Shaking the Stirred [Haida Stirs Quest Group]

[Taelar]

Taelar was going to be late.

There were some elves who concerned themselves over matters of time, but the Alrenhadil family had not been amongst them. Treasure the minutes, treasure the heartbeats, his mother had said. But do not count them. Appreciate the times when they flow past like water or fall one by one from the sky like twirling petals.

Unfortunately, he'd appreciated the quiet moments of the morning a little too keenly, and when he'd next looked to the window of his room the sun stood nearly overhead. The assembly for the task he'd set himself would be before noon, to allow them the prime hours of daylight and afternoon to strike at this infestation of vampires and werewolves. Dallying in departure or travel would result in less time to investigate in relative safety, less time to devise a way to keep the woods safe. Even worse, Taelar had very little knowledge of the specifics of the job. If he showed up after the briefing, ignorant, he could cost the whole team their lives! Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chastized himself as he stumbled through the door of the inn and out into Underwood, almost a mirror image of the feral visitor of two nights before. He did, however, manage to avoid faceplanting on the dirt outside. And while no razor-tipped implements of death greeted his exit, he winced and shielded his eyes from the sudden flood of glare.

The trees shaded direct sunlight from Underwood for quite a bit of its skyline, casting it often into twilight even during prime morning and evening hours. At the moment, however, the sun had climbed above the tallest of the boughs and shone down directly into the little community. Even as Taelar stepped off quickly towards the barracks, however, he noticed that the feel of Underwood was... different, somehow. Or more correctly, not as he'd expected, given that this was his first visit. The air seemed alive with purpose. Humble craftsmen going to and fro walked with straight backs and even strides, bearing their loads with proud dignity and assurance that they mattered. Rangers patrolled the dirt streets, their crisp footfalls echoing the discipline that Taelar remembered from the soldiers of his home. Between two houses far to his left, a woman hanging up her wash lacked the stoop to her spine and the halfhearted motions that Taelar always associated with humans taking on tasks that they hated. New construction could be seen to the north and the south. Buildings? Stores? Houses? Or perhaps more fortifications...

There was no mistaking it. This was a town that was ready. For what, Taelar didn't honestly know... but he did know that he was glad to be on this side of the barricades. Whatever the other human faction or the monsters of Haida had in store, the sort of resolve that Taelar sensed around him counted for a lot.

He broke into a light-footed trot, quickly weaving his way around a parked cart and another patrol of Rangers. His leathers, once a stiffness and annoyance that he avoided whenever possible, moved with him as easily as his skin. Likewise, he felt the slightest hint of the texture of dirt and gravel through the slightly thinned soles of his boots, connecting him to the ground. A smile stretched across his face, and he pushed himself further into a long, loping gate that ate up the ground between the Promenade and the barracks – which also bore the signs of recent construction and rennovation.

The guard at the door was the same one he'd seen yesterday when perusing the board. Dark hair, goatee, built strongly but not especially tall. He looked Taelar up and down. “Ah, right, elf. Here for the briefing?”

Taelar stopped short and offered a quick bow of his head and shoulders. He wasn't out of breath, but his blood was singing nicely in his veins. “Yessir,” he said. “Sorry I am late – time slipped up. Where is the briefing, again...?”

“In past the desk – don't mind the quartermaster, just taking inventory from a recent raid – then left, then first door on the right. I think they just started, but at least a few of the freelancers are already here.” The guard lifted his halberd, unblocking the door. “And Thaynes go with.”

“Lady's grace.” Taelar offered another tiny-half-bow and moved through, restricting his gait to a quick walk. Wisely so, it turned out – in what would normally be the reception and clerical area, there were piles of supplies about, and a single grizzled man sat in the midst of them making hatch marks on a tally sheet. The elf nodded and moved past, careful not to disturb the equipment. From the slightly lopsided nature of one pile and the scattering of bagged meats, it looked as though one recent passerby had not been so careful. Heh.

...then left... first door on the right. Even before he stepped into the room, Taelar heard a female voice. Clear, distinct, with the slightest lilt to her pronunciations of Common... his heart lifted a moment and he paused outside the doorway. It certainly sounded like – yes, it was! He caught a glimpse of the figure as she paced around to the head of a table. An elf. Not of the Raiaeran bloodlines, at least not recently – she was probably at least a one-generation native of Concordia, given the casual swagger in her step and the ease with which she bore the colors of the Rangers. A moment later, Taelar realized that her arm was in a sling, and that there was heavy bandaging across her other shoulder – visible only through a gap in her leathers that looked as though it had been torn open by a large claw. His breath caught in his throat.

When she looked up, her eyes tightened just a bit and the corners of her mouth turned down. Taelar realized that she was looking out the doorway... at him... and he had been staring in a most impolite way. Taelar coughed, dipped his head in a wordless apology, and slunk through the door. There were a few others gathered around, but the elf kept his head down, mortified. Rude to a cousin on top of everything else! Well done, Taelar. He tried to push down the color in his cheeks and concentrate on the map which she rolled out on the table before them. (http://i37.photobucket.com/albums/e65/ClawOfRakshasa/erasemap.jpg)

“I was able to get a fair bit mapped before I got sniffed out by one of the werewolves on patrol,” the elven scout in Ranger's colors spoke, continuing on from wherever she'd left off. “The rest is from the most recent information we've got on the old mines. It's probably ten or twenty years out of date, and those Haidan bastards have probably moved right in and dressed up the place to their liking. Don't take anything for granted.”

Taelar's embarrasment had faded by now, pushed out of the way by curiousity. He leaned forward a bit, peering at the map, as she tapped each portion of the scrawled diagram in turn.

“Right here, with A... this is the old stone quarry. Used to just be stone for the town buildings and suchlike, until they found the metal deposits down in the deeper layers. This is the only entrance to the mines... at least, on our end. You'll be inserted just above the quarry. When I was there, they just had a pair of dire wolves... big ones, tame enough to take orders, but hungry... out there on loose patrol. They may have changed that up. Watch out for them – I managed to slip past them, but you're in a bigger group. If they make too much noise, they'll probably wake some of the sleepers and that wouldn't be good for you.”

“Here...” Her finger traced across the map to 'B.' It took Taelar a moment to realize what the odd figure intruding into the concentric quarry excavation represented. A crane? “This is the lift that was used to winch up large loads. Wood's probably rotted, so I wouldn't depend on it for getting down. It's still an option, but the long walk's probably safer.”

“Then... you've got the entrance to the mine, here, at C. There's the end of the cart track, which shouldn't be a big concern unless you're hauling someone's corpse out of there, heh? Remember, though, it's a long straight shot from the entrance into the first chamber, so if there's anyone keeping watch there, you might have to take them out. Hope there's not... because...”

The scout tapped the room to the north of the tunnel in, marked with an E. “Going out of order a bit, this is where the old sleeping quarters were for the miners. I have no idea what's gone on behind here, but there are probably at least a few of the bastards using that for their daytime rest. Kill them if you feel like it, but you'll probably tip off everyone in the mine. So... yeah, probably don't. Oh, and it could be they left that room entirely empty, but I doubt it.”

“The first place you're likely to hit lookouts in the mine itself, though, is the first chamber they excavated... here, at D. Three big pillars and some tailings piles around, if you're looking for cover, just be careful of making too much noise. Right to the south, you have the cart rails leading to the elevator to the second level of the mines... here, at F. I didn't get that far, but the elevator's just a double-winch with rope that's seen a whole man's generation of neglect—” Taelar smiled a bit, in spite of himself, at her slip-up. Or maybe she'd intended that barb. “—so it's probably just a deathtrap. Unless, say, the Haidans have shored it up and are using the second level to house troops. Would be good to check that.”

When Taelar had first swept his gaze across the map, he hadn't been especially impressed by the size and complexity of the mine. This was, of course, a little delving for a small community and its limited exports, so of course it wouldn't match the great undeworks of the dwarves and dark cousins. However, as he listened, and imagined each place – how many creatures of the night might lurk in ambush, how many might have already garrisoned themselves in preparation for a strike agaisnt Underwood – he shivered. Lady help him, he might be in over his head.

“Then you've got the long descent, here.” The elven female ran her finger from right to left down the corridor marked with an 'H.' It came to rest at the end, where the map showed another endpoint for the mine carts. “The whole thing's going down into the earth before this, but you really get in deep here. You're far under the quarry by the end of the run. And what's worse, it's a long, straight shot where a couple of sentries can mess up your day like they did mine. There's really no good place to hide. However, there may be a way around... here.”

“See, these two chambers... this was where the mine expanded after the first one was mined out, and made into the command post. They're going down, too – I is a lot deeper in than G. But there was a service tunnel between the chamber here...” She tapped at G. “And the storeroom that served the last chamber on the first level. I've got it marked out here. However... the old records aren't really very specific on where it really is. So you'll have to do some looking.”

The elf blew out a long breath, and looked up to them, brushing a few wisps of blond hair from her eyes. Taelar sneaked a look up, then busied himself studying the map.

“That's all I have,” she concluded. “Except a guess. It looked like they had done some excavation with the end of the tunnel here... at J. This may be at least one place where there are passages even further down that the miners didn't discover – but the Hadians did. May even link into the second level, or wherever these damn things are coming from. Otherwise, that's what we know. For finding out more, or cutting them off...” The scout grinned; her showing of teeth gave the expression a slightly feral edge. “Well. That's where you come in.”

Her attention turned aside, to what Taelar assumed to be her superior, as he continued to try to work through everything that she'd just told them.

Yes. He was in far over his head...

[Jack Frost]

It was hard getting back into Underwood, something Jack hadn't expected. He found himself meeting the swords of several rangers and militiamen, then his father, the elven captain of the guard, let him in. The reunion was bitter, after all when they had last parted Jack was being accused of killing his younger brother. The old man refused to speak to him, but seemed to have something to say. Jack didn't care though. He was here on more important business.

...
Jack found the elven elders assisting in a massive garden behind the peaceful promenade. They found his teal eyes staring them down from a distance, their eyes said it all, she was gone. A scowl crossed his lips as he lifted the blood hood of his heavy winters Jacket over his silver spiky hair. His chiseled face soon was obscured to the point where few would recognize him.

All around him he heard the bustling noise of the town getting ready for war, but he felt a strange indifference to them. This had once been his home, but now it wasn't. He began to move, lifting one booted foot in front of the other moving in almost a trance. He had wasted enough time on this side errand. He had a job to do. As he walked, trudging past old haunts that he refused to acknowledge, his mind began to wander back to his current home, a citadel of N'Jals followers filled with hordes of undead.

He felt a twinge of regret in taking the assignment, he'd rather be back home playing darts on a frozen corpse, but Lorenor had asked him to do this. It was as simple as crippling Haida, to stop their progress through unrestricted channels. Dissonance needed to control the flow of damned onto the surface, recruit them as they went. Tunnels like the like nearby were a problem.

The silver haired ice mace pushed past an old woman he used to babysit for, not muttering anything, and continued down the dirt paved street filled with old memories. He ignored the merchants and artisans noisily practicing their trades, and continued trudging along, kicking up dirt as he went. The vastly diverse population of Underwood occasionally shot him a dirty look, but he continued along.

Finally he found the barracks, and pushed past a guard to enter. He had checked in earlier, and was ready for briefing. He trudged past the busy quartermaster, took a left, and entered the first door on the right. There were two elves and a high ranking ranger inspecting a map inside. Jack quickly scanned it, and located what appeared to be a tunnel leading off to uncharted territory.

"Greetings," He muttered deep in thought, his breath flowing out of his mouth in a fog, as if it was incredibly cold. Soon the temperature in the room would drop several degrees Katherine, his betrothed, wouldn't have minded. That was the past though. This was now...

[SandStorm]

Unlike most days that started a little later than noon, and revolved around bottles and cheap whores, Marcus was up early. Early enough to see the sun rise and for him that was a noteworthy accomplishment. It had been about four months since he had been up for breakfast, and he knew that because he reveled in it. His biggest claim to fame was pissing his life away in the confines of the renown Oasis Inn. However, since he had participated in his first citadel duel the cowboy had been changed. Moved to do something beside binge drinking and pushing oak bed-sets into walls via hip motion. His course of life had shifted from his altercation in the citadel and that was a very good thing.

Today his first order of business was to become employed. To find work doing something besides leaching off of the income of The Oasis Inn, one of his parents estates. Coming down the stone steps that led from his room he greeted the many friendly faces that were either checking in, or out, of the humble hotel. It was a sight that was never seen before today. A sight that would be seen many more times after today.

"So what's the gossip today, Lorgan?" The changed man questioned his loyal employee.

"Well, there won't be any liquor served till about noon-"

"No, no. I mean what word of employment? Anything? I would prefer something exciting of course." Marcus cut in, trying to hint to the innkeeper that he was turning a new page.

"Oh, well there is work to be done in Underwood, but I don't quite think that's your cup of tea." Lorgan replied with a warm smile that hinted his sincerity.

"I don't drink tea, Lorgan. Or mixed drinks for that matter." The young cowboy said, slamming his fist on the counter in a sarcastic fit. "You should know that by now."

"Well when you put it that way..."


---- ----

That was how young Marcus Ner'Tak found himself sitting (almost) alone and unmindful of the meeting that surrounded him. In his nineteen years of life he had been called many things, but never a vampire hunter. The idea of killing some blood-suckers thrilled the young man, which was why he offered his hand to help the rangers in the first place, but what he didn't expect was all the chit-chat. The banter and planning was beyond the pampered youth. Instead he found himself drifting into a daydream, one where he was battling an imaginary dragon in the depths of an (almost) imaginary cavern within Salvar.

To anyone else in the room he might have come off a bit off his rocker. Secluded from the group he kicked back in a corner of the room, blank eyed, constantly flicking a button on his blue tunic and smiling. In fact, one man had even moved away from the young Salvarian after being asked what was the easiest way to slay a dragon. The scene caused a a small stir in the room, which resulted in Marcus being asked to pay better attention and Marcus responding with the (half-serious) question-

"Will you guys be serving any snacks? If so, I really like cheese. Namely cheese-sticks, ya'know, the kind with fried batter on the outside and melted cheese within?"

Needless to say, but his humor wasn't well received.

As the briefing progressed, bits and pieces of the rangers speech was blurred into Marcus' daydream, mostly the parts involving the mine. In his dream state he pictured the place picture perfectly. Tunnels of dirt that had been picked away over the years by the strong, sweaty hands of men more mature than him. The obvious lack of light that set the creepy atmosphere. Makeshift elevators that dangled loosely from ropes of questionable material. Everything the elven ranger described, plus one more detail, a dragon. A big, lime-green, scaly dragon that stunk of carcass and spit a corroding liquid that resembled acid.

Somewhere between his altercation in dreamland with the green-fiend, and the entrance of the abnormal Jack Front, Marcus snapped back to reality. At first he took a moment to examine the new faces around the room. One in particular, Taeler, gave Marcus a feeling of comfort. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on hinted to Marcus that the elf would be his friend on the journey to come. On the other hand, the silver haired fellow who had recently made his entrance was likely just another would-be-hero who had taken a wrong turn and ended up getting involved with the wrong crowd. Marcus dismissed this man quickly as fodder for the mission at hand.

Another thing he had noticed was the elf ranger, briefing the makeshift band of mercenaries, shooting him the nastiest look he had ever received from a member of the opposite sex. One of those mirror-shattering, "I'll cut your throat while you sleep," looks that are only given when someone feels true hate for another person. At the time, just waking from his open-eyed nap, it was quite alarming for the Salvarian. It even managed to make him sit up from his cozy slouch, to full attention.

The lady-elf meant business and demanded respect, that much Marcus realized.

"So that must be where the dragon's lair is." Marcus stated in a daze, pointing to a random area of the map, then glancing around the room with a look of accomplishment. For a moment he forgot that the purpose of this mission had nothing to do with dragons.

His statement was easily brushed off by the rest of the bunch, who had obviously elected him the dunce of the group. If anything at all he would be regarded as a pawn, easily lost and forgotten as long as the mission was completed.