Shadows of War

[Cornuto]

Several ship hands mending sails at the docks swear that a legion escort arrived in Port Avantyr at dusk. As the rumor circulates, several of the small town's residents claim to have seen a squad of soliders bearing Neverwinter's royal seal leave the Port under legion protection.

Others in the city make similar claims, claiming that a such a group arrived at the gates in the dead of night. A few witnesses even believe they saw Lord Nasher himself dining in the Sundren comfort with a one-eyed legion officer, a dwarf, and mage.

[Jai_V]

A friendly blond bard hears the chit-chat regarding "Lord Nasher visiting Sundren" in a tavern, third-hand from someone that heard it third-hand from someone that probably heard it eighth-hand et al. He raises an eyebrow as he finishes a mug of cheap ale and simply replies, "You gotta be *beep*-ing kiddin' me..."

[Lanemeyer]

The Red Blade paladin arrives as soon as possible to the military ward, she steps inside the city watch barraks and offer salutions to the officers.

Andy then scans the area to see if officer Peridan is present, and by not seeing him at first, she then asks. "Mister Jones, I need to speak with officer Peridan, do you know if he is here or where can I find him? It's important." She address her words respectfully at Jones.

[Cornuto]

Boisterous conversation drifts through the air of Port Avanthyr almost as heavily as the smell of sea salt, brine, and fish. Tanned fishermen perch with legs entwined in nets and sails, and share jokes with friends and passing merchants. The dark events of the past months – undead attacks, and the fall of Mirkaus to the forces of Bane among the most dire – forgotten in the warmth of the sun and lapping calm of the waves against the dock. A single man seated high atop a merchantman’s mast freezes slack-jawed. His squinted eyes fix upon a massive sea-born object in the distance growing ever larger as it approaches the Port -- a ship of war, the shape of the vessel unmistakable.

Those so equipped take spy-glasses to the horizon. Through the narrow lenses, they see Luskan flags billowing proudly from the main-masts. The palpable silence is broken by the harbormaster’s nervous shuffling of papers as he scans his books for any schedule of the ship’s arrival. Finding nothing, he retreats anxiously to the Port square to fetch the stationed legion officers.

The warship glides into the port nearly without sound, its vast size eclipsing the smaller merchant and fishing vessels as it docks. Uniformed men work its deck with military precision. The Legion hastily assembles from the town square and exchange nervous glances as a landing board is extended from the warship. Armed luskan soldiers file down, secure the dock, and exchange hard glares with any who dare to approach.

An aged legion Centurio clears his throat and straightens to his full considerable height. He breaks from the gathering crowd and approaches the twin columns of Luskan soldiers standing at attention along the length of the dock. A contingent of legionnaires move with him, forming rank at his back. The Centurio speaks with an assertive tone and locks eyes with the nearest Luskan soldier.

“According to the Harbormaster’s log there’s been no request made for a Luskan vessel to make port in our waters. What exactly finds you all in Port Avanthyr?”

The Centurio’s words hang in the air unanswered for a long while. The Luskan soldier who was addressed only raises his eyebrows in response.

“Well? What’s the meaning of this!”

Despite his raised tone, or perhaps because of it, the Luskan’s only reply is a faint smirk. As the Centurio inhales, ready to demand answers his attention is caught by movement upon the warship’s deck. A polished, raven-haired, man in his early thirties descends the platform flanked on either side by formidable men in quality black platemail. He is dressed in expensive feathered robes of dark silk. The more worldly men watching begin to mutter and exchange whispers. The words ‘Host Tower’ are carried by the lips of the crowd and heard often above the murmuring.

The robed man approaches the Centurio and dips his head formally in greeting, an odd smile worn on his face. He breaks the wax seal on a scroll in his hands, unrolls it, and begins to read aloud in the smooth tones of a practiced orator.

“I hereby speak with the combined voices of the High Captains of the glorious city of Luskan to formally address Sundren, its people, protectors, and Arbiters in regard to acts of aggression toward our peaceful city.

- We hold proof that you have engaged in the trade of arms, and arcane weaponry with enemies of Luskan.
- We hold proof that you have condoned acts of piracy against our peaceful vessels.
- We bear proof that you have conspired to ally with enemies of Luskan.
- We hold proof that you have conspired with enemies of Luskan to commit acts of espionage.
- Finally, we hold proof that you have unlawfully attacked and imprisoned our peaceful emissaries.

I am hereby empowered to negotiate on behalf of the High Captains for the cessation of your acts of war against Luskan, the release of our captive citizens, and now demand official audience with the Arbiters of Sundren.”

The robed man hands the scroll to an armored Luskan guard, who marches with purpose toward Port Avanthyr’s city-hall and affixes the parchment to the wall adjacent to the entry-way before returning to the robed man’s side. The Centurio grits his teeth, leans forward toward the Luskan emissary, and speaks softly.

“Order these men back on the ship. You and your guard come with me.”

The robed man nods diplomatically and the dock is cleared. The citizens of the Port stare as the Centurio, a squadron of legionnaires, the emissary, and his armed escorts depart through the gates taking the northern road toward the city proper.

[Fezzik]

Cybil quietly talks to the dwarves of the Skullcleavers and any other combat engineer about. Although the cove isn't large enough to hold such a large vessel, she asks that catapults or trebuchets be constructed to protect the waters around Sestra if at all possible, to keep any large ship marine carrying ship away.

She also suggests that the fishing fleet be expanded somewhat, since eyes on the water are as good as scouts in a forest.

If anyone asks why this is all suggested, she simple states the history of Sestra, it being a former den of Lusken Pirates.

[Intrepid42]

Cybil quietly talks to the dwarves of the Skullcleavers and any other combat engineer about. Although the cove isn't large enough to hold such a large vessel, she asks that catapults or trebuchets be constructed to protect the waters around Sestra if at all possible, to keep any large ship marine carrying ship away.

She also suggests that the fishing fleet be expanded somewhat, since eyes on the water are as good as scouts in a forest.

If anyone asks why this is all suggested, she simple states the history of Sestra, it being a former den of Lusken Pirates.

Glyir of the Skullcleavers is easily found in Sestra, his work jacket stained with earth and sweat, examining the slope of one of the rocky outcrops near the town's border.

He listens to Cybil carefully, stroking his beard thoughtfully, then looks out towards the ocean.

"There are many who have borne the standard of the crossed axes. But ay do not know if among my brothers in the Sundered valley there is an engineer with the expertise in war engines ye seek. Ay have some ken of how to work stone for defence, but these hasty workings we attempt here are not the same as properly-built engines."

"Ay know little of boats and water, but ay have been worried that undead may be able to walk beneath the water up to the dock behind the Keep. We have advised the Corps to keep reserves and the inner defenceworks close to the Keep, to ward against attack from the docks and... due to other things."

"Engines up by the Keep would serve Sestra well, ay agree, so ay shall ask. But it would have to be done by others. If ye are worried about a foe berthing boats full of warriors at the docks, then ye could ensure the Keep is well-stocked with arrows, and stones for heaving off the walls."

[Doubtful]

“You know Sarge, I’ve been thinking.”

Two members of the Corps De Grace Milita lounged on guard duty on at the gate to the Western Coat Road.

“Always a dangerous thing. What’s been bothering your brain this time?”

“Well, You know the Grace has got us sorting out all the defences and what not. You know, nutters in a boat and that bunch of bastards in Mirakus.”

“Aye, pretty hard to miss those things, that’s for sure.”

“Well, the way I see it, the Black Hand wanted Mirakus for the Legion folks. The Hands, them Red Blades and what not.”

“Makes sense I suppose.”

“And that bunch in the boat. The Luskans I heard. They’re after fight with the government right, the Legion and all.”

“That’s what they say lad.”

“Well, why don’t we quit? The Legion garrison is small here, just that Kenji fellow and a few troops. We could ask ‘em to leave Sarge, polite like. Tell ‘em we don’t want their war here. Maybe then the Luskans and the Black Hand’ll leave us alone.”

“Sam…”

“It ain’t right Sarge. The lizards ate my mum the last time round, and you know my sister ain’t been right since after what happened. I don’t care about the country, the Legion did nothing back then and it ain’t right that we get dragged into fighting for them. We should go it alone, join the Veritas or something if we need help. They helped us in the Wart more than the Legion ever did.”

The older man paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, unable to meet the angry gaze of the younger militiaman.

“Sam, I’ve known you since you were knee high. For your sake, and mine, don’t you go saying stuff like that to anyone. The Legion, hells, the Captain for that matter; if they hear then they’ll stretch your neck, and that'll do no-one no good.”

[Timmerfee]

Zorien Rhys was good at not being seen. Not only could he sink into even the most unlikely shadows to achieve near invisibility, when that failed, he could actually just become invisible. It was a handy combination. It was this combination that found him in an unfortunate proximity to the docks of Avanthyr as a large Luskan warship rolled into port over the waves. The symbol of Luskan caught his attention, and he felt his fists clench, his eyes narrow.

Having no memory beyond a year or so prior when he aawoke in the cell of a Waterdhavian prison, he was not entirely sure why the Luskan crest should invoke such a fury within him, but he found himself readying himself to launch, his hand firmly on his adamantine light mace, ready to launch himself into battle the moment his reflexes deemed it necessary. But as the boat floated slowly up those final few yards, it became apparent that no-one was going to be fighting right now. This knowledge, though it calmed him, did not adjust his stance, coiled like a spring and ready to either fight or fly.

"Fucking Luskans." He spat in the dirt.

[Kajae]

Frequent visitors of the Lichyard find a large, square hole in the ground has steadily been growing larger over the past weeks, to the point that several sides are now reinforced with wooden support beams. In its expansion, the hole has been consuming a few of the older plots.

Almost as if someone has been preparing a mass grave.

[Cornuto]

The Port was abuzz with nervous conversation. Familiar merchant vessels bobbed against the docks under the shadow of the Luskan warship. Since the warship’s arrival several captains and senior crewmen native to Port Avanthyr’s had seemingly vanished. Their absence filled the nearby Menacing Mariner with surly unemployed deckhands drinking away hours usually spent at sea. At first, most had simply assumed that the ominous presence of the warship had kept the absent captains and crewmen away, but as the days mounted and bodies had begun to appear floating in the harbor a wary unease had begun to grow in the hearts and minds of those in Port Avanthyr. What had become of the men? Were these disappearances related to the Luskans? If so, what was the purpose behind them?

It was this atmosphere of fear and suspicion that greeted the Luskan emissary as he arrived through Port Avanthyr’s northern gates. His personal guard and a contingent of Legion soldiers --far greater in number than those that escorted him from the warship several days ago-- surrounded him on all sides as he descended toward the docks. The military procession captured the silent attention of every pair of eyes that took notice until half of the men and women in Port Avanthyr were staring on nervously.

The two forces parted ways at the wooden dock as the Luskan emissary and his guard ascended to the deck of the massive warship. A legionnaire in high officer’s armor locked eyes with the Host Tower mage, unspoken warnings and hostility flowing clearly between the two. The harbormaster hesitantly approached the Legion officer.

“Sir… sir… before they leave I need to talk to you about some disappe--”
The man’s words were cut-off as the legionnaire waived him off with a mailed hand.
“No, they’re to be escorted to the docks and ordered out of Sundren’s borders by direct command of the Arbiters.”
The harbormaster swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke, “I take it talks did not go well?”
“No.” The legionnaire spoke in a low grim tone. “Talks did not go well.”

Standing proudly in his dark robes on the deck of the warship, the Luskan emissary gave the command to cast off. He turned to face the Port and swept a slow look over each face in the crowd. Those nearest noted that he wore a small smirk as the ship drifted off to sea.

[Cornuto]

Soon after Legion men can be seen posting the above notices in Arquor, Sestra, Port Avanthyr, the Gate of the Sunderer, and Sundren City.

[Timmerfee]

Zorien glanced over these papers with an ironic half smile. After a few moments silently regarding the notice, he walked away with a shrug, shaking his head.

[Atmosphere]

One rainy morning

The flames burnt bright that morning. The rain drizzled down, like always, as a stumbling drunk sailor glared pass those jagged rocks that curse the port. Luskan war ships. A sinking Exigo cargo ship, sails lit a blaze. The Sundren Legion did not know what to do as clerics of Umberlee stood idle, some grinning, at the destruction that this might bring. What sort of navy does this state have to counter such a threat? All the regular merchant ships and privateers pulled back into port. Is this a declaration of war? It looks like a blockade.

After the spotting of a Luskan scout ship, near Sestra, the Corps de Grace find themselves with more volunteers. Their numbers rise under the leadership of Cirion and Valten Tussuand, as they interview and recruit these new people.

[Atmosphere]

Luskan Raiders hit Sestra

A child stared up into the night's sky.

“Fireworks?” She batted her eyes upward as a fireball came crashing down at her. And if it was for the fast reaction of Argker, a new Corps recruit who swooped in sacrificing himself, she would have be dead today.

Heads turned to the sea.

“Are those boats?” Muttered a trembling Corps de Grace man on the night shift

Black sails are difficult to see at night. A raid had begun.

"We are under attack!"

[Feel free to fill in your story or view of the event here. A 'conclusion/response' will come after I get some sleep]

[Atmosphere]

Time passes...

Time passes...

Valten and Shepard's decision to alert the spiritual leaders saved lives and buildings, as a certain gnome priestesses cast water onto the flames and Kelemvorites comforted those they could not heal into their passing.

Stags and food looted were minimal. And the defenses of Sestra are seen as a success, although nearly the entire night shift was wiped out.

Those who searched the Corps basement found nothing missing.