RP:Proper Planning Prevents Possible Perishing

Part of the Do You Believe In Magic? Arc

Summary: Days after meeting up with Lionel, Pilar and Brand return to the fort. Along with various other members of the Warrior's Guild, they all pool their thoughts and resources to formulate a plan to free the vampires.

Frostmaw War Room

Lionel hates the war board. Handpainted miniatures sprawled across a handpainted map make life and death seem almost gamely. It feels like the sort of wanton disregard he's come to despise from his newfound experience with politics. He can only rejoice in knowing the queen does not view the world through the prism of nonchalance some in her court have developed. In this new age which she has crafted, more often than not the demons are mere mortals. "I hate the war board," he mutters a reiteration, and a hook-nosed dwarf with salt-and-pepper hair and a scar on his cheek like the letter "t" cants his head but remains silent. Altogether, there are seven of them in the hall -- three dwarves, two helmeted guards beside either of the main entryways, the woman whose name is not Christina, and of course, Lionel himself. They await arrival not only of Dominic and Brand and Pilar but of the rest of the forces Lionel has mustered from his private squadron to aid in this herculean rescue effort. Here, those gathered shall concoct a plan to deal with a dangerous dragon. It's all very swords-and-sorcery, and it could remind the Catalian of half a hundred other missions. Relatively few, however, have been quite so enclosed. A lot could go wrong in a draconian cave. A lot. Lionel says nothing else. He tries to clear his mind, but fails. Strapped upon his back, Hellfire gleams an ugly maroon. Man and fiery spirit are joined in the knowing: some of these people might not make it back alive.

Pilar was the first of the guests to arrive. She wasn't sure what to wear for the planning, and decided on her leather training gear. Her proper armor was too hazardous in close quarters. She could easily run back and change if they were going to run out after the meeting concluded. She stepped into the war room shyly, arms half-folded as a sort of metaphorical barrier. Eyes were on her now, and she looked away from them. She had no idea where she was supposed to stand, or what to say, or anything. She wasn't made for war. She found a place to stand off to the side, away from the table, and still refused to meet anyone's eyes.

DomiBrand had spent most of the last few days reclusively, almost never to be found around the fort or Frostmaw’s tavern or any of their other usual haunts. Brand’s shambling entrance made it clear, though, that those days had not been kind to them. The man’s eyes were dull and seated in shadow, his hair disheveled, his clothes smelling of alcohol -- although, thankfully, he didn’t actually appear to be drunk at the moment. It was Brand and only Brand who shuffled into the room, fully flesh and blood today. Where was Dominic? Dominic was… otherwise occupied, he’d say, if anyone asked. No mind for tactics and thus of better use attending to other preparations. It was true enough, and explaining their whole two-minds-one-body deal right now would just delay Khitti’s rescue further, if there was indeed anything left of her to be rescued. If she was alive and still possessed any of her mind. If Lydia appearing in his dreams to speak of her wasn’t just some cruel trick of his brain. Nah, she was probably dead, and the more he’d thought about it the more he blamed himself. Lydia’s shrinking shard of hope was the only reason he was here, sober, and not still drowning his regrets back at the Destrier, rapid spiraling into numbness away from anyone likely to disturb him. Not that he’d admit any of that, but he was near the end of his rope enough that some of it was glimmering through the cracks in his figurative armor anyway. Tired emerald eyes scanned the room from the doorway before falling to the war board; Brand visibly steeled himself and corrected his posture before meeting Lionel at its head. And just like that, the cracks were faded. Mind on the task at hand. Time enough to worry later.

Lionel watches in silence as the woman Pilar arrives, noting her hesitation marks as reason enough to trust her. She doesn't belong here, discussing battlefield strategy -- not really -- but she's here anyway, because there's someone worth fighting for on the other side of the mission. That's good enough for him. Then comes Brand, all drink-stenched swagger and dullness, and Lionel briefly questions how well this meeting is going to go down. Brand adjusts, fixes his eyes on his fellow Catalian, and Lionel feels a brush of relief. This isn't Lionel's forte, either. Or at least, it's not his favorite pastime. In wars past, the man was a pure frontline fighter. Nothing less... but nothing more. Not really. He'd challenge villains or villains would challenge him. Fates would be decided by the sword. Lionel really does hate the war table. He might have spoken at this juncture, but the arrival of the remainder of the away team interrupts his passage. Not-Christina makes room for a slender and shaven-headed elf with scrutinizing eyes. Beside him is a man so hulking as to appear made of armor, even now, dressed as he is in simple blacks and a belt two sizes too small. Behind them both, a woman in an easy emerald gown with matching eyes and a look that suggests considerable cynicism is the last to enter, and she sets her iron rod down beside her elven companion's oaken staff. That's that, then. They're here. All of them, sans Dominic anyway. Now they'll be wanting an explanation. "I suppose introductions are in order." The first dwarf, the hook-nosed and middle-aged fellow, inexplicably winks as he speaks. "Tratt," he says, plainly, as though the name would mean anything to anyone present. "Shanks," a younger dwarf, bespectacled and somewhat shy, informs everyone. "And that makes me Sundance," the third of three dwarves, burly and barrel-chested, proudly speaks. "The dwarves have worked together for years," Lionel notes, "and will not be separated for this mission. No, really -- I tried. They refused." All three dwarves are looking awfully proud, now. "Ye can count on us to distract any lizard of any size, but we'll be needing ourselves a communicator," Tratt explains, his shrewd eyes cast upon the bald elf, whose dulcet voice is half words, half sighs. "Yes, it appears our Catalian friend has a crude sense of ironies and a strong disilke of elves. I will be leading the dwarven triumvirate through the main entryway. My magics allow me a certain connectivity with my bondmate. I am Esche, as it happens. I will be your throughline between teams." Sundance bristles and plucks his thick curl-tipped mustache disdainfully. "What he means is he's a damned telepath. And make no mistake, lads and lassies; he won't be 'leading' any of us." Esche is quiet, but those who watch him further will note the vaguest hint of malice playing at his clear blue eyes. It is his bondmate, the green-gowned woman, who speaks next. "I will be conductor to Esche's information. My name is Varka. I will travel alongside the infiltration team. I am also a healer of some skill." It's all she says, and even that much seems a strain on her. She steps closer to Esche, who bows his head to her gracefully. She bows back. Now the hulking man who had entered the war room alongside Esche moves into the limelight. "Stroud. I kill things." An instant camaradarie appears to form between Stroud and Sundance as the big dwarf laughs at the big human and the big human laughs back. It's all very awkward. This leaves Not-Christina as the last to introduce herself; she crosses her arms, observes all those gathered, clears his throat, and interjects. "I'm Briar." A sidelong glance toward Lionel, who shrugs defensively. "I'm a warrior. If you want me with the infiltration, I'll go there. If you want me with the distraction, I'll go there instead. If either of you," she gestures to Pilar and Brand, "think this entire plan is vintage 'bad Lionel plan', feel free to poke holes, make adjustments, or just insult him outright. Whatever you choose, I'll back you 100%." Lionel blinks. "Huh."

Pilar stayed quiet, listening to the introductions and watching the interactions. There was already tension in the group. That couldn't be good for the mission. After Briar spoke, Pilar cleared her throat. "I-I'm Pilar. I... I don't know how I can help, b-but Raiez has my friend and, and I want her back."

Brand was unusually quiet and still as the others made their introductions. Only his eyes moved, flitting from one to the next, seeking to observe what they weren’t saying as much as what they were. His statue-like demeanor extended another moment after Pilar had concluded, and was at last broken with a parchment pulled from one of his pockets, unfolded, and thrown over the war board. The miniatures were briefly examined and then placed in key spots on the paper, which appeared to be a layout of Raiez’s cave and its surroundings. “Brand,” he finally stated. “Elementalist. Failing that, close quarters combatant. Failing that,” he sighed, gesturing at the map, “Cartographer. Tactician.” So he claimed, but still he’d deferred to Lionel to build upon the information he’d given at their meeting days prior. Dominic’s role in this was again left unsaid, but truthfully there wasn’t anything for him to do until after Khitti was found. If there was to be danger, the kid was better off hanging back and letting Brand do what he did best.

Esche approaches Brand's map with graceful steps, a speculative look now cast upon his small inquisitive eyes. A flicker of purple seems to fade out from those eyes just as quickly as it had arrived. "Curious," the elf says, tapping one delicate slender index finger to the lake beside the cave. "A body of water so deep could be counted upon for support -- under the proper circumstances." He lets the statement hang in the air just long enough to set Tratt to seething. "Well, be on with it, ye damned actor," the dwarf demands, and Esche, feigning ignorance to the request, peers toward Brand. "I am an elementalist... of sorts. Pray-tell, is this map to scale? Would it not be reasonable to presume that, judging by the proximity of the cavern to this lake, there might be a way in through the water?" Lionel raises his finger to interject and confirm the elf's keen observations, but Esche carries on without delay. "If so, I suspect our dragon is well accustomed to a certain temperature this time of year. Dragons are majestic, though frequently fickle. En route to the main entrance, I might be inclined to... adjust the lake a tad." Many of the gathered party members stare at him now; Varka merely smirks. "But for this and any other potential plan of ours to succeed, it is imperative that I am told as much as possible about this dragon. If the creature strikes with a particular element, I must know it. If there is anything -- anything at all -- which can aid our quest, I must hear it." Now, he observes not only Brand but Pilar as well. "And where is the other one? The... Dominic, I believe he was called? All must gather." Stroud is so bored he's taken to sharpening his blades. For the most part, though, the team is suitably intrigued.

The bickering and in-fighting was already starting. Pilar looked at the dwarf Tratt, frowning, but said nothing. She stayed away from the table, away from the maps and miniatures. This was not her element. Her eyes turned to Brand when Dominic was asked after.

“Map’s as near to scale as I could make it, under the circumstances,” replied Brand, a faint grimace upon his features. He’d answer the barrage of questions in the order of which they’d flown his way, delaying to the end the one he’d rather not answer. “And yeah, you presume correctly. The dragon’s got fire and electric magics at the least; she’s of the Blue variety so more’n likely her electric attacks would be the strongest.” He’d only witnessed the fire, himself -- and he didn’t want to think about how much more devastating her lightning must be. The persistent recollection of Khitti and the other vampire in front of that wall of flame was horrifying enough. “Not to mention, all manner of enchantment. Not really sure the scope of that, but it was enough to keep us shrunk an’ encased in jars for weeks. Stronger’n the collective efforts of all sorts of mages from within. Gettin’ out was a gorram fluke in the first place; I imagine it’d only be worse now she’s got reason to expect it might happen again. If we get there and find Raiez’s captives alive and trapped in such a thing, someone will need to sweep for any spell that might hurt them before touchin’ the jar.” Here a sideways glance was given to Pilar, likely knowing that was the part she’d care about most. “As for Dominic… you, eh, might say we have our own sorta telepathy.” Brand tapped two fingers to his right temple. “He’s bein’ kept apprised.” He hoped he wouldn’t be made to elaborate further on that last point, but the elf seemed exactly the sort to pry. And if not him, someone else would, wouldn’t they? Frak it all. Should’ve just made the damned kid do his weird illusionist thing again.

To Brand's probable surprise, Esche says little and less on that last mark, his lips curling into a knowing crescent-smile. It's the sort of smile that might be a touch unnerving, but there is nothing in the rest of his countenance to suggest foul play. Rather, the elf just looks satisfied with the answer, nodding and stepping back a single pace as he observes the map in further detail. "Blue," he says, bringing a few fingers to his chin. "It seems my services will be spread somewhat thinly. I can cast magics to disrupt the natural order of the various components within the lake, although it will be somewhat draining." He tilts to Varka, who tilts back. A moment of understanding between them. "She will see to me but we must needs be quick. From the moment I conjure my spell, the distraction team I will assist ought to reach the cave's entrance in short order." Lionel clears his throat. "Horses," he suggests. Esche cants his head to concur with that idea, even as Varka takes over the conversation flow momentarily. "Brand," she greets the man, "you've said we ought to investigate the jars first. I can do this whilst maintaining telepathic communication with the distraction team. Please help cover me while I do this. There's no telling how much we'll all purchase via Esche and the dwarves." There's a lot going on here, Lionel realizes, and -- at Briar's nudging -- he takes up position toward the center of the sizable group. "Alright, then. Anyone here rides a horse, they'll get a horse. Anyone who doesn't... ride with someone else. Now for the big question. Who else is on infiltration? Infiltrators will attempt the rescue itself. Distraction agents, you'll buy us time. We'll let you know as soon as it's safe to pull out. Regroup with us during the mission if worse comes to worst and the dragon doubles back on us." With Esche, Tratt, Shanks and Sundance already accounting for the brunt of the distraction team, and Varka already assigned to the rescue op, this leaves a couple more slots available for both teams. Brand and Pilar may be the first to reply; Briar and Stroud appear to be weighing their options. Presumably, at least one of Brand and Pilar will wish to assist with the rescue, if not both of them, but it's always good to verify these things.

Pilar had offered nothing of any import to the meeting, and she could almost feel the group's judging thoughts. Useless, pathetic thing, they called her. She cursed her own stupidity every other moment, especially when Bran brought up the possibility of the captives being hurt if someone touched their jars. She hadn't even considered that. She was almost sick to her stomach from shame and embarrassment, and her voice cracked when she answered Lionel's question. "I... will be."

Brand had already put on the exasperated air of one who’s been asked to perform the same stale parlor trick one too many times, ready to allow Dominic to the forefront and then back again, and then -- wait. No further questions? Ah, alright then. Good. Kid seemed about to faint at the thought of having so many eyes fixed upon him, anyway. Brand did give Esche a bit of a lingering stare, though, as if to say, “I hope you didn’t jus’ do what I think you did. This mind’s dark and full of terrors.” A moment of this, and then his gaze fell away to once again take in the room as a whole. “Infiltration team, obviously,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in a casual stance. A simple nod was given to Varka, acknowledging her request. “Since I’ve been there before’n all, better off on that side of things anyway.”

Esche just did what Brand thinks he did. Lionel clears his throat again; one might begin to wonder whether he swallowed an apple core at this rate. "I'll be honest. I hate long speeches. I think we've covered the gist, here, but it goes without saying this is an extremely dangerous operation. Many of you know little and less about your peers." The smallest conceivable smirk plays at Esche's features during the tiniest of pauses in Lionel's wording. "But you've all been hand-picked for good reason. Dragon or not, we have our goals, and we have an understanding toward how to achieve them. All that's left is to kick ass and save mages." Something like a brief tension covers the air -- but it's summarily destroyed when Stroud and Sundance beat their chests and cheer. Others are blinking, or eye-rolling, or pretending not to notice. The two warriors, human and dwarf, have found occasion to move closer to one-another at some point during the meeting; they've never met before, but there may be quite the future ahead of them. If they survive, Lionel considers glumly. "Brand, Pilar," he continues. "Anything else springs to your mind, you can always tell Christina on our way to the cave. It'll be a boring trip, anyway. Nothing but ice and trepidation." Briar chooses silence. She examines her liege a little bit more fairly for once. His wrong-name shtick is easily the lamest running 'joke' she's ever suffered, but he seems to be... trying? Maybe her political position isn't the worst in the kingdom after all. Maybe it's just the second-worst. Or even the third.

"You mentioned something about horses..." Pilar said, "but... maybe flying would be better. I can... I can get a few Eyrie mounts for us. Wyverns, griffons, winged horses... whatever we need. If... if that works..." Pilar wondered if maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Her ideas were usually dumb, anyway. Briar, however, smiled and nodded. "Not a bad plan. It'll be faster, if nothing else. Probably safer, too." "I'll... I'll go prepare them now, then," Pilar said. She walked toward the exit, feeling an odd mix of nervousness and pride. Maybe she wasn't a colossal moron after all.