20th of Cylus 721
The unpacking of their luggage went fairly swiftly. While the house in Egilrun had yet to be furnished properly, or even had its furniture transported from Viden, Woe was confident he could make it work with what was there. Straw pallets would have to do for their sleep, at least in the short term. Iago had lived rougher back in Quacia. Botany certainly was always overjoyed just to be alive and sniffing the air full of different blood scents and eating bonemeal-stuffed bits of meat.
Soraia was there as well, to be Iago’s caretaker for now. Woe had hired her, and was paying her wages until she saw fit to strike out on her own. He’d promised to buy her own residence wherever she wished to go, but given the language barrier, she’d need to overcome that at some point if any expectation of independence was to be entertained. Then there was Gloom, stalwart friend and personal chef. He carried a large box of provisions, taller than he was. The tunawa’s strength per square inch of his body was impressive, to say the least.
As Woe arrived at the address Fleaface had sent him, he knocked on the door. Muttered curses and grousing rumbled from inside the house. Woe was used to Fleaface’s mannerisms by now, and it didn’t bother him, although he knew Iago and Soraia didn’t get along with him at all. Botany barked from somewhere inside, and then Fleaface was heard to mutter something that sounded like a question.
Within a bit, his footsteps approached the doorway, and it swung open without much ceremony. Fleaface was carrying a set of luggage with him in one hand, while the other clutched a cane. Woe lifted a brow at him, ”Are you… Fleaface, are you leaving already?”
Fleaface gave him a look that was a poor imitation of regret, as he scratched the back of his neck, ”Aye… er Master. Lissen, there’s shit y’need to know about this place. Yer really know how to pick yer cities of residence…”
Woe nodded, waving Gloom, Iago, Soraia and Breen into the house. Within moments, the others dispersed to their respective quarters, to find them and settle in. Meanwhile, Fleaface took Woe aside to inform him of what he’d gathered from his time in advance of Woe’s arrival.
”Lissen, there’s war comin’. War with Slag’s Deep. It’s gonna hit Egilrun hard. These people, they ain’t ready fer it. They ain’t got a military guard on caliber with Dragoons, not by a quarter. It’s a sitting duck, gonna be a vassal of Slag’s soon, if the leadership and protection anything to judge by.”
“Plus there’s that the watchers what are here, the Union that guard caravans, a quarter of them are half in the pocket of the Warden of Slag’s. And Liza don’t like them. So there’s no love lost.”
Woe scratched his chin, settling down at the one table in his foyer. Fleaface reluctantly took up a place opposite him, for now. ”So they won’t be a reliable source of defense should this ‘war’ come to Egilrun. Your’e right Fleaface, I know how to pick my bases.” Woe’s mouth twisted bitterly, as he reflected on his itinerary of recent arcs.
The Mortalborn thought to himself for a few moments, shaking his head. The war was coming this season, soon, perhaps the very next day. And Woe couldn’t afford to sit it out in the early going, gallivanting and exploring the island he found himself in. He had to figure out where he stood with regard to the authorities. He’d already given some testimony to the Elements regarding his involvement with Balthazar Black, before customs let him walk ashore, two days ago.
”Are you sure you want to leave?” Woe began, to Fleaface, holding up his palms. ”I can give you the finest armor, the finest weapon, you could start your own mercenary company. Anything you want, I have the nels to spare…”
This time, however, Fleaface shook his head. ”After the shitshow in Quacia, ain’t got an axe fancy enough, or armor hard enough to convince me to stay and fight yer war. Yer left me that nice house in the Citadel in Etzos, that’s where I’ll be returning. Better to die in retirement, a whore eating out of each palm, than a fancy axe in hand and bleeding out in the sands of Scalvoris.” He snickered. And so, Fleaface rose from his seat and gave Woe a curt nod before he turned around and left, luggage and all.
He ruffled botany’s neck folds a few times, bending down to say goodbye to the dog, the only living creature he’d gotten on with in Woe’s household. In a way, the Mortalborn was relieved to see him go. He wouldn’t have to worry about his divided loyalties, and could focus on what needed to get done fully. Although he would miss losing such a masterful warrior, and a reliable companion.
He sighed and rose from the table as the door shut behind Fleaface. Woe had some time, and Fleaface had bought some maps of the outlying areas, as ordered. They were of average quality, of course, but they showed him how isolated Egilrun really was on this Island. It alone, among the different Settlements, would be simple to cordon off if Slag’s Deep annexed it.
Fleaface had taken the liberty of putting one word down on each town, to possibly delineate its potential use as an ally to Egilrun. Darbytown was ‘Wood’, Gunvorton was ‘ Shipping and boats.’. Almund had a Navy and Element presence. Scalvoris was the capital of the Island, and Beacon was a moderate-sized village on the eastern flank of that greater city. Scalvoristown would likely want to bolster their position where they were, and possibly with the allowance that Slag’s may annex Egilrun.
That wouldn’t do. Woe had to convince the Mayor of Scalvoristown, whoever she was, to not give up on Egilrun. If Slag’s gained a foothold on the rest of the Island, that would double the time and damage it would take before the war could be won. Woe nodded to himself, confident in his reasoning.
And so, he began penning letters to various neighbors of Egilrun. He wouldn’t send them just yet but leave them undated for now, and only trying to jot down his initial thoughts about the situation and how he might convince Scalvoristown, Gunvorton, and Darbyton to up their commitment to the protection of Egilrun.
Dear Darbyton Mayor, (he would fill it in with the proper title once he was aware of it),
Egilrun stands as a beacon of trade and prosperity, bringing much in the way of wealth to the rest of the Island. Yet it stands alone, a tempting target to the forces of Slag’s Deep. Now, I ask not that you send an entire platoon of rangers to our aid, nor commit resources to build defenses.
However, were you to secure the road to the west of Egilrun, the trade routes and supply lines running in and out of there, I can possibly convince Scalvoristown to commit more Element troops to protect those routes.
Anything you can commit to our defense, in any event, would be greatly appreciated.
From a concerned resident,
Woe Morandi.
Dear Scalvoristown Proper\Scalvoris Militant\Albarech (He made three separate letters, each addressed to each individual.),
Egilrun is too tempting a target for the forces of Slag’s Deep. I fear what will happen if they grow too bold, with the announcement of War from an Arc ago.
Should Egilrun fall, so will a major port to the Eastern Sea Routes. It’s a very rich route, that leads into the Southern Continent, and around to the Crescent Sea with Yaralon and Nashaki, and other places that have often supplied the island with essential goods.
We cannot afford to let Egilrun fall to Slag’s Deep. I’ve petitioned the Darbyton leader to send Rangers to secure the trade routes leading west out of Egilrun. If you could secure those routes with whatever ELement Troops can be spared, that would be very appreciated, and surely go well toward shortening this war with Slag’s Deep.
From a concerned resident,
Woe Morandi
Woe thought those four letters, three of them copies for three different individuals would serve their purpose, to at least open lines of communication with these disparate settlements. Scalvoris would succeed in this war united in its entirety, or it would risk falling. Woe had no intention of losing another home to war and invasion. He’d come too far and suffered too much to let peace slip through his fingers.
