The Reluctant: Vla'toros

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

Zieg dil’ Tulfried stood atop a large grassy knoll in a region unknown to most to the southwest of Alerar. He looked down upon the vast sea of tents that sat at the mouth of an incredibly large cave. Behind the demon knight, ten platoons of the Demon Army, two-thousand men a piece, were going through training exercises under the supervision of Zieg’s two generals.

The past three weeks had been incredibly difficult for all of the Haidians. Once Zieg had made the decision to leave the caves and return to the surface, he had been faced with challenge after challenge. First was the route to take. He knew the portals were out of the question. Taking the entire demon population through Corone, or Raiaera, or Alerar would not be taken well. So, he decided that he could find a way up through the caves. He sent several scouts out to find a path to the surface and they hadn’t let him down.

Next he had to determine the best way to move everyone. He decided it would be best to go in shifts, each under the protection of a group of soldiers. Zieg, Kaza, and Xeppa had gone with the first group while Dera’losta’nofa took those from Vla’toros back to their homes to pack and gather things to help build the new nation. So the first came up and built tents with the materials at hand, a small village springing up just outside the cave. As the groups came up, the put up more tents and now roads were beginning to develop and the small village was becoming a town.

The final challenge was getting word to the various platoons of the Demon Army scattered around Haidia. He needed them to come aid the people of Haidia. He sent out scouts to find them, and he was beginning to see results. Slowly, the Demon Army was growing back to a respectable size. The loss of the troops in Vainta was a blow to the force, but Zieg hoped the around fifty thousand that should be remaining would be sufficient.

Voices behind the demon forced him to turn to see who was approaching. He saw the young king and his advisor as well as Kaza and Xeppa running up the hill. Zieg smiled at the fun the two children were having. “Enjoying yourself, your Majesty?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here. I was wondering what you had planned for the name of this new Haidia.” Aidos kar’ Atron asked. Zieg smiled and patted the small boy on the head. “Of course. I thought Haide ((Hayd)) would be a perfect name for it. A new Haidia.”

“I like it. That’s the name then. Gillaos, please spread the word to the people that this place is to be known as Haide.” The king looked over to his friend. “C’mon, Kaza. Let’s go play.” The two of them ran off, Xeppa and Gillaos close behind.

Zieg found himself with more problems than before. New towns had to be built, so he was sending out several groups, each accompanied by the Demon Army, to build them. He had one group heading west toward the sea to build the new capital. Zieg felt a seaport would be a valuable asset for the new region and decided it needed to be built as soon as possible. He also knew relations with Alerar would be important, so he had another group heading northeast toward Alerar to establish a border town. There was a third town he hoped to establish somewhere in the middle of the two towns for the Demon Army, with a final town growing up right inside the cave for the few people who were up to leaving Haidia.

The demon knight had a broad goal of making Haide more diverse, so he sent bulletins out requesting aid from anyone that wanted to help. He hoped this new region would be more willing to accept others if they helped build the town around them.

There was one last problem Zieg had. There were rumors that Deimis had made their way up to these plains with everyone else. He knew they would try to establish their own base here. He had no way of stopping them though, there were too many other things he had to worry about. The High General simply had to hope that things would work out.

((The Reluctant: Vla'toros
Several of the citizens of the new Haide are too set in their ways to leave the caves of Haidia, so Dera'losta'nofa decided to rebuild Vla'toros within the caves that they escaped from Haidia in. You have limited space to work in, but with elven leadership, it is likely to be the most beautiful.

NPC: Dera'losta'nofa, Dera for short, one of the Elven Weaponsmiths of lore.

Lead: Letho
Roscar Palidyne
Vampiric Angel))

[Roscar Palidyne]

It was an amazing sight.

After a long trek from the land of Alerar through basically empty fields of grass bending to the will of the wind, Roscar hadn't expected to be rewarded with a sight that truly embodied the essence of silent determination. It filled the air. He could taste it on he tongue when he yawned; he could hear it in the wind when it blew through his whisps of curly grey hair; he could feel it in the very ground he stood on, which held him up just as defiantly as gravity pushed him down; he could smell it in the condensing air which demanded a rain shower to fall upon Roscar's dry head; but most of all, the sight of thousands of tents dotting the plains below while thousands more soldiers showed their unshakable discipline in stylised training exercises told a true tale of the demon race and the fire that resided in their hearts. Unlike the grass that they stood on, the wind was going to have to do better than a simple gust to make them bend in body, will, or spirit. This was where Roscar needed to be. A place where he could truly make a difference.

Roscar takes another look at the flyer that he had found while traveling in the strict and unforgiving city of Ettermire. After another job done, he had found his way here to the capital of Alerar, attempting to find some ties to his previously known existence. He ended up browsing through the pubs of the more destitute sections of Ettermire, and on one of the most out of the way bulletin boards of the shotty place, there was a parchment there. It looked rather official, but had been desecreted by crude markings of sexual depictations and pictures of horned people being whipped. Able to wipe off most of the ink that had been in the way, the bulletin began to detail the ailings of the demon race, forced out of the home that they had lived in for centuries by dwarves. They were now requesting help from any who were able.

And there Roscar was, overlooking the new settlement in utter awe. Knowing he was wasting time with this fascination, he made his way down to the sea of tents. Roscar could honestly say that he had never met anyone from the demon race before, and he couldn't help but find himself watching the many peoples going about their diligent work, whether it be carving materials up to lay foundation for more permanent homes, or sitting in front of a simmering pot, throwing in pieces of chicken and who knows what else. Roscar immediately stopped that though, because once the demons noticed him, they gave him somewhat dirty glares, as if Roscar didn't belong, and Roscar hurried on his way, grasping the bulletin in his hand.

Come to think of it....I haven't seen a single human yet. Something tells me some of these demons haven't even SEEN a human before.

Very soon, Roscar found himself among a group of many types of travelers, soldiers, magicians, traders, and what else could be thrown into the mix. A line had formed behind a desk where a demon sat, checking each person, all having flyers in hand. Roscar took his place in line.

About 30 minutes later, Roscar got to the front of the line, his face meeting the demon who had been giving everyone their assignments. He had a gruff voice, which contrasted with his scrawnly body type.

"Name."

"Roscar Palidyne."

The demon looks up from his work, giving Roscar a quick glance over before putting his pen down, crossing his arms.

"How old are you, grandpa? You sure you're up to aiding us at your age?"

Roscar had slightly expected this. In every job he had been given, his age had become an issue at some point. But he hadn't found himself dead because of it yet.

"I'm not as old as I seem. Let's just leave it at that."

Truth is, I don't know how old I seem, let alone how old I AM.

Apparently heard all he needed to, the demon scribe picks up his pen, inscribing some unreadable characters (Roscar assumed it was in the demon language) onto a small scroll, before he rolls it up and seals it with black hot wax.

"You'll be assisting us with the rebuilding of Vla'toros. Go in there..." the demon says, pointing behind himself to the huge gaping cavern, "....and ask for Dera'losta'nofa. Glory and everlasting to Haide. Next!"

With that, the demon shoved the scroll into the hand of Roscar and with that, forgot the human's existence all together. Roscar looked at the scroll, and then at the huge cave that lay before him. Roscar wasn't a small guy himself, but he felt himself intimidated by the gaping maw of darkness that was his path, swallowing the light of day that dared to trespass in it. Roscar looked around to see if anyone else was about to enter the cave, hoping that he wasn't going to be forced to go in alone.

[Letho]

Letho was bestowed a great honor. Or so he was told repeatedly back in Corone at least. The news of the good he did in the Four Towns area spread through the realm quite fast and before long, his name was a theme in the afternoon palavers of the brass that sat in their lofty chairs in Radasanth Government District from which these Corone officials seemed to rule the republic. True, he was somewhat of a vigilante, his actions often ruthless and followed a set of scruples that deviated from the written law, but his results were undisputable. Ever since he was appointed the Marshal of the Four Towns county, the crime rate became almost non-existent and he still found time to run occasional tasks for the Corone Government. In short, he was a star on the rise, and with the mandate of the Grand Marshal Aidan Johnston coming to an end next year, he suddenly became one of the candidates for that highly esteemed spot. Of course, Letho knew none of this, oblivious to the politicking as per usual, and he had no idea that his mission to the Tular Plains was his final test before the decision.

The news of Haidia crumbling and its citizens migrating to a surface realm – whose new name Haide unsurprisingly failed to deviate from the old one – was bittersweet for the Corone Government. Sweet because of the two thousand years old grudge between the demons and the Coronians and bitter because of the relocation, new diplomatic relations now had to be formed. That was why The Assembly decided to send a group of emissaries to the sites where the Haidians planned to rebuild their kingdom. They were to make contact with the local officials, arrange erection of embassies throughout the Tular Plains and generally establish good relations with the newly formed realm. There was little benevolence in their intentions though. The grudge because of the millennia old conquest was still there. But unlike when the demons were in the great Haidia cave, now they were on Tular Plains and Tular Plains were packed with resources. Friendly relations, even rater superficial ones, seemed like a smart move.

Letho Ravenheart was an escort for one of the emissary groups, the one that was to make contact and aid the more conservative group of demons that decided to segregate themselves from the others. Apparently, fresh air and natural light weren’t to their preferences, so they opted to rebuild Vla’toros, one of the major Haidian cities, within the cave mouth that led from Haidia to Tular Plains. Led by one of the legendary Elven Weaponsmiths, Dera’losta’nofa, they begun the work on reconstruction of their home. The bulk of the Corone emissary group was consisted of Chrysanth Otello, a rather young looking Minister of Trade and Commerce, Paige Relvest, a prissy baroness of Radasanthia, their pages, three bookworms that were actually some of the best Corone architects, and of course their armed escort, Letho Ravenheart and Myrhianna Bastillien.

The trip to Tular Plains was so irksome for Letho that he was almost ready to turn in his badge and send them all to hell. Between Chrysanth’s attempts to woo Myrhia, the constant nagging of the baroness and the hot weather, the Marshal was certain that he would either lose his mind or his job. Needless to say, once they arrived to the site of the new Vla’toros and were admitted with somewhat of a cold courtesy, Letho was relieved to see that the royal pricks got their own tents and armed escort. So while the baroness and the minister lazed around and held meeting after meeting with the locals, Myrhia, he and the architects were ordered to aid in the actual construction of the city.

***

“No. That is unacceptable.” an elven figure spoke, pointing to the corrections that the architects did on the blueprints that stood unfolded on a large wooden table. The elf was a figure of majestic beauty, stern in his posture and yet fair of face as he moved his long braids out of the way to lean closer towards the drawing. The elf was Dera’losta’nofa, and he was in charge of coordination and pretty much everything else in the new Vla’toros. The architects, the three Coronian ones included, listened attentively. Around them, the entire area was in a state of organized commotion, with masons and plasterers and carpenters moving over the scaffoldings with what seemed like eerily dexterity. The building that was barely a little more then foundations, was bound to be either a palace or a fort, with outer walls several feet thick.

“The arch above the gate is supposed to have a small inwards inclination because of the angle of the outer walls.” the elf explained to those gathered around him, his deft fingers redrawing the portion of the blueprint and scribbling several numbers on the side. “Now go tell the stonecutters to redo it.”

Once the architects and the gaffers were gone, discussing something amidst themselves fierily, Letho was finally able to approach Dera. “Master elf.” he said, bowing his head mildly in respect. Myrhia, who stood at Letho’s side, bowed a lot deeper then her beau.

“Yes?” Dera replied, regarding the two with his piercing azure eyes.

“I am Marshal Letho Ravenheart and this is Myrhia Bastillien. We have come with the Corone emissaries and are here to help you with the construction. Is there something we could help you with?” the Marshal spoke, handing over the papers sealed with the official seal of The Assembly, clarifying Letho's rank and his reasons for coming to Vla'toros. The elf tore through the seal, skimmed it rather swiftly, and set it aside on the table.

“Marshal Letho Ravenheart?” the elf replied, a touch of intrigue appearing on your face. “I heard of your endeavors, Marshal. Your expertise might just come in handy. While the site is quite well secured, we’ve had several... Let’s say suspicious setbacks, especially in the prison section. If some construction work isn’t below you, I need a supervisor on the prison building. Most of the workers and architects there are outside contractors, so they might respond to you better.”

“A man who finds physical work below him is not a man in my book.” Letho responded, eliciting a smile at both the elf’s and Myrhia’s face.

“Fair enough. Here are the blueprints. It’s in the west outskirts.”

With a large tube of rolled up paper, Letho and Myrhia started to make their way through the beehive, where the clicking of the stonecutters’ hammer was the buzz that spread through the entire city that was slowly remerging from a heap of dust. With the natural light shyly creeping in from the one side and the dim, scarlet illumination of the Haidia cave from the other, the new Vla'toros was built to represent both a melancholic reminisce of the old world, and yet to give a peak at the new one as well.

[Roscar Palidyne]

What struck Roscar as odd about this cave was the warmth that seemed to rise in temperature the further he got in, but it wasn't a stuffy, trapped heat. It was more like it was eminated from some source further in the cave. Roscar ignored this thought, official scroll in hand, and proceeded further in the red-lit interior.

The sporatic sounds of hammers clanging, cracking and shaping rock filled the air. Workers were all around, fulfilling each of their individual but equally important jobs. An elven figure, who he assumed was this Dera'losta'nofa, sat at a table, overlooking some papers that were spread all across an oak table. Roscar prepared to approach him, but a demon stepped in front of him, looking him down.

"Master elf Dera'losta'nofa is busy."

Without waiting for Roscar to offer, the demon foreman tugs the scroll out of Roscar's hand and rips the seal apart without hesitance. After a quick eye-over, he tosses the scroll back carelessly, and points over to another section of the cave.

"Head over there, you'll be lifting and transporting in the prison section. Don't get lost, don't dally, and do what you're told."

As the demon started to walk away rather urgently, he stopped and pointed to a pile of freshly cut lumber.

"And take that with you."

Roscar felt his heart sink a little at this idea. Coming to Haide, Roscar had expected some kind of grand work to be done. Lifting a bunch of ordinary stones wasn't exactly part of the romantic fantasy his mind had made for him on the incredibly long journey here. But, he was a man of his word. Roscar sighed a bit and toiled his way to the prison sector, hoping there would be more than menial construction work waiting for him.

Apparently, this section was the least worked on so far. The carpenters had barely the first stages of the basic foundation done. Scaffoldings lined the walls of the cave, layered every 6 feet or so with men building at every layer. Each scaffolding had its own pulley system to bring materials up to the different levels as needed.

"Hey! Bring that over here!"

Roscar turned to his left to see a rather burly man, sporting a shaved head, a pair of dusted up work pants, and not much else, calling to him from the top of a scaffolding. Obliging, Roscar drops his load of wood upon the pulley platform, pulling up the wood to the top level with a few huffs. The man nods in acknowledgement and thanks as Roscar lowers the platform back to the ground easily. Roscar felt that much of this was in store for him, and he wasn't pleased with the idea, but work was work. Suddenly a voice rang throughout the cave with a harsh and snake-like quality to it.

"YOU'RE A BUNCH OF FOOLS! FOOLS, I SAYS! ALL OF YA!"

It had come back from near the entrance, so Roscar couldn't see who had claimed the voice for his own, but nonetheless it didn't stop him from looking that way. "That's one of those anti-Vla'toros nuts." That came the burly guy who had wanted the wood earlier. "The reason this place is being built is because a good bit of the demon population isn't ready to live outside. They've been living in the ground for a millenia, so can't blame them."

Roscar nodded, somewhat agreeing, though he couldn't see how anyone would pick the drab, dark interior of a cave over the rich expanse of the outside world. It was about that time that Roscar began to notice the scaffolding start to shake, as if one of the lower joints were not nailed in enough. It seemed benign at first, but soon the shaking was becoming more violent. Roscar points his head up to the top of the scaffolding, hoping to get the worker's attention. "Clear the scaffolding, it's falling!" Roscar yelled, loud with urgency. The men on the lower levels were able to clear it quickly, one of them rolling as he touched the ground that had been more than 10 feet below him. The top guy, however, hesitated, as the height was much too high to jump off of. But in the midst of the platforms collapsing, he had no choice but to jump, and he did. A few of the men were able to catch him, however, and they helped him to his feet. All of them turned around to the wooden rubble that had been their scaffolding and all the work they had done so far. Lots of murmuring occurred. The guy who was on top, who had apparently been in lead of that little section, turns to Roscar. "Good call, saved a few lives. Must've just got here, huh?"

Roscar nodded, introducing himself to the guy. The man's name was Leridien, a human contractor who hailed from Salvar. The man wiped off some sweat on his forehead and pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. "That was the third collapse in the last four days. Something's not right." His head turned to the center of the cave section, and turned back to Roscar with a stern look. "Hey, do me a favor, Roscar, go over there, I think that's our new foreman. Tell him what just happened."

Roscar nodded once more and headed over there with a quick stride. When he got over to the new foreman, however, he was quite surprised that this man was, indeed, a foreman. With the bastard sword that he had strapped on his back, he seemed more like a soldier, but it was the way he carried himself that made Roscar believe this man to be of a high status. The beautiful girl that this man had at his side, with her mahogany red hair and light green eyes, was a sight he would not mind seeing every day. Roscar approaches them in a brisk manner.

"Excuse me, you're the foreman right? We've just lost one of our scaffoldings over here, and it hasn't been the first time. Maybe you should take a look."

[Vampiric Angel]

A smile broadened on the half-elf's face. Looking down from a high hill, he barely held his excitement. Tents and camps as far as the eye could see. From his vantage point he could notice the beginnings of roads throughout the mass of green and tan. He could see the faint blue outline to the east, the ocean no doubt. What a wonderful sight it was. The wind was blowing, wistfully sending his red scarf behind him like a pair of scarlet rivers. And how beautiful the sun was! Shining down brightly from high in the sky it left his light brown hair with a glow. His eyes were a purer green than before, and his skin, being paler than most, gave him an almost ghostly visage.

Step by step he made his way down the large hill, a very welcome contrast to the gray and dirty brown of the Alerarian Mountains. He had been traveling more and more frequently since he left the diverse country of Corone. First, he made his way to Ettermire, after finding a ship suitable to take him. Upon reaching the city, he received work from the Alerarian government to save one of their agents deep in the mountains. And with his companion, a man by the name of Torin, they set out to save the stranded agent. After finding the agent and securing his rescue - while fighting their way out of the mountains - he took some much needed rest.

But while staying with the humble and grateful dark elves, the first real elves he had ever met aside from his father, he heard rumors from the hushed lips of the dark race. The Demons, he had discerned, were driven out of their homeland and forced to retreat to the Tular Plains just south of Alerar, where they had begun vigorous construction all over the empty grassland. They called for aid, any and all that were willing to help, to come immediately. The tremendous curiosity of the half-elf got the better of him it seemed, wanting to absorb as much knowledge of the Althanian races as he could.

So after parting with Torin, a new friend, he set out to help the Demons in their most desperate hour. The journey itself nearly took four days from Ettermire, yet the half-elf knew it could have been much shorter. After his heroic deeds in saving the drow agent, the government offered to give him one of their best horses, to which he declined. Apart from the promised reward, Anenfel desired nothing. He had never ridden a horse before, so he knew the kind gesture would be lost on him. Though now he wished he had taken the animal, even if it costed him larger bruises than his head from being constantly tossed off the saddle. His feet were sore, his legs ached, and was all together worn out.

It seemed the excitement of finally reaching his destination was dwindling and he was returning to the grumpy, on-edge half-elf Wayfarer. He was not always so. The mission in the mountains took a minor toll on him. He learned to never lower your guard when in an unfamiliar location. A lesson he was not about to toss aside freely. So while walking through the large mass of tents and campfires he kept a wary eye on his surroundings and his left hand fell to the hilt of Dawntracker. He had heard of the infamous treachery of demons. Whether it was based in prejudice or fact, the half-elf cared little; he would protect himself from any threat.

With the wind whistling in his ear it made it difficult for the half-elf to keep his senses attuned to danger. The demonic creatures scurried about, each one seeming to have a purpose specifically made just for them; he never saw two demons doing the same thing. They hardly noticed him, treating him with a mild neglect. He understood the treatment. If they were as mean-spirited as the other races hinted at, then it must have taken every ounce of their control to hold from attacking their 'guests'. Which led Anenfel to think of the reason why the other races lended their help in the first place. But the half-elf did not know the world of politics, and that in some situations sacrifices needed to be made.

He felt a rough tugging at his scarf, and before he had the chance to register it in his mind, Dawntracker was already drawn and held deftly at the creature's neck. It was a child, and a demon by the looks of her. She stood stiff and wide-eyed as the blade was at her neck. The small ball in her left hand shook tremendously. Quickly remembering himself, Anenfel removed the blade and looked into the child's fearful eyes. Realizing that the blade was no longer endangering her life, she screamed and ran away from the half-elf, leaving her ball behind rolling on the ground.

The half-elf tried to call out to her, to tell her how sorry he was but he could not. He stood there silent and motionless as his green orbs watched the poor child melt into the crowds. He could not believe what had happened. His gaze fell to the small leather ball on the ground. How could he have done that? He felt a rough grip on his shoulder, and he truned his head just in time to see a blackened fist rushing towards his face.

All went black.

* * * * *

Anenfel awoke to the rough ground grinding into his legs and lower back as he was being slowly dragged by two guards. The half-elf glanced through blurry eyes to his two captors. Both were demons, and both were two times his size. Each one held a shackled wrist while dragging Anenfel with minimum effort. Although he looked at them upside down, he could make out the immediate features. The guard to his right held Dawntracker, fully sheathed and free of the half-elf's side. He didn't know where they were taking him, but he assumed the reason why they were taking him pertained to a demon child's near death experience. One that he had full blame.

The pain slowly came back to his face. He had an extreme headache, though jugding from where the pain came from, he guessed it was nothing too serious. The demon must have been holding back. The half-elf also heard of a demons true strength. It could have killed him with that punch alone. But it didn't. It decided to take him prisoner and do gods know what to him. Anenfel guessed that a bloody nose and a headache wouldn't be the only injuries he would sustain.

His vision changed as his surroundings transformed from a large bright blur, into a large dark blur. He faintly made out torches that lined the walls, although the immediate light from the outside had not yet diminished. The grinding slowly stopped as his captors stopped. They were standing before a superior, he thought, from their posture and stiff forms. Anenfel rubbed his eyes against his left sleeve so he could get a better look at the matter before him.

"Master Dera," one of the demon guards exclaimed. "This elf" - he almost spat the word - "attempted to murder an innocent child. We thought you could use him to better construct the city." The half-elf winced as he heard the accusations; they sounded much worse when spoken aloud.

The one known as Dera turned slowly from his bent position over the table covered in blueprints. He was a slender man, with angular features and piercing azure eyes. Everything Anenfel saw in an elf. Though the elf looked strange when upside down, the half-elf knew that he was perfect when looked upon right side up. With an incredulous look the elf responded.

"Take him to Marshal Letho Ravenheart, he is the foreman of the prison building." The elf turned back to the table and quickly added, "I have no time for criminals."

[Letho]

Letho hoped for a rather slow introduction to his new duties. Perhaps he was a leader born and raised, but despite his royal upbringing, he didn’t have a stick up his ass. It was always his desire to get properly acquainted not only with the task at hand, but also with the folk who executed the commands he issued. A sense of unity and companionship raised the morale and as every leader knew, it was morale that usually made the impossible things doable.

However, today the whole familiarization process was jumpstarted and skipped the very second the pair reached the designated construction site. With the blueprints still rolled in his hand, his first sight was that of a system of scaffoldings tumbling down on the far side of the site. The wooden contraption fell with a crash, uplifted ample amounts of dirt and wound up as a heap of firewood. Luckily, given the fact that all of the workers either cursed the gods or sat down on the ground and took a breather, it seemed that none of them got caught by the collapsed rubble.

One of them, a rather elderly gent, scurried towards the Corone Marshal and the redhead, notifying him what just occurred. With hair weathered to almost complete grayness and a visage that bore an assortment of scars that could’ve only come from a fair share of battles, the man looked like a war veteran down on his luck. Still, there was a touch of former glory in the man, mostly in his musculature and his posture, and it was this little fragment of idiosyncrasy that reminded Letho of another gray elderly gent that died in the battle for Savion. Agraus, his father.

Suppressing the instinct to call the man “sir”, the swordsman-turned-foreman passed the blueprints over to Myrhia before he started to make his way to the crash site. “Somebody certainly doesn’t want this place built.” he spoke as they started their walk towards the fresh rubble. “Can’t really blame them though. This is going to be a prison after all.”

Myrhia, who unfortunately didn’t get a good hold over the tube of prints, first dropped one of the rolls, then another when she tried to bend over to pick up the first one, and then, when she finally collected both, she scampered after Letho and the gray-haired man. Given the fact that her lover was in a usually brooding mood, she thought it would be best if she did the introductions. “Uhm... Hi. I believe Letho forgot to introduce both of us.” she interjected, holding the tube and two semi-unrolled blueprints between her left hand and her chin as she tried to extend her hand towards their new acquaintance. “I’m Myrhia and grumpy over here is Letho. We came with the Corone emissaries... Ouh!”

Once again, the pair of blueprints went renegade on the redhead and fell into the dirt. Luckily, by now the trio reached the heap of debris, so she had time to plop down on the ground and collect them properly.

“You say this isn’t the first time this happened?” the Marshal asked his father look-alike. One of the workers, a rather burly, shirtless cueball responded instead.

“Aye, this is the third time. Luckily, Roscar here warned us so nobody got hurt this time. But the last time one of the lads wound up in the infirmary with a fist-sized splinter in his gut. No offence to these demons and that prissy elf, but if this continues, they’ll have to look for another crew.” the man said, and then added with the kind of warmth that you really can experience only from the blue-collar people. “The name’s Leridien.”

“Letho.” the swordsman replied, shaking the man’s hand firmly before adding: “I just got here from Corone. Dera told me you need a foreman.”

“Aye. We had one until the day before yesterday, but then he simply vanished. It probably got too hot for him. He came here with me, from Salvar. I told him: ‘Deren, if you can’t handle the heat, don’t go into the furnace’ but he came with us anyways.” the man continued, but Letho’s eyes drifted away from him and towards where the foundation of the scaffolding stood. The remnants of the foothold still remained, bolted into the dirt below, but it was not them that gave way it seemed. Several inches above the place where the sturdy wood entered the soil, where the jagged tear in the wood should’ve been, stood a clean, smooth cut. Letho moved towards it, removed several of the larger planks and found three more of these clean cuts at the bottom of the former scaffolding.

“Come here. Look at this.” he said to the men, sitting on his hunkers and inspecting the wood that jutted out of the ground. “That looks like foul play to me. Somebody definitely doesn’t want this place up and running.”

It was in this moment that a pair of guards approached, carrying what seemed like an elven prisoner that seemed pitiful between their muscular figures. The elf wasn’t terribly impressive looking to Letho, but his natural, elvish beauty didn’t go unnoticed in Myrhia’s eyes. She hurried to Letho’s side, trying to find out what was going on.

“Master Dera sent this lad to you, Marshal Ravenheart.”

“Why is he restrained?” the swordsman inquired with a dominant, curt voice.

“He attacked one of the local children.” the seven feet of muscle spoke.

“Well, the prison obviously isn’t done yet, so there are no vacant cells.” Letho spoke, half in jest, before adding. “Alright, I’ll give him something to do.”

“His papers and possessions.” the other demon, very similar in both posture and physique to his comrade, spoke, handing over an unsealed scroll and the longsword before releasing the elf. The Marshal unfolded the yellowish paper, skimmed over the info, noted the “swung his blade at a girl” part, and fired a frowned gaze at the felon.

“Is this true? If so, while there are no operational cells yet, I’m rather certain that we could procure some shackles for you.”

((Both of you can bunny Myrhia if you want to, just let me know beforehand.))

[Roscar Palidyne]

There it was. That look again. The foreman's eyes had flickered it for a second, as soon as he laid eyes on Roscar. He had first noticed it back at Anteria, when dealing with people had been key to the job he was on. It was hard to explain, the look, but for some reason it bothered Roscar. It was the kind of look one would give to an elder, a show of outward respect and knowing patience. Roscar knew that he was an elder himself, but this fact always seemed to slip his mind. Occasionally he would have to put his hand to his face and feel the many scars and rough edges that populated it to remember exactly how old he was.

The two, Letho and Myrhia, were quite a team, by Roscar's observations. Perhaps even an item, though Letho, stiff and to the point, didn't seem to show it. The airy innocence of the red-headed beauty was refreshing though, and her demeanor seemed to make up for any of the failings that Letho's personality might show. Making her aquaintance for the both of them with a friendly attempt of a handshake with her hands full, Roscar smiles and meets her hand with his own. It almost felt mystical, her skin, unlike any human he had ever shook his hand with before. She seemed human enough, though. Realizing that he had held her hand a little too long for comfort, Roscar pulled his hand back awkwardly. An embarassed smile inches across his face, which may come across as a very unseemly manner for a man his age. The girl started to fumble the scrolls she carried, and though a valiant effort was made, they all went hurtling to the ground. Roscar felt unable to watch this without lending a hand, and he bent over, reaching an arm over to the dropped parchments.

"Here, let me...."

But the colliding of his head with Myrhia's stops his sentence short. Roscar gets bumped back a little, and he looks immediately at Myrhia to see if she was alright. During the collision, Myrhia's hair that had been convering part of her face had been brushed aside from the impact, and Roscar was able to see for a split second a faint scar that seemed to start at the corner of her lip. The sight of it had disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Not wanting to seem like he was oogling her, Roscar rushed to pick up two of the scrolls, which he rises to his feet and hands them over carefully to make sure they wouldn't escape her grasp again.

"Sorry.....here you go," Roscar said, apologetically. He then realized that the distractions had caused him to not introduce himself to her properly,so he redoubled his efforts. "I'm Roscar. Nice to meet you, Myrhia."

Roscar helped her just in time to turn back to the men and see Letho make his observations. Apparently, someone had sabotaged the scaffolding. Roscar started to attribute it to one of those "Anti-Vla'toros nuts" that Leridien had mentioned earlier, and was going to bring it to Letho's attention, until the interruption of the prisoner elf. The elf, who seemed like a half-breed at second glance (his ears weren't as pointed as the other elves that Roscar knew), was a pitiful sight, restrained without any sort of physical or emotional resistance.

Watching Letho's actions, Roscar started to like the newly-appointed Coronian foreman more and more. His hand was firm, but rightfully just. He gave even the lowest entities a first chance to show themselves up properly. He did everything personally, and without a pompous glance that seemed to be an annoying trademark for many of those in leadership positions. Roscar could see that Letho was a man that had been respected in many places, this demon's cave not being the first one.

However, the manner of the captive elf was not that of loathing for his captors, which was the normal manner for most prisoners. Rather, he seemed to direct these feelings on himself, which seemed to be the reason he wasn't fighting the guards that restrained his arms with oppressing force. This elf was in full regret of a mistake he had committed. Roscar, strangely, empathized, but why, he couldn't be sure. He just knew that he was a firm believer in second chances, and spreading this notion to the world wasn't a shameful position. Roscar cleared his throat and spoke up to the Coronian.

"There won't be any need for that. I'll watch him myself. If he even so happens to attempt an attack or make a break for it, I'll see to the restraints personally."

Roscar looked to Letho, hoping that he would make the order to release the half-elf. Roscar's heart was a little torn by this act, thinking that it could very well kick him in the ass later, but he shrugs off this paranoia. Even at his age, a man could dream. Suddenly the idea of what could be happening with the foul play came back to him, and Roscar spoke once more.

"Leridien told me earlier that there had been a few people who were against the building of Vla'toros before. Maybe we could search these guys out?"

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

((Just a note: You don't really have to interact with me if you don't wish to, I'll be in and out of this thread, in one or two posts. Just trying to link all the threads together a bit. Do be sure to read it, as it may uncover some knowledge that you may want to know.))

After all of the parties had left their seperate ways to begin building Haide, the demon knight found himself searching out his friend and companion, Dera. The elf had helped him out in more ways than one, especially being the crafter of both of his fine osmium blades. Making his way through the sea of tents back toward the massive mouth of the cave, Zieg, Kaza, and Xeppa found Dera in the very middle of the commotion.

"Friend, you seem to be incredibly overwhelmed," Zieg said as he stepped forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of his companion. Dera looked to him and smiled, shaking his head. "It seems that your plans are coming along nicely. Anything I should be made aware of?"

"You do not even know the half of it, General. Apparantly, there are a great number of people who detest the fact that there are those who which to stay in the caves. They have been making it very difficult for the workers to get their work finished."

"Well, if it is not one form of discrimination, it is another. I'll order a security detail to try and keep the rabble rousers away from the building sites."

Dera turned Zieg away from the cave and began to walk, speaking in confidence. "There have also been heavy rumors that Deimis has been sabotaging the work at the prison site to free their companions. No one is actually in the prison yet, but several prisoners are involved in the building process. I do not need the people fretting over this, so I have done my best to keep the knowledge from them."

"I will be sure to inform the security detail of that as welll," Zieg replied coldly. "I will not allow Trakos vlor' Kinron to dampen this truly magnificent event. Deimis needs to be snuffed out now." Dera nodded and turned back to the newborn city.

"I have to make rounds about all of the Tular Plains." Zieg picked Kaza up into his arms. "Goodbye, Dera, and good luck." Dera nodded in return and Zieg turned back toward his men. There he ordered a contigent of men back into the building area to make sure that neither Deimis nor anyone else disturbed the process.

[Letho]

Handing over an able-looking elf that was possibly a felon into the custody of a rather old looking man didn’t seem like the smartest move to Letho, but his gut was telling him otherwise. His gut was reading the elf’s face before he got a chance to reply and made a motion that he wasn’t responsible for the mentioned crimes. And his gut was also telling him that there was more then met the eye when it came to Roscar. He maybe looked a bit over-the-hill, but what he didn’t look like was a pushover. Given the fact that the elderly were always held in high regards back in Savion - especially since Savion men reached their full physical potential at the age of fifty - the Corone Marshal decided to accept Roscar’s offer. His gut was seldom wrong.

“Very well. Anenfel is under your watch from now, Roscar.” Letho said, giving the scar-faced man the elf’s longsword, but tucking the papers into the inner pocket of his own coat. “We have more pressing matters to attend to anyways.”

“You can say that again. We have to rebuild those blasted scaffoldings all over again.” Leridien said, doing his best to wipe the dust off his bald head with an already dusty rag.

“Leave the scaffoldings for now. Until we track these insurgents down, I don’t want to risk with something so easily sabotaged.” the Marshal said, finally relieving Myrhia as the carrier of the blueprints. He took one of the rolled prints, stuffed the rest beneath his arm before he unrolled the piece of paper. He set it down on the ground carefully, then put four stones at each corner to prevent it from furling. “Now, I want you to work on finalizing the ground level. I can see that most of the bearing walls are up, but there is a lot of these separating walls that need to be done. I know it’s a bit tricky to put them up before the ceiling is done because they might come off uneven, but it’s better to live and patch the mistakes then to break your neck if one of those scaffoldings comes crashing down again. I’ll do my best to get some additional security here.”

Most – including Myrhia – were rather stunned by the fact that Letho wasn’t a regular brute that was proficient at sword-wielding and nothing else. But most didn’t know that of the Seven Kingdoms of Audelas, Savion was most famous for its advanced architecture. It came as no surprise that during his upbringing, Letho Ravenheart heard a fair share of classes on structural integrities and stone construction. Leridien looked at the blueprints over Letho’s shoulders, studying the sections that the swordsman was pointing at with his finger and doing his best to memorize most of it. In the end, Letho rolled up the drawing and handed it over to the burly construction worker.

“Alright. I suggested that to that Dera fellow, you know, but he seemed in the world of his own, saying that he doesn’t want to fall behind.” Leridien said, taking the rest of the prints from Letho.

“Well, he would think differently if instead of falling behind he was falling down.” the Marshal said with a smirk and the gathered workers laughed heartily at his jest. It lasted for a couple of seconds before Leridien started to get them back in line and back to work.

Letho was about to address Roscar’s proposition next, but the two demon guards that brought Anenfel were replaced by half-a-dozen more, all armed with large halberds as they came to a full stop before the Marshal. Unlike the pair, the six that now stood before them seemed much more imposing, eyes front, uniforms spic-and-span and shimmering in scarlet hues, their posture soldier-strict. “Marshal Letho Ravenheart?” the leader of the small platoon said and Letho nodded. “High General Tulfried appointed us as security for this site.”

“Excellent.” the dark swordsman said, thinking this was probably the first intrusion that didn’t mean that something terrible happened. “Two of you should patrol the east and west stretch of the building, one should patrol within the compound. After two hours, the other three replace the current sentries on their posts. I believe you can arrange the rotation amidst yourselves, gentlemen?”

Instead of a reply, the leader of the six struck the shaft of his weapon against his armor before he moved out his troops. Letho sighed before he turned to Roscar and Myrhia. This was all a bit too eventful for his rather steady, slow-pace-loving mind. But it wasn’t like he had a say in the matter. The obstacles came charging at him and he had to do his best to stay on top of them. For Corone, for the Haidians and most importantly for his own pride. Letho Ravenheart wasn’t the kind of a person that called it quits after hitting a bump or two. He gestured to Myrhia and Roscar to come closer before he started in a more hushed tone.

“Alright, this is how I see it. It’s of no use for us to go nosing around because these scallywags are obviously rather deft at keeping a low profile. In fact, I expect that most of them are just posing as workers, doing their jobs and lurking for the opportunity to put their plan in motion. So this is my plan. You need to punch me in the face.” he said to the gray man and to Myrhia’s surprise, he said it with a deadly serious expression on his visage. “Not here though. These men already saw you save their ass. Well move to the next site, then get in a bit of hassle. I assure you, after you punch the foreman’s light out, they’ll be out to draft you in their ranks.”

He concluded with a stern, but respectful look towards Roscar. “So, are you up to for some counterintelligence work?”

[Roscar Palidyne]

It was a foolish plan. It risked life and limb of Roscar. There was no guarantee of the wanted results of the opposing faction letting Roscar in. In fact, it was possible that one of the men who had saw him help out Leridian and the rest could be part of the faction and disregard Roscar's reliability. Most of all, the entire plan to protect the restoration of Vla'toros relied on the shoulders of an old amnesiac without a degree of espionage training. At least, none he could remember.

Well, now I know that things aren't going to be boring.

But it was the only plan to go on. Reluctant to have to punch his new leader in the face, Roscar nods in affirmment that he was ready to undertake the drastic deed. Roscar takes the sword that had been just given to him, the elf's sword, and hands it back to Letho, knowing that he'd be unable to take care of him under such circumstances, and he didn't want to risk betrayal. The stakes were too shaky.

"Guess I won't be taking care of the elf after all. But do me a favor, Letho, don't lock up the guy unless he crosses the line. I don't sense malice in his gaze, he may not be what he has been appointed as."

Looking around, Roscar proceeds to head to the next area with the couple following him. It seemed this area was to be the residential section. Still walking, he observed the section to make sure it had everything they needed to make this little fight as theatrical as possible. One requirement met. No guards. Another requirement. Big and open to allow everyone around to see. Good. And they were approaching the center, right in view for all. This would be suitable for the job. Roscar stops without turning to face Letho. His voice becomes cold, calculated, and drenched with serious intent, as he speaks to Letho loud enough for only him to hear.

"Sorry, but it has to look dramatic."

With surprising speed, Roscar turns, using his pivotal force to deliver a gut-blowing punch to Letho's sternum. Once the ranger had doubled over, Roscar bent down to his ear to deliver one last message.

"I'll try to keep in touch some way. Keep your eyes open."

Roscar's left hand grasps onto the collar of Letho's clothing, while his right hand reaches down to the waistband of his pants. Firmly holding the articles of clothing, Roscar releases a piercing yell of battle as he hurls Letho's body to the ground. Then an idea occurs to him, something to finish the deal and ensure that as many people see that he had just conquered one of the Vla'toros foremen.

"Why don't you take your filthy whore and get the hell outta here while you're at it!!" Roscar exclaims in a taunting manner to the ground-ridden Letho. Looking around, it was obvious that everyone had stopped what they were doing immediately to gaze at the occurence. Roscar assumes a triumphant pose, and it was about then that two pairs of arms had grabbed his own arms from behind, pulling him some good ways away from Letho before one gets in front of Roscar, leaving the other arm to the one in the back. Roscar had expected it to be two guards, but they were in fact a couple of normal demon workers seeming rather disgrunted. The one in front looks back to Letho, saluting him.

"Don't worry, foreman, we'll take care of this trouble maker."

The man then turns back to Roscar and lands a painful left hook on Roscar's chin. The one from behind began to speak in Roscar's ear as the one in front continued to wail on the helpless Roscar. "You are one crazy guy. That's Letho Ravenheart you just decked." A couple of punches to Roscar's stomach brings him a little out of breath. "Sorry, old man, but we gotta rough you up a little," The one in back continues, "so we don't blow our cover." Roscar attempts to catch his breathe to continue to take the punishment, but the man in back nods his head slightly. Stopping his next shot, the guy in front takes Roscar's arm again and they both pull him far away from the scene. Roscar hoped this was a good sign, that they were going to stop their little charade soon, because it was a painful one.

Once behind a partially built structure where no one could see in, the two demons let go of Roscar, who lands on his back, breathing deeply for the air that had been consecutively been knocked out of his lungs. The two men stand over him, giving Roscar a quick look-over as if admiring their handiwork. One of them grins and offers him a towel for his blood, which Roscar grudgingly accepts.

"Great work back there, old man. I can't say I've seen anyone who had the balls to lay out the great Letho Ravenheart like that."

After wiping off the sweat and blood that had been leaking down his face, Roscar hurls the towl back at the towel-giving one, hitting him in the face with it. Roscar sits up, feeling his face for bruises.

"I have a name. It's R-" Roscar catches himself, knowing someone might have heard his name from before, "Race. Race Baron." He couldn't figure out why he chose such a name, but a feeling inside him felt it was appropriate. With the present circumstances, Roscar wasn't one to fight with instinctual intuition, and so he internally shrugs off the weird feeling. The other demon, grinning, offers his hand to Roscar to help him up. Roscar takes it, and as he is forced upright it becomes clear to him that the other one had shoved something into Roscar's hand. Once successfully helped up, the other two begin to walk away. One of them speaks as he goes.

"We could sure use your help, Race. If you're interested, come after the day shift. Think about it."

They exit out of view, cracking their knuckles and laughing loudly as if a job well done. Roscar gazes at the parchment that had been stuck in his hand, unrolling it quickly so he could gaze at it. On the parchment was a map of the entire cave system, crude but still readable. On the map was an X placed past one of the Vla'toros cave walls. To get to the X, there was a massive twisting of passages that one could easily get lost in....if one didn't have the map. A guess lead Roscar to believe that this was the place where the guerilla group would meet up to discuss plans. As gigantic of a cave as Vla'toros was, surely there were many hidden passages and tunnels that existed where one would least expect. Step one of the plan to expose the enemy was complete. Was that all they needed? But there was no guarantee that this was what Roscar thought it was. He couldn't just go waltzing up to the foreman now, either. More than likely, enemy and ally eyes would be upon him now, and any obvious move to treachery would certainly lead to death. They would only get one shot at this, so Roscar had to be extremely careful not to get caught as a spy.

Finally catching his breath, Roscar could only hope that Letho was alright. Roscar feared he might have gone too far with his theatrics, but the foreman could certainly handle himself. In fact, he could picture Myrhia being more wrathful than Letho. Either didn't seem like the best prospect, but thoughts like those had to wait. Now, Roscar had to wait til nightfall. Then was when he would see if his spilt blood had payed off.