and if anyone remotely trustworthy still dwells in such a barren land, it’s them. We’ll bring our wyverns there and ask some questions. We’ll find our colony, and if they can help in any way, they will.” A flicker of sadness casts itself upon Lionel’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it’d emerged, replaced with a jovial smile. “That is, if it’s alright with you, Chief Strategist Emrith.”

Eirik s silver orbs continued to shift from one person to another while they entered and spoke. Everyone question asked is one that would need answering. However he was a little more interested, in the deserts of Gualon. That place is where Eirik had originally appeared, half starved, and thirsty beyond belief. He too had a run in with some of the locals and wondered exactly how they would make their way through the sands. Eirik finally shifts his attention to Emrith and his explanation of tuned netting, taking note of how it functions. To be honest, magic is not his strong suit and often found himself a little hesitant to use it. Eyes flick to Lionel and his march past everyone. He had no idea who this old married couple was, but felt it worth noting; local knowledge can be useful. Finally, eyes shift to Emrith, “I would like to add,” his voice rough like rocks being crushed beneath a weighted boot. “That we emphasize some group training. Last mission felt more like scramble, then a well planned assault. Find our strengths and weaknesses, and adapt further. Not on our knowledge, but our ability as a unit.”

Rorin would watch with gathered interest. "Throwing molasses? Hm. That might slow them down," next came Lionel, naturally. "It's a start," Rorin agreed. "Ameno has a point as well. They may or may not be linked. They may share adaptations. We'll have to make some tests. Dry runs. Get our feet wet." He agreed with Eirik on that one. Metaphors are the strangest of things he decided. At least the had a plan. Sort of. Better than nothing.

Ameno was silent as he listened, and begrudingly nodded in agreement with Eirik's statement. Picking up a small rock which he fiddled with in his left hand he listened well to both lionel and to Emirith. He heard heavy footsteps behind him and soon found himself being licked by his wyvern yasha. He growled and gripped the rock in his left hand so hard that powder fell from open areas of his fingers. Ameno growled low, ticked that not only who could he not control his wyvern, but the same wyvern had eaten both his weapons, and wouldn't give them back. He was unfortunately stuck to this wyvern, a requirment by the frostmaw wyvern stables. "Oh you'll bond they said, don't worry see she likes you, yeah likes me, Like to annoy the F__K out of me." He said in his mind. If she had been smaller like cat sized she'd have been adorable but at her size big enough to swallow him whole she was a menace. Grey furred like a wolf, and with bright large yellow eyes like a reptile or feline, he could only groan.

Emrith allows himself a brief smile at Howe's apparent exuberance, then favours the recruit, Anton, with a green-eyed stare. "The only way to know whether something will work is to try it. It probably seems outlandish, but I am not asking anyone to go into a dangerous place armed only thus. Each and every member of our guild has specific skills to aid them in combat, none of which will be encumbered much, or at all, by carrying along a stick or two. Besides, I will not insist firmly upon anyone using this tactic; it is merely a suggestion I put before the group." Emrith has always found that a firm explanation, especially at a friendly gathering such as this, goes a long way toward easing doubts...and a long way toward cementing a leadership role as well, it should also be said. To Lionel, the elf gives a curt but respectful nod, flicking his eyes to Rorin in the process to include him in the plan of gathering information. "If you endorse it, and think it might be advantageous, then I will trust your judgment. I hope it avails you of more intelligence than we currently possess, and I thank both you and Rorin for covering this angle of the proceedings." When Eirik finally speaks up, Emrith bows to him as well. "Group training is something that we must do in future, to make our assaults more lethal and more precise. I agree with you wholeheartedly. It was a point I planned to touch on toward the end of the meeting, but thank you for bringing it up now. I suppose now is as good a time as any. Each of us is strong in some ways, weak in others; perhaps devising pairs to work together, to cover one another, might be a good starting-point. A week is hardly enough time to develop numerous multi-tiered combat strategies; those can come later. Pairs might be a good start. I would urge all of you to speak with all other guild members you can find, particularly those who you believe will be coming on the journey to Gualon next week. Tell one another of your various strengths, and do not be afraid to admit your failings as well. We are a brotherhood of servants, at our core, and if we cannot even serve each other, then we are doomed both to chaos and to atrophy from the inside."

Lionel | Anton blinks back youthful shame when Emrith singles him out for an explanation, but that shame is short-lived when it becomes evident to the lad that the elf is being thorough and helpful. Anton bows respectfully, then bursts into laughter at the antics involving Ameno’s peculiar wyvern. Howe quietly elbows the recruit in the rib, forcing him to fall in line. “I should very much like to assist in these training operations,” the veteran says approvingly, compelling Lionel to speak up again. “Then it’s decided. And this will work well with the queen’s own training plans, too, although I confess I’m not exactly -chipper- that she’s throwing herself into harm’s way like this. Still,” he admits, “she’s champion of our guild and she can damn well take care of herself, it’s just…” It seems it’s his turn to laugh. “Well, I digress. Eirik and Emrith are both right. Working on our strengths as a unit is going to go a long way in ensuring we continue to survive. These missions aren’t getting any easier.” In fact, they’re becoming increasingly difficult. “One week, people. One week, and we’ll make our way to Gualon. Be ready.”

Eirik would again nod to his superior Emrith at his explanation of paring up. A shield brother or sister would indeed help out a lot. He would have to think on this further, but eyes flick from each member wondering who he might try to talk with. As Lionel again speaks, head twists to set gaze upon him alone. After hearing his words, the lycan falls silent. Emriths idea of runed nets was a great plan, and the idea of a training partner also helped to alleviate his mind. The northman had nothing further to add.

Rorin crosses his arms and allows Emriths words to wash over him. Chaos, atrophy, brotherhood of servants, failings and strengths. They definitely needed to learn to work together as a team. Rorin got along with most of them sure but there were definitely strengths and weaknesses. It could be nice to learn some better strategies of working together with everyone but they would have to start side by side. Meanwhile everyone had their own personal lives to attend to.

Ameno is about to agree when he is whipped off his feet and Yasha places a paw over him keeping him grounded. holding his head up with elbow, looks up at her. And angrily slams both of his fists down on the ground causing a minor quake in the area. She picks him up with her teeth. "Sir, I agree wholeheartly need more training, and I apologize for this wyvern's misbehavior." He tried to adjust himself to get her to drop him, but all he could do is hang 30' off the ground his wings in her jaws. He crossed his arms very embarress or very angry either way his skin was darkening dramtically.

Emrith :: When plans are made without much interruption or argument, when ideas are judged sound, when agreements understood by all and sundry, it is all Emrith can do to keep himself stiff and formal. He wants to sag with relief. Instead of giving in to this desired weakness, he simply nods to each guildmate in turn, managing that stoic demeanour even when the ground shakes a little. He does not immediately acknowledge Amenno and his fractious wyvern with anything but a single brief glance, and no words. He has business to attend to, and this must be foremost in his mind. "Lionel, Rorin, and anyone else you see fit to include, please try and learn from the locals whatever you can. And for all of us, including you two..." He sweeps them with his green gaze. "It falls to us to talk to one another and determine pairings. As a strategist, I would like to be kept aware of what you decide, and I will, of course, be open to whosoever wishes to speak with me about forming another such duo. Spread the word, since there are members who were not here today but who are likely to be here next week. I would rather that a ready team of pre-ordered pairs arrives next week, than a group of warriors all ready to do battle each in his or her own way. If you have any ideas about strategy regarding the combat itself, I urge you to come to me with them, and to freely share them as well among your fellow guild members. Knowledge is power. For now, though, I believe that this formal meeting may be adjourned. You have leave to remain here, as members, or to go freely where you wish. A good evening to you all." Emrith takes a step or two backward, bowing formally, then begins stowing his gear. He has individual nets to make, and more molasses to find before the murder of monstrous wasps can commence.