conversations: human
conversations:  Here's a basic rundown of important info you should be familiar with before we get started.
  
  How to roll dice.
   
   Spoiler 
  Using the following code.
  
  [roll.]xdx+x[./roll] i.e. 3d6+3
  
  Just without the periods.  Also the bonus to the roll applies to the entire roll, not to individual dice.
   
  
  
  Basic Military Structure
   
   Spoiler 
  From Highest Rank to Lowest.
  
  Lord Commander
  Lord Captain
  Commander General
  Colonel
  Captain
  Lieutenant
  Sergeant
  Private
  Recruit
  
  *Of note, military promotion is one of the few was to legitimately gain nobility except by royal decree in Islar.
  
  Young nobles who serve in the military usually begin as a Captain or Lieutenant and abandon their title while serving unless they are able to ascend to Lord Captain or Lord Commander by their own merit.
   
  
  
  In character text should be in bold:  Xern runs and dives into the cover of some brush nearby. 
  
  Your speech should be in color within this text:  With a glare I say,  "I believe you are trying to get the better of me here sir."  
  
  
  Use the options in the toolbars up top.
conversations: AngelAndrius:
conversations: human
conversations:  Over the last couple months you and your fellow soldiers have drifted into camp, on the orders of establishing this outpost and performing the duties inherent therein.
  
  The outpost itself is located roughly 100 yards from the banks of the Black River in an old maple tree. A flat wooden platform constructed in its boughs is disguised by layers of brush surrounding it, forming a sort of wall.  A couple younger trees have filled in towards the bank, obscuring it's location further from searching eyes.
  
  The Black River runs wide and deep.  Though the opposite shore is plainly visible in clear weather, detail escapes even the sharpest eye.  This helps keep your outpost safe from the Yetheran dogs, but also leaves a very small amount of time to react to hostile forces invading your position.
  
  The platform has a rope ladder that drops into the excavated space of the main camp.  Room for a few tents and necessary camp supplies.  A few large decaying logs have been dragged into position to form a wall in the shape of a triangle, with the apex being the maple, and a gentle dirt ramp forming the bottom edge.
  
  At the base of that ramp are tethered two fine, fast horses, meant to carry the quickest riders back to the main war camp with details of invasion.  Those unable to ride, you are to survive, by any means necessary without abandoning your honor.  Orders from Lord Commander Balosh himself to all outpost troops.
  
  The beacon rests 20 yards southwest or so.  A pile of dry tinder with oil soaked rags on a bed of rock, well obscured in the forest.  If there is time, the beacon is to be lit in case of a significant attack.
  
  There are oil soaked crossbow bolts on the platform for that purpose  in camp.  To be used with the two heavy crossbows stationed there.
  
  
  
  
  The day is winding down.  The camp is eating the final meal of the day, a rabbit shot down by your commanding officer, Sgt. Rikardson.  He's lived up to his reputation with that bow of his, soldiers joke he shoots like an elf.  His loyalty to his men and skill with the bow have made him an ideal man to lead one of these outposts and he has been your competent officer for these past weeks.  The rabbit's bubbling away in a stew, the entire camp has tried to contribute to its contents.
  
  Most of your group is sitting around eating while the two up top wait for their turn to chow down, keeping that ever vigilant watch. The night is relaxing, loosening jaws as people begin to talk about life outside of camp, even reminiscing about home. 
  
  readysetgo
conversations: AngelAndrius:
conversations: human
conversations:  Gavyn sits cross-legged at the fire, taking in the scent of the brewing rabbit at the center.  His dark hair is covered by a cloth hood and his longbow is sitting against a tree next to him.  He's whittling away at a piece of wood with his hunting knife and keeping a keen eye on the guards posted in the tower.
  
  As the rest of the camp engages in conversation he hums a low melody from his village. 
conversations: Volin:
conversations: human
conversations:  Lucien stands lazily against a tree overlooking one of the beacons.  his blonde hair is cut short, but it always seems to be sticking out haphazardly from his head.  He wears a ruffled uniform over a suit of dark leather armor, and a dark blue woolen cloak rests over his shoulders.  Like clockwork, he gently tosses the shaft of his upright glaive between his hands.  The weapon stands out, but Lucien doesn't seem to want to talk about it.  The blade is a darkened steel, but the entire wooden shaft has intricately placed bands of silver and copper running down its entire length.
  
  He has seemed polite, but awkward, almost as though he feels out of place in your company. 
conversations: Lord_Xaedien:
conversations: human
conversations:  Recruit Walsh dives into the rabbit stew with gusto, in between bites, regailing the group with tales of his hometown.  His happy demeanor reveals a soldier not quite overrun with the burden of carrying on a war very few believe they can win.
  
  Sgt. Rikardson sits siliently with a smile, listening to Walsh, seeming to draw a bit of happiness from the eagerness of the young soldier.
  
   "-and the mead at the Barley Barrel is the best in the region! Hands down.  Oh it'll be nice to head back there soon, whenever I'm able to finally get leave." 
  
  
  There are a few minutes of warm silence, only achieved with a full belly and trusted company.  After a bit, Sgt. Rikardson jerks his head towards you two.
  
   "All right Gavyn, you've got the midnight watch.  Up you go.  Make sure to grab Lucien too.  Send the others down for some grub, and don't forget to run your equipment checks while you still have daylight to burn." 
  
  He stands up and turns and begins to break down the campfire. 
conversations: AngelAndrius:
conversations: human
conversations:  Pipa  is sitting in the tree. One leg hanging down and calmly swinging. She has a bow hanging from a branch next to her with her arrows slung around front so she can lean against the trunk of the tree. She is tracing the scars and lines in the large branch she is sitting in while humming quietly to herself. It sounds like a sweet accompaniment to the crackling fire below, a far off melody that everybody seems to know. She is almost unaware that she is humming. She is in her mid twenties but has most likely been in the army since she was 16. She is an expert marksmen with her bow but very humble about it. Her thick, curly, long brown hair is pulled back into a high pony tail but it still falls past her shoulders. Her eyes are a dark blue, almost violet although they are mostly closed as she rest while awaiting her turn on watch. She is thin to medium build and is about 5'7. Dark complected, quiet and dressed like a soldier.
conversations: Kaytsen:
conversations: human
conversations:  Gavyn walks over to Lucien and the two of them climb the rope ladder up to platform and get ready to take watch.  The equipment seems to be in check.  Two heavy crossbows, a bundle of hay imbedded with 20 bolts or so, a vase with oil-soaked bolts ready to fire at the beacon, and two covered lanterns with enough oil to last the night.
  
  Pipa swings down from her branch and dives into a portion of the remaining stew.  Her spoon scraping the wooden bowl hungrily.  It's been a while since she has been allowed to leave her post.  There are aches all over from performing her duty but she doesn't complain.
  
  Camp settles down, the two on duty get comfortable for their long vigilance tonight and everyone else hits their bedroll.
  
  As night creeps up the sounds of the nocturnal beasts of the wood come to life.  You hear the distant cries of an owl as well as something small snuffling around the undergrowth a bit to you left.
  
  A couple hours in Lucien and Gavyn become uneasy as a heavy, dense fog begins to roll in from the Black River.  It's as soupy as the rabbit stew they just had.  Quickly they lose all line of sight of the river, and even the ground beneath the platform seems distant and hazy.
  
  You could hide an army in this.
  
  Strangely, with the advent of the fog, the spirits seem to waken.  In the distance you see the flare of witchfires in hues of green and blue.  They slowly, very slowly, brighten from dull nothing to a light vibrant enough to compete with a good torch, then quickly extinguish, as if doused in water.
  
  Though not entirely unheard of, it is rare to see the witchfires so active tonight in so great a number.  Village folk say they are little faeries with fire on their head.  The fire grows so hot and they have to zip over and douse it in the nearest drop of dew.
  
  Having been posted here for months, you've never seen a faerie, but who knows?  You've never been close enough to be sure.
  
  
  An hour or so passes of this and suddenly the lights die out.  No more appear for a few tense moments, then while waiting for them to reappear you notice the silence.  Since the fires began, the noises of the forest disappeared and now heavy, unnatural silence hangs in the air.
  
  And then you hear a noise which chills your blood.
  
  50 yards east of you or so in the thick fog, you hear a yelp.  Not made by any animal you know of except by beasts with two legs. And definitely close. Like a half cry of surprise quickly dead on the speakers lips.
  
  Your ears strain, but even with wild imaginations trying their best to play upon your senses, you do not hear any further noise.
  
  Sgt. Rikardson needs to know. Immediately. 
conversations: AngelAndrius:
conversations: human
conversations:  The End.
  
  Back to the drawing boards.
conversations: AngelAndrius: