Inns and Invocations Ch. 01

"There is a distinction between terrorists and non-combat personnel. Unless she actively engages me or my men, I won't raise arms against a Moon Maiden follower just because she's an enemy of your House." Conall sighed. "Listen, as much as I'd like to stay and discuss ethics, I'll need to fetch my marching orders. So, don't blow up the camp while I'm away, you hear?"

"I won't do anything dangerous, promise. After all, I want to return home a hero and spend at least a fortnight celebrating with my dear cousins Lilith and Tanith. Oh, to caress their supple bodies again, to have their velvety lips on my-"

"Last I heard from you, you wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from them. You mentioned thorn whips and unspeakable things especially Lilith was wont to do with your backside, friend." Conall turned to leave once more. "What is it now?"

"Well, absence makes the heart go fonder and all that. I could really do with a willing and eager woman. Heck, I'd even take a willing guy at this point."

"You should air out the workshop more often, especially after any aphrodisiac-related mishaps," Conall said, opening the door. "Well, if you're still this desperate after I return, I'll introduce one of my lads to you. Seems like he doesn't mind where he sticks his pole either."

Before Phentar could bring up the Moon Maiden cleric again, Conall had closed the alchemist's workshop door. He headed back to Major Grenthal's tent. The bald veteran looked as if he hadn't left his desk all night.

"Sergeant Conall ready for duty." He saluted sharply.

Grenthal blinked twice, then shook his head like an irritated bulldog. "At least one of us had a good night's sleep," the bald man growled. "I've just received word that our western supply camp has been razed to the ground. Wasn't that where you were headed?"

"Yes, as a stopover on our initial route. With the ambush-"

"I know, I know. Well, I've taken the liberty of updating your route for this foray." Grenthal moved stacks of papers aside to reveal a detailed map of the camp and its surroundings. "We haven't heard from Orgauth's squad in over a week so I want you and your boys to retrace their steps from their last signaling post, which would be here." He stabbed a finger at a point to the south-west of the camp. "Hang to the west and do a sweep of the supply camp, see if there's anything to salvage. Then, you can take the northern route," Grenthal's finger crept over the map, "swing by the 'Dancing Dryad' to restock and see if you can find new information to the north-east of it. Make special note of any sites which might be used as a forward base. The exploration of the forest's northern reaches is going way too slow for my liking."

"In no small part due to the stiff resistance the enemy puts up," Conall said. "The further north we go, the fiercer the Stalkerites become. If I had to hazard a guess, we might come across one of their outposts sooner than later. And if that's the case, I'd respectfully suggest you'd send a squad of heavy infantry or two to the 'Dryad' so we have some proper support if our poking indeed stirs the hornet's nest."

"Agreed." Grenthal made a few notes on a scroll to the side. "I heard you've put your squad through a bit of a drill last night. How did it go?" He looked up, a rare flicker of empathy in his right eye.

"Better than expected, to be honest. They are competent, if a little rough around the edges. Bokney would be better served in the front line troops. Big guy seems more at home wielding a maul or a battle axe than a hatchet. Stokey is way too twitchy to be more than just a passable archer but I have yet to see a man loose more arrows in a ten-count than he does. And Stilty..."

"What about him?" Grenthal asked. "No need to mince words with me."

"Well, he's a half-elf and going by his words, he hates his Elven side - and anything Elven - with a burning zealotry which frankly scares me. And I thought Reece was bad."

"You think he'll be trouble?"

Conall sighed. "Not any more than the others. I should be able to deal with him. But by Mercy's shapely tits, shepherding scum like him and Reece is wearing me down. I'm all out of carrots and the stick to beat them with has yet to be cut."

Grenthal opened a drawer on his desk, pulling a bronze pin from it. "Here, for motivation. You'll need to recommend a replacement for yourself eventually." He sent the item flying.

Conall snatched it from the air and inspected it critically. "Hm. Not sure if any of them is anywhere close to corporal material, sir. But I'll keep this, just in case." He pocketed the item and copied the marching orders on a map of his own. "We'll be gone at least two weeks, plus however long we have to root around the ruins of the supply depot. I'll send a runner from the 'Dryad' with anything noteworthy."

Behind him, the tent flap was pulled open and a breathless courier stumbled in.

"Good hunting, son. Make me proud," Grenthal said, waving the courier closer.

"Will try, sir." Conall saluted once more and left. One final detour led him to the Quartermaster's shack, where a jolly dwarf was handing out packs of arrows, canteens and field rations to other squads. Unlike the soldiers he was equipping, the black-bearded quartermaster didn't wear a uniform.

"Ah, the godforsaken Paladin has returned," the dwarf rumbled when it was Conall's turn. "No rest for the virtuous, eh Conall?"

"Good morning to you as well, Lothar. You know me - I'd rather be out there than stuck in here. My squad all good and provisioned?"

"Yeah, Reece and the others came by and collected their stuff," Lothar said, placing arrows and rations on the counter.

"Anything besides standard issue they took with them? Anything I should be concerned about?" Conall refilled his quiver and stashed the rations in his pack.

"You wound me, Sergeant." Lothar made a face. "I wasn't aware Liam was heading out on a mission when I sold him the canteen full of Stone Water last month."

"Well, I had to drag a half-comatose warrior through enemy territory thanks to that small oversight. When he wasn't singing lewd tavern songs and attracting every sniper in earshot, he was in the bushes, puking his soul out. So, what did the black market supply my boys with this time?"

"Nothing at all," Lothar said, raising his hands in a warding gesture. He leaned across the counter, motioning for Conall to do the same. "And since you didn't rat me out to Grenthal, here's a little something by way of a thank you."

A broad-bladed short sword slid across the counter, directly into Conall's waiting hand. The hilt was topped by a simple, quadratic pommel and the blade was covered by a red-stained leather sheath.

"I shouldn't take this," Conall growled, casting wary glances around at the soldiers waiting in line behind him. Most of them seemed still half-asleep and the unpleasant stench of unwashed men and last night's cheap ale engulfed him.

"But I insist," Lothar said, flashing a pearly white smile. "A spare blade always comes in handy. And if you really hate it, well, sell it somewhere and add the coin to your parting salary. Next!"

Grumbling to himself, Conall dropped the weapon into his pack and slung the heavy container over his shoulder while the next handful of men fumbled with quivers, rations and canteens. As a free merchant, Lothar had no qualms of supplying Carver's men with whatever they needed provided the coin was right. Conall wished the dwarf would stick to his duties as Quartermaster. His liberal distribution of narcotics and other amusements had caused more than its fair share of strife in the camp, strife which had cost some good men their lives in quelling.

"Can't be helped," Conall muttered, heading for the gates where Liam, Reece and the others waited. For the next two weeks at least, they would be his problem while Grenthal would have his hands full making sure the camp wouldn't spectacularly explode.

"All right boys, ready to march?" Conall asked, adopting his jovial command voice. Five, well, four and a half pairs of eyes looked back at him. Despite his orders, they seemed to have had less sleep than Conall. Bokney loosened an impressively wide-mawed yawn. "Ready to go," the big man said, the first words Conall had heard from him.

"Grand. We're headed for the ruins of the westerly supply depot, then swing north, by the 'Dryad' and then further to the north-east, probably with two squads of regular infantry as backup. Major Grenthal wants us to scout some blank spots on the map."

Reece elbowed Stilty. "Welcome to the Second Sleepwalker Detachment. You'll be sick o'the trees in no time flat."

"Reece, shut your trap. I wasn't quite done. I'll use this mission as a long-term test to see who might be my successor as sergeant of this unit," Conall said. "And the corporal badge I have with me won't necessarily go to the guy with the longest service record. So... I'll be expecting everyone to do their best to make this recon route a success, understood?"

"I hate tests," Stokey said, his hands wringing the hilt of his hatchet. "Can't we make it a straight competition? He who whacks the most tree-huggers wins?" He made a chopping motion with the wrong end of the hatchet.

Conall exhaled slowly. "Stokey, do you know the difference between scouts and general infantry?"

"There is one?"

"Scouts are an army's eyes and ears," Stilty said calmly, shifting the weight of his pack on his back. "Infantry are its jaws while cavalry are the claws."

"Thank you," Conall said. "And as Lord Carver's eyes and ears, we only fight when attacked first."

"At least that's how our fearless wolf decrees it," Reece said softly. "Other scout teams get much more of the action."

"Well, last time we were out of the camp, we got more action than Adrian, Henrik and Roddy could take. So, keep your eyes open and start marching. We're heading west and I expect to see the Hollow Tree tonight, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Bokney bellowed. Liam nearly fainted at the affirmation's volume.

Conall grinned. "Glad to see at least one of you is raring to go. Let's head out then. Squad Conall, march!"

* * * *

Reece's head hit the table with a solid thunk and bounced off it. The black-clad scout crumpled to the floor, out cold. A thin trickle of blood ran from his shattered nose.

"He fucking started it," the bare-breasted half-orc dancer snarled as Liam and Stokey came to their feet, hatchets in hand. "And by Grumak the All-Seeing, if I have to cave your skulls in too, let's have at it!"

"That won't be necessary," Conall said, staring down his drunk and angry men. "My guys will put away their weapons, take their seats and apologize for the unpleasantries their comrade spouted in his drunken fervor." He slowly rose. "Or the next one hitting the table will do so by my hand."

"F-F-Fine, have it your way," Stokey muttered, slumping into his chair. "Spilling blood over a fucking spinach cunt isn't worth m-m-my time."

Conall placed a hand on the dancer's arm. He could feel her muscles ripple under her green skin as she balled her fists. "Sorry to deny your vengeance but I'll need them. For now," he muttered, trying the few crumbs of Orc he had learned way back in his rookie years when greenskin raids were the order of the day.

"Thanee says 'thank you,'" she replied in kind, bending low to reclaim a sequined cloak which had been part of her attire before Reece had bought a lap dance from her. Drunk as he was, he couldn't keep his hands to himself and when Thanee put him in his place with a few choice words and a slap to his face, things had turned very ugly very fast.

A slender half-elf joined the growing throng around the table, his face distorted in a mask of barely controlled anger. "Since most of our profit comes from your black-clad kind, I can hardly afford to kick you out for misbehaving," he hissed. "But I can demand recompense for your antics. One week of lodgings on top of everything you consumed should be fine for the moment." He extended a calloused hand.

Conall sighed, opened his purse and counted a handful of gold into the waiting palm. "I do apologize for my men. But why are you employing a half-orc dancer to begin with? She must be insulting Elven sensibilities with every movement."

"Thanee is a good friend, a battle companion and well, easy on the eyes if you prefer strong women," the half-elf said, a boyish smile tugging at his lips. "It's not like the 'Dryad' is particularly favored by my pointy-eared kin anyway and between Thanee and other bards and dancers coming through, our entertainment usually is varied enough to please even demanding clients."

"Maybe it's just this particular bunch that's especially racist," Thanee snarled as she left the table.

Conall sat down again. "All right. Anyone else itching to stir up trouble?" He glared at Reece's motionless body. There was a chorus of denials or heads going from side to side around the table. "I would appreciate it if you behaved more like seasoned veterans than bloody rookies on their first night out! You are aware that our army has a certain reputation, right?"

Liam nodded sheepishly. "Scum o'the earth 'n all that," he mumbled, his tongue heavy and slow.

"And you idiots have to go and prove everyone right," Conall snarled.

"But are we supposed to be humbled by a whore? A half-orc at that?" Stilty quietly asked. "That might tarnish our reputation even more."

Conall took a deep breath. "The only one humbled by Thanee was Reece and from where I'm sitting, he bloody deserved it. No reason to escalate any further. We need the 'Dryad' as our base of operations for the foreseeable future and angering the owners or personnel won't help with that."

"We could wait until the rest of the boys were here and take over this joint," Liam said. "More profit for us-"

"You're an idiot," Stilty hissed. "Do you have any idea how much trouble keeping skittish cooks and servers in line really is? We'd be constantly looking over our shoulders to avoid glass shards or poison in our food."

"Hooray for pragmatism," Conall said. "I'm up in my room, writing a report for Major Grenthal. Stilty, you keep order down here. Also, if our reinforcements show up, let me know. And for Mercy's sake, don't start anything with the locals, all right?"

"No promises there," Stilty said, an oily smile twisting his lips. "What should I do if Reece comes to? Besides offering a healing potion?"

"He's going to volunteer for watch duty tonight. A few hours in the cold night air should sober him right up." Conall said, draining his mug. "And since I know him well enough, he'll be making a stink about it." He reached into his coat pocket and produced the corporal pin. "Since I need at least a few hours to compose that report without that oaf ruining my concentration, I'm making you corporal, Stilty. Reece only responds to force or rank, so you're my number two from now on." He flicked the pin across the table and the one-eyed half-elf snatched it up with impressive ease.

"Oh, Sarge, you humble me." Stilty eyed the pin intently before shifting his gaze to his superior. "What did I do to deserve this honor?"

"You're seeing the bigger picture and have your head on straight. That's some rare qualities I'm seeing. Help keep the boys in line and don't make me regret my decision."

"Well, that promotion didn't buy everlasting love or friendship but it made sure I'll think twice before stabbing you in the back," Stilty said sweetly, blowing Conall a kiss.

"That's reassuring. See you later, boys." Conall rose and headed up a flight of stairs to the second floor where he had rented rooms for himself and his men.

Sighing, he barred the door and peeled his armor and clothes off before using the wash table to rinse the worst of two weeks' worth of grime and dirt off himself. The fireplace in the room crackled merrily as he pulled a fresh uniform from his pack and put it on. He stifled a yawn as he gathered his writing utensils and sat down at the desk. He lit a candle and began to write.

A week of hard march brought us to the site of Orgauth's last signal. The way there was uneventful. At the site we found the remains of a signal flare and a campfire but no traces of Orgauth and his men. I had the squad scour the site's environs for a mile in every direction, to no avail. No traces of Orgauth or his men, none of the usual trail marks or even boot prints, which leaves me little choice but to add Orgauth and his men to the list of possible deserters.

On top of another squad being lost, I am sorry to inform you that the supply camp is a total loss. When we arrived there three days after leaving Orgauth's signaling post, we observed a large Dree'vex contingent scouring the ruins. We made contact and learned that they were acting on the orders of Matron Jhaless herself, taking everything which seemed even remotely useful. I was informed that I had missed the Matron and her retinue by two days. After claiming the remains of her slain offspring, she reportedly headed straight for Lord Carver's fortress, leaving half of her force behind to reclaim what, and I qoute, "was ours to begin with."

I know our supply situation is tense but without enough men to pose a threat to three dozen angry dark elven warriors, much less haul a few dozen crates and bales of half-burned supplies back to base, I decided to let them have their way with the remains and moved further north, to the 'Dancing Dryad,' where I'm writing these notes. Unless reinforcements arrive within the next day or two, I'll be heading out for a quick tour of the northern forest with just the men I have. The squad is restless. Even the 'Dryad's' amenities aren't helping with their mood so I need to keep them busy. I will leave a copy of these notes with the barkeep, along with a sketch of my planned route should the reinforcements miss us.

Attached you will find a copy of the list of things the dark elves admitted to have taken from the ruins of the supply depot, along with the names and ranks of all our dead we could identify. Also, I did promote Private Stilty to the rank of Corporal. Out of all the miscreants under my command, he seems to be the one with the most sense and I strongly recommend giving him command of the unit after my discharge.

Signed,

Sergeant Conall, Second Scout Detachment

Deathly tired, he put down his quill and lit the next candle on the sputtering stump of the first. The raucous noise of the taproom had died down somewhat, replaced by the gentle murmur of late-night chats and the occasional twang of a harp or lute. Conall yawned and rolled up the papers he had prepared, stuffing them into a watertight leather tube.

Someone knocked at the door. Grabbing his hatchet as he went, Conall opened it a bit.

Bearing a tray and a wide smile, Thanee, garbed in her glittering cloak, stood on the narrow landing. "May I?" she asked.

Conall sighed and pulled the door open. "What is it?" he asked, trying to stifle another yawn.

"I just wanted to properly thank you for leashing your men," she said. "How does spiced mead sound? It's a bit better than what the customers get."

"A nightcap won't hurt," Conall conceded, allowing her into his room. He cleared the desk.

Thanee set down her tray and poured thick, golden mead into two wooden cups while Conall relocated to the bed, sitting down on the creaking frame.

"I'm sure you would have been able to handle my boys even without my intervention," he said.

"Still, it's rare enough that one of your kind speaks up for one of mine," she said, handing him the fragrant drink. Her gown slipped off one shoulder as she did, exposing the swell of her breast. "I'm truly grateful." The other shoulder followed suit.