[h1][color=cornflowerblue]Iro Hesekar[/color][/h1] 

[@Mr Allen J] 

Iro shrugged his shoulders and sighed heavily, as if releasing a weight from his back. “So the rumors of their advanced technology is true.” he said “I had heard rumors that they possess crossbows which shoot shards of metal at enemies using fire, and massive wrought-iron contraptions which black boulders of metal through the air, but I assumed such things to be propaganda. But I suppose the threat is real now.” Mitos looked up at him with sad eyes as they walked and Iro patted him on the head. He’d best be careful not to frighten the small one. While Mitos seemed to care about nothing but eating, Iro knew that he was intelligent and could understand things better than one would expect. 

Soon they arrived at the castle, where a guard begrudgingly gestured Iro and Morag in the direction of the hospital, a long, church-shaped stone building extending from the castle’s central hall. The castle was stoic and grey, made of large blocks of stone and fortified at certain intervals with steel beams. The walls of the castle were all patrolled by guards wielding crossbows, and each entrance to the keep was guarded by six men and a wrought iron portcullis. The portcullises were opened, and the citizens of town were pouring in, all of them attempting to avoid the impending Red Legion attack. They heard what happened to Hadrentown in the mountains, and none of them wanted to experience that. Upon arriving at the main entrance to the castle, two guards wielding halberds stopped Iro at the gate entrance and a third man began to search Mitos. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Iro asked angrily. 

“We need to check you and your mount for any possible explosives.” the guard grunted in reply “We certainly do not want any spies getting into the castle.” 

“Spies?” Iro asked. 

“Yes, there have been a few reports of Red Legion agents sneaking around the city disguised as foreign travellers. We haven’t caught any yet, but someone like you-” 

“is obviously a Fairfolk high priest.” a lofty voice came from the inside of the castle great hall. The clopping of hooves on stone echoed around the cold walls as Sir Fallon approached. He was a high, haughty-looking man, slim and muscular with a perfectly-sculpted goatee adorning his upturned face. He wore a black leather jack of plates over a white linen shirt, with trousers on his legs and a pair of well-made black leather boots adorned with golden buckles. An arming sword with a ram’s-head-shaped pommel rested on his right hip. 

“Sir Fallon!” both guards went down on one knee. 

“This man is a Fairfolk, you knaves!” Fallon said to them “The Red Legion burns Fairfolk alive and puts their ashes in their gunpowder. Let the poor man through. I’m sure that he means no harm.” 

“Y-yes, m’lord.” the guards trembled “You-you may pass.” 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Iro said, walking into the castle “And thanks to you as well, Sir Fallon.” 

“You’re certainly welcome, fair physician.” Fallon replied “These men will direct you to the hospital.” At the nod of his head, the men rose from their knelt position, whispered “yes, m’lord”, and began to escort Iro and Morag towards the hospital. 

“You do not have to accompany me, Morag.” Iro said “I don’t know what kinds of wounds I will find in this place, and some may be quite unsettling.” 


[h1][color=olivedrab]Bjorn Svero[/color] and [color=9966CC]Asher Stormfront[/color] [/h1] 

[@Fat Boy Kyle] [@Leonerdo] 

As the scene involving the dragon unfolded, Bjorn stood at the front door of the Snorting Dragon, his arms crossed and his right hand a few inches from the pommel of his sword. The situation played out well, and no one was hurt. As he began to walk back into the bar, brushing past a Dorak and a saurian as he walked back towards his seat at the bar. Before reaching it, someone cried out loudly “Where’s the Orc! Tell me of the Legion!” Bjorn turned towards the source of the shout, a scantily-clad shade standing by the door to the bar’s cellar, and he frowned, angered by her flippant response. 

“In my land, we treat our elders with respect,” Bjorn growled back “but I suppose this is not my land. I know little of the Red Legion, but they attacked Talbor two weeks ago and it is said that they are preparing an attack on Nepharie. I have come here to attempt to learn more about them.” 

Asher, in the meantime, left the bar and removed her travelling cloak, revealing her butterfly-like wings folded against her back. She dropped the cloak on the ground near the entrance and, taking wing, fluttered across the courtyard, watching from the air as the scene unfolded. She landed next to an old gnomish man who was looking up at the dragon with keen interest in his eyes. Something told her that he was an alchemist. 

“It’s a shame the dragon has an owner.” Asher said to him “A full-sized dragon in the middle of a city filled with guards is quite the gold mine for potion ingredients.” 

Speaking of guards, about ten of them now ran towards the dragon. They wore green and silver padded tunics with a green and silver argyle pattern, with steel spaulders, rerebraces, and vambraces protecting their shoulders and arms. On their heads, they wore silver burgonet helmets and armored greaves on their feet, protecting their feet and shins. They wielded long pikes and green tower shields trimmed in silver, though most city guards wielded lucerne hammers without shields or crossbows. Leading them was a guard captain, who dressed similarly to the normal guards with the exception of a breastplate, a chainmail tasset, and a caged burgonet protecting his face. He wore a green cape with the Nepharie cockatrice in the middle in silver, and wielded a basket-hilted broadsword. 

“Back, dragon!” the captain cried out, oblivious of the man on the dragon’s back “Leave our kingdom or we’ll turn you into a throw rug!” 


[h1] [color=azure]The Juvegol Standoff[/color] [/h1] 

For a minute or two, both sides of the river stood silently, Arrond’s eyes not looking away from the eyes of the Red Legion captain. Soon the crowd of people began to leave and headed towards the city’s castle, hoping to find some refuge there. Coming against the flow of traffic were a regiment of longbowmen, three hundred strong, and up in the castle barracks, one thousand footmen were armoring up, as well as seventy more Nordavind to join the two hundred already present near the bridge. Luke slunk off through the crowd, moving towards a rocky cliff in the northeast part of town, where a pile of copper boulders sat inconspicuously propped against the brown cliff face. Arrond looked side-to-side along the river gorge. The city architects, of course, built buildings all along the edge of the Juvegol side of the river, some of which had cellars that stuck out into the gorge. They never built a wall because they believed that the river, being about two hundred yards across, would be just out of range of enemy longbowmen. Arrond knew that these men had much longer-range weapons, though. From here, one of their cannons could probably fire uninhibited into the center of the city. He looked down at the minotaur dangling over the edge of the gorge. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Arrond said “The river runs too swiftly for even a warrior such as yourself to cross.” Arrond looked down at Tari, who approached him from the opposite side. Tari was annoying, but she was also quite attractive, so Arrond let her slide. 

“It’s the Red Legion.” he said “They’re attempting to cross the river. They claim that they want passage to the North, and that they mean no harm. Obviously, they’re lying.” Then he turned to Sikharthis. 

"Sikharthis!" he shouted "Do you have any men in the city?"