RP:The Lost World

Part of the Sauriangate Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Rorin reports to Lionel on a letter received from a saurian who has taken Ameno into their care. Just when the saurian problem seems to have finally ended, the Warrior's Guild is learning that there may be more to the race's culture than has ever before been unveiled. Lionel offers Rorin a promotion, but intends to give him sharp, meaningful reprimand over the boy's recent transgression. With Eirik around, however, he holds it in until they've departed. The pair will be sent to Venturil to meet with these allegedly friendly saurians and retrieve Ameno. But the reprimand cannot be left unsaid, so Lionel fetches an ink and quill and delivers a letter of his own.

Fort Frostmaw: Knight-Commander's Quarters

Lionel sips his tea, sifting through the pages of a report he has just finished writing. His Knight-Commander’s log is on its fifth opus since Lionel took first took office just five-and-a-half months ago. Never before has he written half as much in twice the time. Sighing, the Catalian leans into his chair, taking a quick stock of his quarters here at Fort Frostmaw. The murals, the desk, the fireplace, the endless stacks of parchment. The portrait of Briar Ku Risu. It reminds him, that portrait, that he can’t delay much longer in choosing a new aid-de-camp. But today, Lionel’s thoroughly consumed in two key matters: the mysterious benefactor of the brigands who recently assaulted a state office, and the loose ends involved in what the public has curiously dubbed the “Sauriangate” incident. The Warrior’s Guild has ended that war, but Khat von Schreier is still injured and Ameno Drannoht is still missing. Rubbing his forehead, the man attempts to clear his mind, but his tea isn’t cutting it today. It rarely does.

Rorin caried his helmet at formal rest position as he walked about the fort. It had been a great amount of rest he had taken and the soreness of his muscles spoke against movement of any kind. A hand plays at the shaggy black hair behind a pointed ear on the boys head. Rorin had recieved a rather stressful address and now he had to bring it to the knight commander. He took a short sigh as he knocked first and as Lionel answered opened the door. "Commander," he began rather formally, looking only half as tired as he felt with little bags under his grey eyes the drew his young face down. "I've recieved a letter of state I believe you should take a look at," the squire retrieved it from his bags and set it on the desk. "It appears an alternate group of more civil saurians have found Ameno and request we recover him behind a gauge of peace talks. This could perhaps be quite beneficial to us in support against further rogues and an asset in Venturil," of course he still expected Lionel to read it and assess for himself exactly what was to be done. "I believe we have cause to retrieve Ameno immediately," Rorin continued, "and perhaps to send scouting forces or a regal regimant for reply as to peace engagements." Rorin smiled, "also good morning."

Eirik steps through the doorway, adorned in his usual armaments. That silly gourd still tied to his side, but this time it's filled with something other than oil. Unlike the last time, the warrior is not covered in his ashen decorations. Nor has he performed the ritual to his ancestral spirits. Left hand comes to rest upon the hilt of his sword Brann Forbruker. It wasn't meant as any form of hostile intent, while berserker shifts his weight on foot and relaxes. Silver eyes examine the room momentarily taking note of few key things. How awfully boring it must be to sit and file paperwork. It's a good thing his commander had the mind for it cause Eirik does not. In jest, the Northman pulls free that earlier mentioned gourd and places it upon Lionels desk. "That'll work better," his voice low and like gravel being crushed beneath a weighted boot. It was nothing more than an absent-minded remark on the state of stress produced by his knight commanders visible action of rubbing his forehead. Eirik made note of Rorins words, but would say nothing upon it. The lycans leg is still wrapped in bandages, though healing quickly due to his own race. Most of the weight behind his near six-foot frame lies on the opposite leg. Like Rorin, he too looked tired, but ready for more. Eirik always was. Finally Eirik would turn and nod to Rorin, an informal greeting worthy of the fur carrying madman standing next to the young adult.

Lionel gestures for Rorin to seat himself in one of the guest chairs as he mulls over the letter. His eyes widen in surprise at the report, and he glances toward his squire several times. The request on this scroll is to have Rorin venture alone to the Fengoth River. It causes Lionel to bristle; no, he will not send one man into territory they’ve not yet confirmed is no longer hostile. Still, with the Primal Alpha dead, what would these saurians want with Rorin and Rorin alone? Lionel has seen far too many evils in his twenty-nine years to confidently answer that question, so he shakes his head at it. Someone will accompany Rorin. “Rak’tyu,” he reads the sender’s name aloud. “Good morning to you, too, Rorin. Fraksake, though. Is it just me or did these saurians -not- have names until very recently? Suddenly the revelations won’t stop pouring in. It’s curious that that, uh, gent, wants you to cross half the realm again all on your lonesome. That’s not happening.” He chuckles. “Not that I don’t think you’re up to the task, but… we just don’t know what’s what yet out there. You’ll need a partner. I was thinking…” It’s precisely this moment that Eirik places his gourd down on the desk, and Lionel’s vision traces the Northman, his face lighting up into a peculiar smirk. “...Eirik,” he says, and it’s a double meaning -- a greeting and a suggestion. “I was thinking Eirik.” He clears his throat, sniffs and inspects the gourd, and peers into it curiously. “Potent.”

Rorin grabs a chair after nodding in return to the lycan settles in to the seat with a slight exhaustion to him. It is not every meeting with a noble he got to sit and that is certainly what he wanted to do today. "They started reading and writing, giving eachother names, next they just may be using forks and knives and dressing up in suits," he tried not to laugh at tbe thought of lizard men in suits but it was difficult to his addled mind. "I didn't plan to go alone nor do I believe this was meant for me," Rorin was definitely not a leader of anything and thought himself rather unimportant in the scale of things. "Ameno was our local now we need to recover him. Venturil... place is a wildland. Grasses, ruins, half rebuilt with barely an armored force to its name. Covered in monsters, bandits, and aparrently undead. Scouts will need to be quick and quiet not attract to much attention no more than five-" Eirik? "Eirik?" He asked while looking him over. Eirik... would blend in a bit naturally with the environment for sure but that meant Rorin would have to play stealth. "We will," he began slowly as the implications caught up to the grogginess of his brain, "need too send a reply." He nodded to the commander, "and ask for a map." Yes. Yes definitely. Rorin would be taking a journal this time and trying to keep Lionel updated. Any information on an entirely new society of lizard folk seemes rather important as well as important to make a good first impression. "We'll need mounts. Fast ones." Enough rest between here and there would slow them down so they'd have to catch up to themselves. There were preparations to be made.

Eirik shrugs at the Knight-Commanders comment. It wasn't -that- potent. Though it was procured from here in Frostmaw, so it very well could be. Eirik smiles at the double meaning and the chance to prove himself. It would seem, the Lycan is fated to run into his leader whenever something grisly needed to be done. At first, it was a brawl in Frostmaw, which led to joining the Warriors guild. Then to a bloody battle against Saurians which he did not want to forget. Now it is here in the fort, and a new mission is being assigned. He would do everything to not muck it up, but should things turn sour, Rorin would have the Northman's sword and shield. After the battle with Saurians, the berserker is beginning to open up, by way of speech; choosing to not remain so silent. His comrades had earned some respect, and he too probably did in their eyes as well. A well calloused reaches up to idly scratch at his scruffy features. "Back into the maw?" he nearly laughed, gaze sweeps to Rorin as he lists the necessities, getting there in a hurry was a good idea. The gourd is left on the table. Though unknown to Rorin, Eirik isn't one to blend in, generally preferring to stick to his strengths; which included the subtle art of brute force. However, he would do whatever is needed and if the opposition is hostile, so be it. Eirik was more than happy to smash them against his shield.

Lionel puts his left hand to his chin and contemplates. Rorin’s got this on lockdown, it would seem. The squire has come a long way in a short time, and whatever troubles are on his mind -- and between Frostmawian politics and his mistake during yesterday’s battle, Lionel is confident there is plenty on Rorin’s mind -- there is a take-charge attitude in the boy befitting someone of higher rank-and-file than presently applies. “I leave this mission in your hands, Rorin. Anything you need, you’ll have it. I’ll speak with the queen about those mounts. Scout as necessary, and trust that I’ll formalize the reply to this saurian dignitary of ours. Take your time on this one. There’s too much we don’t know.” He rises from his seat, stepping around the perimeter of his desk and fetching a decorative badge made of silver. Lionel fiddles with it a bit, tossing it and then catching it several times, before tossing it to Rorin without prior notice. “It’s about damned time I promoted you. While you’re still a squire for Frostmaw, in the Warrior’s Guild you’re no Neophyte. You’re a Journeyman. That much is clear as day.” For now, he keeps the darker side of his news to the squire tucked firmly away. It won't be spoken except in confidence. Rorin deserves that.

Rorin liked being prepared as always but it was hard to take on the kind of responsibility that actually comes with a mission like this. Retrieving a warriors guild member from behind enemy lines, as well as peace talks with foreign dignitaries? Lionel must either be thinking highly of Rorin or... no, there really was nothing else to say about it. Rorin wrang his hands a bit and felt at his chin. The implications of this worried him somewhat. The last time he any sort of leadership position... he caught something from Lionel and raised a brow first. Then, a look of surprise came over him, "thank you sir," he tried to say while feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment actually. "I... I'll get the provision orders ready," this all meant so much to him it was hard to express. As a pilgrim under arkhen and a soldier of frostmaw Rorins life was moving fast. These few months had been so very fast. Now the time came for him to prove that he was more than just a boy. Maybe even he could prove himself a true paladin. Rorin clutched the bagde close.

Eirik grins then, listening as his leader speaks. "Congratulations," he breaks free of his silence once more and goes to pat Rorin on the back, quite literally. Though in his culture it's not necessarily a soft thing. More like a slap aimed squarely at his back, and should Rorin indeed take it, he too would note the difference. He laughs heartily whether it lands or not and nods. "I'll be ready when you have need," he states still eyeing the young adult. Briefly, he turns to Lionel, "Till we meet again." The gourd is not taken, and instead, Eirik heads out of the room. The Berserker is off to get things ready for tonight and his leg needed new bandages.

Lionel rather enjoys watching Rorin stumble. To some, the perks of command include the feeling of power over others. To Lionel, it’s Rorin squirming over the newfound responsibilities he rightly deserves. “Do us proud,” he says, and he means to include the both of them in that farewell. Once they’re gone, the Knight-Commander stands by the fire for a while, deep in thought. Things are indeed moving quickly. Larket’s mysteries, Frostmaw’s own mysteries, and now this. “Ah, Donovan,” he mutters into the flames. “You never told me it’d be this hard.” But with friends like Rorin and Eirik, they might just prevail.

...But there is something that has been left unsaid. With Eirik around, Lionel did not think it wise to voice it, but with the both of them gone, he sighs deeply and returns to his desk. Rorin's promotion is one of rather curious timing. It's built on the many things the squire has done since coming into Lionel's service, but it cannot be as simple as this. No, Rorin has made a terrible mistake, and as recently as yesterday at that. Khitti's condition is unknown, except that she will live. Rorin could have killed her and this cannot be left open, unspoken. The boy has his share of troubles, and Lionel is confident he will overcome them, but there must be a reaction for every reaction, and being a leader means hard choices. And Lionel's choice is already made. He fetches an ink and quill, grabs a piece of parchment from a stack to his left, and begins.

Rorin,

There were things which needed saying back there when you were given your promotion, but I was not going to say them in front of Eirik. They need to be heard, or in this case, read, but there's no sense bringing others into it. This is about you, and it's written in confidence.

Your promotion was a long time coming. For months, you've driven yourself to the edge, and in doing so, you've increased that edge. You've grown. You've built yourself into someone greater than you were when we met. And you've shown you have what it takes to be a leader someday.

Yet there is plenty more growth to be done. You're right to be hard on yourself after your transgression yesterday. I am confident you will not make that mistake again, but it almost cost the life of a dear friend and fellow ally, and it may have harmed Emrith as well. Your powers have increased exponentially, but I'm sure you've heard what they've said about what comes with great power. People are going to treat you with further respect now, and expect more from you in the process. You will rise to the occasion admirably, I believe, or you would not have received this promotion. But you must learn to harness this power so that it does not harm those you would call ally. If Khitti had died, imagine what you'd be feeling. I don't know the extent of her wounds, but I am sure they are substantial. You would be broken over this, tenfold more than you already are. That's the kind of strength you're playing with, now, so consider this my command -- hold back on that power until you're confident you understand the drawbacks. We have vampires in this guild, and it's a good bet you'll be fighting alongside them for Frostmaw at some point as well. Khitti is going to be angry with you, oh yes, and she will be angry with me over this promotion, too, I reckon. But she's alive. You have to be cautious not to play with fire too much, lest someone get burned.

Let me tell you a little bit about burns.

When Elazul's last commanders scorched Catal, I scorched them right on back. You know what Hellfire is capable of achieving. You've seen it. Amp up your own abilities by a high magnitude. Abilities you may one day possess which would rival my own. When I fought back against those commanders, I lit the final embers that blazed an entire kingdom. My kingdom. Catal was a thousand-year nation and I inadvertently started what they finished. We can rewind further. You've heard about Alexia, my late wife. Did you know that Elazul possessed me to kill her? My abilities killed her. Can you fathom what that feels like, Rorin? It's a pain I should hope no one else ever experiences, not even the worst of our enemies.

It's similar to what you might have experienced if Khat von Schreier had died yesterday.

And now you've been promoted.

Please understand that this promotion is backed by everything that came before that mistake, and the responsibilities you now hold mean you will have all the more opportunity to make that mistake all over again. For Khitti's sake, don't do it. For your sake, don't do it. Be more cautious, my squire. No one should know the suffering of Catal and Alexia Isis.

-Lionel