RP:Restoring the Harbor;Ch1

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rynvale New Dawn Arc


LOCATION: Rynvale, The Devastated Harbor (rp’d location)

Drael sits amidst the riff raff, the hustle and bustle of the destroyed Harbor; the table he sits at seemingly made from scraps of broken ships, or debris collected from all over, his seat a cracked barrel. Before him, lies several piles of scattered parchment, all with some sort of scribble on them, notes, drawings, blueprints, names—all documentation pertaining to the Harbor. A steady line of people from many lands, mostly Rynvalians, stand afore his table, waiting their turn to speak with the Admiral, and enlist in the reconstruction, or to join the Navy. As it looks, the Human is thoroughly busy with this task, mumbling in a hushed tone that denotes to his weariness. The youth’s bottom was beginning to feel tingly, the effects of sitting for too long! “Next!” He hollers over the idle chat of the people waiting in line. As he says that word, the man before him, a High Elf, turns with a piece of paper, and begins moving off to one of the areas where he would receive the proper tools for his work, along with the directions for where he would be placed to work. Another man steps up to Drael’s makeshift table, his knife-like ears showing him to be a High Elf—despite this, his attire is drab, ragged, and stained with the sweats of his trade, “Name and trade,” Drael says as he looks down to his papers to begin writing the information. The High Elf says, “Carste Vaylin, Blacksmith,” And Drael scribbles the name onto one of the lists before him, “I welcome you into the Royal Fleet of Rynvale. To the Blacksmith station, Carste.” The way in which Drael speaks is obvious that he has spoken very similar words, numerous occasions. “Next,” He wails, before he goes on to asking the questions of the next person in line.

Vaar dutifully walked into the Harbour of Rynvale, the black cloak of his billowed out behind him, fluttering about in the wind. The now lightly armored Vaar let his predator like gaze consume the surrounding of the Harbour, taking note of the line infront of him. The line itself was probably a sign in station, where people would go to receive a job from Admiral Drael. In fact, it was Drael they were talking to. Vaar almost felt bad for his brother in arms, sitting there uncomfortably on a barrel. After a moment of just watching the man Vaar simple stepped in line and awaited his turn. Many of the high elves around constantly stared at him, after all, he did look like a Drow. Black clothing loosely fit his body in a precise form allowing freedom of movement. Black leather armor was scattered about his now smaller than normal frame -- this effect made him look like an assassin. The normal aged katana at his side now sat in a black scabbard and adorned with silvery depictions of battle carved into them. Everything about Vaar would tell those around him, that if the wrong words were spoken, death may meet them in a flash. Slowly but surely he made his way up to Drael in the line and finally it was his turn. "Next" were the only words spoken from the Admiral Drael before him. Vaar simply smiled under his black mask, and let his new voice out from under it. "Vaar, The Golden Draconian, Captain in the Royal Fleet of Rynvale." After the words were spoke with his drow accent he slammed his fist to his chest in a form of a salute. Vaar knew all to well that Drael would see him and not believe it was really Vaar. There once only one indicator upon Vaars body. A dark steel spear which sat strapped to his back, one that Drael may know intimately. All other signs were not visible, as Vaar was a 5'3 drow..

Drael’s mood had gone from joyous, to bored, to annoyed, all during his time of writing down names and information. “Don’t play games with me.” The Admiral says, his eyes still looking down at the paper before him. “Name and-” He cuts himself off, those arresting gray eyes fixating on the person before him, “A Drow!” He exclaims, leaning a bit more forward in his barrel-seat. “Filthy creatures, Vaar.” He says, as he leans over a bit, peering down the line of those gathered, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard any shouting about you standing here, within the city of High Elves.” The youth shakes his head full of jet-black hair, those eyes meticulously studying the opposites new form, as well as his weapons. “Go see to the masons, make sure they have all they need to continue their work, and supervise them. I don’t want any slip ups with the wall.” He points over his shoulder, indicating a structure that has barley even begun, starting on the land, and moving slowly, steadily towards the water. In fact, some gray stone can be seen sticking up from the water in places, a few distant forms standing a top it, with a steady supply of rowboats, bringing in more and more stone. It was the makings of a giant structure, out in the water, that would eventually ring the entire Harbor—Drael meant to be heavily fortified. “Next!” He says, barely able to top the sound of the ‘clink’, ‘clink’, ‘clink,’ of the hammers on stone, and the noise of men shouting orders, and hollering this and that.

Vaar only nodded strongly at the others order, is was nice to follow someone who had a sense of direction. Within a moment of hearing the order Vaar simply took off his gloves to reveal a ring made of bone underneath. With a grunt he pulled the ring free from his finger and the illusion around him simply fell, allowing him to look normal again. The black clothing around him simply faded into shadow as the illusion dropped. People around gasped as he had suddenly changed form in front of them. "Not a word of this is to be mentioned." His voice came out deep and gruff, while walking away. His duty was no in front of him, sure these men may know how to build a wall, but they were obviously doing it in the wrong order. "Whate the hell do you think you're doing?!" He shouted. "Get the damn debris out of the water first. You need a stable foundation or the wall won't be good enough!" Almost instantly he ripped off the leather jerkin from his chest, taking his shirt with it. His golden scaled body layed covered in scars, battle worn to say the least. "Yes, Sir" was the only reply from the workers. Vaar pulled the weapons free from him and dove into the water, a loud inhale filled his lungs just before he hit the surface. Underneath the salty sea water, he began to collect pieces of debris between inhaled breathes. Vaar was a decent swimmer, not spectacular, but good enough to keep himself from drowning. This was obviously something he wanted to work on.

Drael smiles, half to himself, having clearly heard the ruckus of shouts that Vaar issued from his lungs. “Next!” He commands, his hand more cramped than he ever knew it could possibly be. Finally, a man clothed in fine clothes, nearly sparkling in the daylight, strides up to the Admirals side, “I’m here to continue my work as a Steward.” The High Elf says. Drael eyes the man up and down, a look of irritation etched thoroughly into his features, “Good thing. You’re late.” Drael holds up a solitary hand, signaling for a silence of the opposites excuse, “No matter, see to this line, and make sure they know their duties.” The Commander rises from his seat—it was peculiar to him, he always thought Commanders were supposed to busy themselves with shouting orders, and the like, never did he see himself having to do so much paper work! He definitely was not a pencil pusher…. The High Elf places himself atop that barrel, now wielding the pen, he dabbles it into the inkwell, and begins his work at the steady line of newcomers. Drael, however, steps aside, partly rubbing his bottom due to it having long fallen asleep on him. “The Fates take me, that was more strenuous than a battle!” He chuckles half to himself, marching along the water front, and eyeing the piles and piles of debris that have been cleaned up from the wreckage during the night of take over. Pointing and shouting orders all the time, he continues on with the task of supervising.

Vaar || The high elves and humans around began shedding unnecessary clothing. A pile of sorts was created as the non human races began diving into the water. Chunks of wood were scatter all over the water and would take a while to clean up. Pieces of ships lay sunken in the salty water, buried in the wavy abyss. Here and there a body or two still laid lifeless at the bottom of the sea floor. Some of the High elves paired up, to help bring these lifeless vessels up. The destruction here was apparent and even though the people had lost a lot, they had gained so much more. The idea of freedom was aiding their every move as they pushed against the waves. Rebuilding the Harbour was something they could all take pride in.|| Vaar kept gathering pieces of debris from under the water. His draconian strength allowed him to carry more than most, it was a good thing that he could hold his breath for a long period of time. The heavy load that he hauled up to the surface was surely more than what most could do. His golden body pushed the debris towards land and he shouted to those around him "Get this stuff out of here. Separate everything. Anything we can use place in while pile, everything is garbage." His orders were gruff and loud.

Drael continues his march, and survey of the surrounding waterfront. There was so much wreckage, that it would take a good long time to clean this place up, even with the steady procession of clean up that has already taken place. He sighs to himself, still grumbling all the while. Nothing is ever easy. The Admiral comes up to a group of men who have taken fancy of standing around a dead body, talking in hushed tones and grumbling about bad omens. “What are you men doing? This is a casualty of War! Get a stretcher, and take the fallen comrade to the clinic, they will see to his funeral services. As a matter of fact, since you all think it so interesting, see to it that you clean up all the fallen men, and take them to the clinic. I don’t want any dilly-dally! Get to it!” He shouts his order, his mask of placidity held firmly intact ‘pon his youthful features. A hand lifts up to idly rub the scar below his eye. The scar he had received in a battle with Trolls. Keturah… he had a hard time not thinking about the woman. Even still, the Admiral forces those thoughts aside, concentrating on the task at hand. Quick enough, he manages to fall into work cleaning up the debris, carrying more than any of the others could possibly manage. This feat brings those about to gawk at the Commander, working side by side with them, getting himself dirty. “Quit staring, and keep working!” He orders, as he drops the debris on the new pile they were all beginning.

Vaar watched as the people took up his commands and began separating. It felt good to watch everyone work in harmony, peacefully. This was something that he wanted his whole life, but the calm rational thinking in his mind was quickly halted as he spotted the Dwarven masons sitting down to have a pint. Their ruff, almost pirate like language was surely loud enough for all around to here. Vaar easily jumped out of the water onto the docks that still laid before him, like a dolphin jumping out of the water. His footsteps were quick getting him to the stone workers in mere moments. "And what do you think you're doing?" He stated, curiosity laced his words. "Just hav'n a pint h're sir." One of the dwarfs stated. "Well mind handing one my way?" A smile stretched across his lips. The dwarf thinking that he was in no trouble quickly handed one to Vaar. Mug in hand Vaar simply stated "I didn't think it was time for a break yet. I could be wrong but isn't there some stone you should be carving, while the others clear your path in the water?" His smile still stretched across his golden lips as he reached the mug towards his mouth. After a couple of gulps he let out a sigh and said. "You should probably get going on that wall. After tonight I'll buy a few rounds for all your men." His tone was serious. Work needed to be done and procrastination was not something he would tolerate.

Drael begins to feel his sweat soaking into his clothes, the dirt and grime covering his entire front, along with his hands. As he drops another pile of debris onto the steadily increasing pile, he takes a moment to pull off his shirt, along with his cloak and scarf, leaving him nearly bare to all eyes. The Commanders sinewy form stretches, as he bends down to the task of picking up more debris that litters the waterfront, his hair matted from the strenuous task. It felt good to be using his muscles, to sweat off some of his tension and worries. Nothing beat manual labor, he thinks to himself, only half of his mind keeping one foot in front of the other, and continuing the motions of the clean up. The small area around him is clear of debris, at last, as he drops the last of it on the wreckage pile. A loud shout of excitement goes up, as the men’s morale is lifted just with the knowledge of their work is at least making some progress! They still had a big task ahead of them. “Keep it up lads, and we will have a grand party tonight on the water front! I’ll buy us all booze to make each and every one of your spirits rise!” Again, the shout of joy rises up, as they move on to the next area, to continue cleaning. Drael does not do this, as he instead moves off to the side, once more taking up his watchful stance of the steady procession of clean up. Everything was going as smoothly as he could have hoped for. That wall will be built soon enough, and no one in the Harbor and all of Rynvale, for that matter, would have to worry about anyone taking them while clean up and restoration continued. His mind’s eye imagined what the place would look like when it was all finished… he couldn’t help a small smile from touching his handsome features. It will be grand.

Drael slowly begins to peel his gray eyes from their watchful place of the Harbor, as he takes up his march once more, glad for the cool breeze of the ocean mist to caress his sweat-soaked features. His steady-paced stride brings him up to what used to be the dock master’s offices. The building nearly torn apart, men were going about cleaning it up, moving useful goods to one pile, and tossing the far-too damaged pieces to another pile. “Good work, men. But let’s rip this thing down!” Drael knew that men enjoyed to destroy things, almost as much as they enjoyed building things. Sledgehammers, blacksmith hammers, and whatever kind of destructive tool the men had close by, are taken up, as they begin to take whacks at the remaining walls of the building. Laughing, and joking at how weak a hit one man did, another takes his place, taking his turn at hitting the structure. Drael laughs, shaking his head, as one of the men offer him a decent sized sledgehammer. “I don’t think so, you boys have your fun!” They all begin to shout objections, clearly excited to have their newly appointed Admiral there with them to revel in the fun! “If I must!” He exclaims, a boyish grin sweeping across those sharp features of his. Soon enough, he grasps the stout hammer, and swings with all of his strength, each muscle working together in harmony, to slam the wall with a powerful blast—stone and wood crumple and fall down to the ground with the concussion of the force. The men laugh, and talk about how they were happy to have a strong Commander. “Your turn, lads.” That grin still intact ‘pon his lips, as he hands the sledge back to the man that had give it to him. Never before had Drael been around so many High Elves at a time, and he was beginning to get used to the idea, thinking them nothing more than men, their race meaning nothing to him. There was, of course, a few other races tossed into the mix here, creating for one big mix of all cultures and styles, classes and ranks. It was a promising aspect.

Vaar stood there covered in sweat and salt from the sea water, his golden scales baking in the sun. His muscles were growing tired from his struggle with the ship, but at last it was finally at the shore. "Anyone hungry?" He shouted, he knew the men here had been working for most of the day. many of the men around gave him their hungry replies. "Then take a break and I will get some food delivered for everyone, my treat!" He shouted back to the men. The men around instantly replied "don't forget the ale!" Vaar could only laugh to himself. Ale, he thought. A pint would be good right about now. Slowly he marched his aching body off towards town to have food delivered.|| The men around all took fifteen minutes or so and lazily sat about the docks. Their day had been very hard and it was getting closer to nightfall. They were all happy to finally have freedom in their lands, The Fold and their allies had given them something they had wanted. Now it was no longer a dream, but a reality. The men were joking back and forth talking about women, beer, hunting, fishing and all sorts of other things. The races seemed to mingle well here, as everyone sat together.|| After a while Vaar came walking back into the Harbour. Many men were following him carrying cart loads of food; there was enough to easily feed everyone at the harbour. The food itself was quickly set up on stands for all to grab what they like. This was no ordinary grub, Vaar had spent a pretty penny on food for everyone. Suddenly everyone saw it, 25 men carrying cart loads of ale entered into the harbour. Everyone began shouting and cheering, a night of food and drink was definitely well deserved.

Drael hears the shouts of men going up, all excited for the food that has been brought in by the Draconian, Vaar. The Admiral’s thoughts were drifting to food and a good drink, before he could even smell the food! “We’re done for the night, lads!” He shouts, loud enough for those around to hear, those that aren’t, soon enough get the word, as his order ripples back through the ranks of men gathered about. “Drinks for us all!” He hollers, as he begins dusting his hands off on his chest—little help that did! Soon enough, he is at one of the washstands, splashing himself vigorously with water, if only to dab himself dry, cleaning his dirty, broad frame. “It’s been a long day,” The youth says to a grizzled man, the one he had chosen for his first mate, when the boats were built. Garvand Killmoor smiles in his rough way, cackling all the while, “Hardly a task to make a real man weary!” He exclaims, poking some fun at his weary officer, Drael. “You even looked a bit worse for wear, Garvand!” The Admiral pokes back, just as hard, as he moves his way from the man to serve himself a generous amount of pork and other various meats, along with some cheese and berries of an origin he was unfamiliar with. A bottle of Rynvalian Ale is scooped up, and tucked beneath his arm, as he moves away to find a barrel to sit at. Men were already beginning to set up little campfires all about, dotting the waterfront. Hoots and hollers going up all the while, for the progress of the day they had achieved. Let them celebrate, he thinks to himself, as he watches Garvand and a few other high ranking officers join near him with their meal, a man already setting to work creating a fire. The Juggernaut of a man, Drael, begins inhaling his food, eating as fast as any of them, pausing only long enough to take a healthy dose of the toxins resting between his feet on the ground.