Chapter One: Trial of Towers

Previously having taken lodging at the tavern, Satrokeis stands at a table, not quite waiting for any food or drink but rather just to stay indoors. Though he is not exactly the most inconspicuous person present, he doesn't seem to mind, as he is currently pre-occupied looking out a nearby window.

"...Splendid weather." Satrokeis muttered sarcastically. After a pause, he spoke to a passing employee, simply requesting some water. Though well aware the funds he acquired from providing assistance to some adventurers on their way to this place could more than cover the tavern's most expensive drink, Satrokeis knows it's best not too spend too much so quickly.

The best thing he could do now is hope to wait out the freezing rain outside.

Moira looked out at the drizzling night with a barely audible sigh. Rain was to be expected at this time of year, but she did wish that it wasn't so bone chilling. She said her goodnights to the group of people sitting around the small cottage's fireplace-old friends, they were, who's son had taken sick. The boy was on the road to recovery, but Moira would stay in New Haven a few more days in case she was needed. She had taken lodgings at the inn, reluctant to strain her friend's resources.

She dodged across the muddy street, through a side road, sticking to shop awnings wherever she could, until she finally burst through the door to the inn. She was soaked almost clear through, her auburn hair clinging in unruly tendrils to her neck and forehead. Moira stretched out her wings and with a brisk motion, shook the water off them. She made her way to the fireplace, smiled as one of the young farmer's sons blushingly offered her his seat, swung her fiddle case off her back, and hung her cloak up to dry.

"Something I can get you, Rowan?"

Moira smiled again at the barmaid's use of her childhood nickname. The girl was a cousin on her mother's side. "A hot tea, please, Aine."

"Right up..."

Aine was as good as her word. Moira relaxed into the warmth and sound of the inn, and passed the time by examining the patrons. The inn had gotten busy, likely because of the foul weather, and there was the usual mishmash of Dinti, Airetaim, a few Nullmina, and surprisingly, a Nagatani. The fiddler nodded at her, and she nodded back; some nights they would play duets, but not tonight. Moira was bone-weary and reluctant to stir any farther from her chair than she had to.

At least until she was dry again...

It was just starting to get dark as Malcove entered the town, but he was determined to make it here tonight. He made his way down the street that was beginning to get muddy until he found himself at the tavern & inn of New Haven. He stepped inside and quickly shook himself off a bit, drying himself off as much as possible for the time being. He took a look around at those present at the inn tonight, it was a decent crowd for this time of year. He then looked toward the small stage, only a fiddle-player there tonight. "No one singing this time," he quietly said to himself, smiling.

He then walked over to the innkeeper and got his room for the night. Turning around, he surveyed the tavern again. After a moment, he went to the bar and found a stool. Malcove ordered a brandy from the barkeep, and after receiving it he began to sip at his drink while enjoying the fiddler's music.

Quick to react, Satrokeis instinctively reached for his hunting blade, quickly reminded by its lack of presence that he had left both that and his knife back in his room, as he was quite sure they would not be needed. By now, one of the mongi had started to approach the Nagatani. Thinking quickly, Satrokeis grabbed his glass of water and threw it at the small creature, and with a sequential flick of his wrists, held his hands forward, as if holding an invisible pole in front of him.

"Runespear."

The now-aggravated mongi leaped forward, too annoyed from being struck by the glass to notice the large, almost-glowing weapon in its target's hands, not that one would want to stop and examine a deadly looking spear that an enemy had materialized. In one fluid motion, Satrokeis swerved to the side, barely avoiding the furry blur that was the mongi, swiveling around, he reared up as far as the ceiling would allow. The mongi only just started turning around as the Runespear made its deadly descent...

Being a native Scilsdalian, and having had run-ins with the Mongi before, Moira knew the tiny race was acting out of character. They were scavengers, lovers of shiny things, and highly intelligent. They knew that attacking a whole town was next to suicide. But here they were, and Moira knew, they may be pacifistic most of the time, but an angry Mongi was a terrifying thing.

So, without a second thought, she vaulted over her chair and grabbed the two people next to her- her cousin Aine, and the other barmaid, Sheera, who had come to trade stories with her at the end of their shifts- herding them and anyone she could reach into the nearest corner. Many of the Scilsdalians knew what she did, that it would at least slow the little devils if they could have a barricade at their fronts and good solid wall at their backs, so quick as they could, they grabbed tables and chairs and piled it up around them. As soon as everyone in her vicinity was sheltered, Moira rummaged through a small pouch at her waist. With a quick flick of her wrist, a handful of shiny brown seeds that looked rather like peppercorns scattered across the floor.

The Mongi however, were attracted by all the noise and movement. With deranged yelps, they charged toward the barricade. But just before they got there, Moira slapped her right palm on the wood floor and spoke, her voice sharp and hurried, "Talee almaith vortis haa!" Almost instantly, plants erupted from the ground, growing with the speed of a runaway train, weaving itself through the chairs and tables, braiding and tangling over the heads of the patrons behind the barricade. It was a Rosethorn briar bush, a hardy little plant with spikes that could get almost three feet long and were sharp as a dagger. Several Mongi had to skid and jump back to avoid being impaled. In no time, the patrons were caged in by the briars. Her barricade grown, Moira stood and whispered another incantation "Talee almaith stalwarth feir..." and the pendant around her neck began to glow.

Suddenly, they heard the satisfying crack of a blade breaking. The Mongi had rallied quickly, and had been hacking away at the briars, but as soon as Moira gave the incantation, the plant was imbued with the strength and hardness of iron. The little animals howled their fury and swarmed the briar cage, reaching their tiny hands into the small openings where Moira's wall had braided itself thin. She and the others made themselves as small as possible, jabbing daggers and forks, whatever they could reach, through the same openings, hoping that the deranged Mongi would give up, and praying that somebody on the outside could fight...

Perhaps the creatures had not expected such resistance from the townsfolk. Usually you don’t find so many well-armed and well versed in arms men and women in one area unless you are at war. Regardless, they did not turn and run they stood their ground, as one after another took blows and fell, the entire time trying desperately to at least scratch their attackers.

When it would seem to be the end of their attack, another wave of eight or nine would burst through the door charging viciously into the fray. As soon as they would sustain a great deal of damage or see most of their comrades dead only then would they turn and flee, their faces betraying them, showing looks of terror, and surprisingly, fear. Not the kind of fear when you grasp what you’re up against, but more like the panic of not realizing what you are actually doing. Like waking up and realizing that while sleep walking you jumped into a deep chasm. Yet they kept coming in droves, coming to a most certain defeat.

Suddenly something else entered the tavern, something that was neither small, furry, or carrying a three pronged fork. It was a man, standing just slightly over six feet tall, his rich dark brown hair soaked from the rain, falling mostly over his forehead. His clothes were…unique, for anyone that hadn’t at least been to Rioun once or twice. A dark turtle neck shirt and what had become known as the commoner’s pants of the modern era, blue jeans. Adorned over that was a jet black trench coat.

‘Now this is quite the party!’ He said with the tone of a man, who walks into a funeral, and finds a festival instead.

He takes a few steps forward, coming over next to the bar. At first it seems like he’s blocking out the rest of the world, the bombardment of furry creatures that surround him. He stares down at the barstools, which by this point seem to be scattered across the floor. The man places his foot underneath the one closest to him and flips it up, it twirls ever slightly on one leg before he plops himself down.

‘I’ll have a shot of whiskey good sir!’ He gestures to the bartender, but upon seeing the bartender lying face down on the ground acquires a look of discontent. Frowning he reaches over the bar and grabs the closest bottle.

‘Taking a nap I see. A little early for that don’t you think?’ The man goes to take a swig from the bottle but is short as it falls to the bar, the one in the blue bandana had accidentally bumped into the man while trying to fight back a few of the creatures. He stares down at the now seeping all over the counter alcohol, his eyebrow twitches slightly and he stands, turning to the blue bandana wearing man. ‘Little early to be drunk too don’t you –‘ As he goes to finish his phrase he stops short as all he sees is one of the mongi, who had lunged at the bandana wearing fellow coming straight towards his face. Without a moments notice his hand slips down to his waist and back up, a revolver in hand. It spirals around in his palm, as he pistol butts the creature straight in the jaw, sending him flying all the way into the opposing wall, with a satisfying thump.

‘Home Run!’ smiling he turns towards the man who had bumped into him and his eyes lighten, demeanor shifting. ‘Seeker?’ Before the other man can reply two more droves of mongi charge through the door and must be fended off.

The arrival of yet more Mongi does not seem to bring any concern to Satrokeis. He looks over to the briar wall, and is contented to see that it doesn't seem to be receiving much attention from the attackers. It was quite fortunate how many combat able individuals were present, as Satrokeis admitted to himself that fending for himself against these numbers would be... irritating. An unnerving thought came up though, as it seemed likely that these Mongi may not just be focusing on raiding this tavern alone. However, being pre-occupied with skewering the approaching creatures made it hard to check on the condition of the town. That, and Satrokeis was none too eager to get pelted by that weather. Even just having the door ajar made it cold enough for the Nagatani's movements to become just a little more sluggish.

Satrokeis began to weave his way over to the briar wall between strikes, ducking away from the enemies and turning potential serious stab wounds to mere scratches. It seems the wall was once again popular to the furry fiends.

"Everyone behind the wall, are you alright?" Satrokeis urgently questioned as he brought his seventh Mongi victim to its end.

It was just now that he had noticed the fear expressed by these creatures. Such an emotion combined with this reckless attack didn't seem to add up, though Satrokeis was not entirely familiar with the Mongi. He found it unlikely that this was a common trait, however.

Nevertheless, the Runespear continued to attack its prey.

Malcove is taken aback for a moment upon noticing just who is beside him at the bar. He hadn't expected to run into adventure so soon in his journey, much less with swarms of Mongi. Even less did he expect to meet such a familiar face this early in what was going to be a long journey to the north. However, Malcove had already begun to accept that his trek northward into Vellios would very soon be cut short and that a new adventure was about to take form.

But the presence of an oddly dressed man from the past wasn't going to stop those furry things from constantly attacking, so Malcove ran to a table and knocked it down in front of him for cover, bashing and cutting away at any Mongi who dared draw near.

"It seems we have a knack for bumping into each other at the most peculiar of times!" he managed to shout at the newcomer as he stabbed through on of the little devils, flinging its body behind him as he bashed another to the side with his stool. "A little help would be appreciated. I've never known you to back down from a barfight, after all." He smirked at his last comment, even as ten more Mongi charged towards his table, forks in hand and ready to fly...

Moira watched the fight from behind her wall with growing anger. It just wasn't RIGHT, she was sure of that. Even more angering was her helplessness. Moira was Scilsdalian, a fighter by nature, and hiding behind a wall while people fought was getting wearing. She watched as the lone Nagatani fought his way through the tavern; if she didn't know better, she would think he was angling for them...which turned out to be the case.

"Everyone behind the wall, are you alright?"

"Fine," Moira answered grimly. She was examining her creation, trying to find points where the wall had grown thin and she could reshape them. She had to get out, HAD to. Her mind had fallen on something while the fight had gone on. When she was a young healer-in-training, her Uncle Jorah, who was the area's master healer, had taken in a man affected by spell-fever. Dark magics had turned his mind until he was unrecognizable, raving and hallucinating, thinking everyone was his enemy. He had attacked Uncle Jorah, but the Healer had been quick to react, invoking his powerful healing magic in one strong burst, and the man was shocked out of his delirium.

Now, if only she could remember how to do the same...

"Keep the Mongi off the wall!" The Nagatani nodded his agreement and started batting furry bodies off the bramble cage. Moira, with a whispered word, dropped the Ironwood spell, and her pendant went dark. She hacked at the side of the cage with a borrowed dagger, making it just wide enough for her to pass through, and jammed a table in the opening. With the Ironwood spell down, she felt her energy returning, and she could think more clearly. Sticking close to the spear-wielder, she knelt. Earth had always been her element, the one she was most comfortable with. Moira looked deep into her mind's eye, recalling the long hours of the Glyphic language her Uncle had made her learn, and without thinking, her dagger cut the runes on the floor.

Earth...change...become...inside...

"Talee almaith naragh chu!"

Her power sunk deep inside the scuffed wood of the floor, and suddenly she could feel every vibration, every thud and strike in the tavern. Focusing fully on the pitter-patter of Mongi feet, she whispered a quick prayer to her Goddess, Idia, the Lady of Light that she could cleanse the minds of the little creatures, and sent what was left of her magic through the wood and into the Mongi.

Every Mongi in the room stopped as if shell-shocked, and looked around almost in unison, sanity returning to their eyes. And then, with squeals and yips as the patrons continued their attack, they fled out the door and into the night. Suddenly, all was quiet again...

...and Moira, flat out of energy, tumbled over to lay flat-backed on the floor, reveling in the feel of cool earth beneath her, and trying not to black out.

Just as the slew of Mongi were almost in striking range, they suddenly stopped and appeared to have awoken from their odd state of mind. As all the critters began to race out of the tavern, Malcove let out a sigh of relief. He put his knife away back into his belt, set down his stool, and stood there for a moment surveying the room. The Nagatani and trio of what Malcove thought was safe to assume were pirates seemed to have held their own fairly well. It seemed that all else in the bar were either unfortunate enough not to last against the Mongi attack or were already recovering and patching themselves and each other up.

Malcove picked up his stool, walked slowly over to the bar again, placed his stool beside the trench coat-wearing stranger and sat down. After a long pause, he spoke: "Well, I guess you wouldn't really have come all the way out here to Scilsdal just for the alcohol. Although I'll admit that you never fail to show up for a party." Speaking of the Mongi attack, he doesn't smile at his own remark this time. A slight smile does come over his face with his next question to the stranger. "So, how have you fared since the end of the Dragon Wars, Trance?"

Trance spun his revolver in his hand several more times before putting the make-shift bludgeon away. His eyes dashed about the room slightly, surveying the damage. He turned and stared at Malcove for a brief moment.

'Apparently you don't know me as well as I thought you did Seeker. I love Scilsdalic Whiskey, and their ale selections...This your party, or someone elses? I have to thank the host. It's impolite not to!' he stretched his hands out in both directions and stood their, his hands cupped pushing up on the air a few times.

He let the second question fall on deaf ears, at least for the time being. He returned his gaze to the tavern.'Everyone alright?' Trance inquired, with a slight smirk, trying to lighten the mood as usual.

He stepped over to the front doors and peered his head outside for a brief second, looking to the left then the right. 'I don't see anymore. From the looks of it the townsfolk are chasing off the last of them right now. Even the old lady is out their with her dough roller!' Trance let out a small chuckle. He closed the doors as he brought his head back into shelter.

The tavern lay in shambles. Overturned stools and tables lay everywhere. Steins and mugs were scattered amongst the floor along with several of the remaining patrons. Other then a few cuts and scratches, the death of the man who had come to warn them, and the probable death of the bartender everyone else made it through. While the innkeeper stared in disbelief and bewilderment at what had become of his business, he was grateful to be alive. So grateful he went around and began to thank those that had fought valiantly, offering them free drinks and food for the whole night. The rest of the locals continued to sit in their minds and try to reason why the Mongi would try such an act. In reality, so was Trance...

Satrokeis took a moment to glance around. The previously appealing establishment was not quite in that condition anymore, but that didn't seem to bother two of the fighters who seemed to be talking casually. Satrokeis thought he caught a momentary glimpse of a firearm being held by one of them, but had heard no gunshots during the skirmish. Before he could think more on the subject, the innkeeper passed by to offer his thanks in free food merchandise. Satrokeis made note to take him up on this offer, just not yet. He had already been treated to a full meal from the adventurers he had accompanied an hour before the attack.

It was after this that the Nullmina that had been in the brawl walked almost warily in this general direction. He regarded the Airetaim on the ground, his response to her current incapacitation seemed more of a formality than anything. When he nodded to Satrokeis, it was returned in kind. With a quite statement the Runespear was unsummoned.

Satrokeis leaned over the exhausted Airetaim, and extended an arm for assistance. Funny how the one that slew the fewest of the Mongi had ended up the most worn down, but with the magnitude of the feat bringing the beasts to their senses, or so he guessed had happened, couldn't have been easy.

"Are you able to stand?" Satrokeis inquired.

"I'm able," Moira hauled herself up with a touch of stiffness, and stretched her wings to full extension with an expression that made her look like an angry hawk. Being prodded by a sailor's boot did nothing to help her mood, nor did the scores of furry little bodies, but with an effort she calmed. With an even bigger will, she halted the bone-shattering glare she wanted to shoot at the Nullmina. She did what she could to help, and it certainly wasn't for the ungratefuls in the room. Moira spared a quick smile for Satrokeis, "Thank you."

And with that, she tipped her head up, and walked with a sure, firm stride that she did not in the least bit feel, toward the door. Keepers only knew what sad state the town was in, and she wanted to help.

It was, after all, the Scilsdalian thing to do.

As the innkeeper made his way around the bar to start cleaning up the mess, Trance stood and offered a gesture of assistance. Helping him to remove what was left of the bartender, and the other man out of the area. As the two came back in to the tavern and the innkeeper turned to thank Trance he produced a decently sized purse of Cren, probably twice the size of the one the innkeeper had just given to the pirate and handed it to the man.

'Myself and the Seeker here will be all the protection you need. Don't be threatened by fallacy or bad tastes.' Trance glared over at the Nullmina and his two younger companions. 'And if you really feel the need to return the favor all I ask for is a few shots of whiskey and some information about the locals!' He then turned on his heels and took a seat at the bar. Turning around in his seat he saw the Airetaim starting to make her way for the door.

'Fae, I can tell you care greatly for the townsfolk, but after that last stunt you may want to rest it off for a few moments. Please, come and have a drink with us!' he pats the seat next to him with his right palm. He smiles slightly, a discerning look that would make anyone understand he had good intentions.

Moira stopped for a second, considering the gunslinger's words. She WAS tired, and thirsty. Magic always took a lot out of her. The rude self-invitation of the Nullmina was unfortunate, but hopefully he'd decide to go. With as much as his young companion was tucking away in alcohol, he may not have a choice. Keepers, but Moira didn't envy him the headache he was going to have in the morning. The thought made her smile. She felt her expression lighten, and she shrugged. Surely the town's own defense crew was working by now. "Why not?" She took the offered seat next to the gunman and flagged the bartender, "Mead, please."

She downed the first tankard in a few deep gulps, and held up for more. She was more sparing with the second one, and settled back in her chair, listening against her will to the Nullmina spout off. But...Moira had to say this for him, he was an eloquent bastard. Most Nullmina were though. It would be interesting to see how the gunman would react...

Malcove merely asked the innkeeper for some water and waved away the cren payment he was offered. Upon recieving his drink, he sat back and took in the pirates words. Just as Trance was about to come back with whatever response he would, Malcove brought a hand up and came in quickly with his own. "Your words do ring true on at least one point, sir: we all did our part in fending off against the threat at hand and we should all be free to sit at the same table if we wish to do so." With that, he brought his hand back down to grasp his mug.

He continued speaking to the pirate leader. "Each person has their own way about life, and none at this table are any exception to the rule. Whether you be a thief, a scholar, a warlord, or a priest. Everyone has their own standards of living. Don't be so quick to label those you know nothing about." He paused for a few seconds to let his words sink in before he went on to speak to the table as a whole, which now consisted of all the fighters. "Now about your question: Mongi indeed are a more rational race of creatures than the many that attacked this tavern only moments ago. Our Fae friend here had a clear enough head to figure that an outside source of power was driving these creatures to act out of their nature. Luckily, she also possessed the skill to free their entrapped minds." Looking around, he saw the gears turning in everyone's minds and beginning to grasp the magnitude of the situation. "So the real question that needs to be asked from this point is this: Who or what caused the Mongi to attack New Haven and for what purpose?" Having said his part, Malcove came back a bit from the table and drank some from his cup.

He then looked over to Trance, who was giving him a look that seemed to say, 'You stole my thunder...' "Sorry if I jumped the gun there on you... pun intended," he added with a slight smirk.

Satrokeis, who had felt obligated to join the table upon his mention, had listened to the Nullmina drove on, and recognized the tone, the kind of charm that he frequently used. Of course, it'd not be easy to charm one of The Charming themselves.

The man with the blue bandana's quick pun seemed to confirm Satrokeis's previous possible observation of a firearm. The glare that this would have provoked was quickly restrained. Now was not the time to cause another scene, as from learned by past experiences, a few gunslingers tend to be very violent in response to the Nagatani's view on guns. For now, he only needed a name...

"For now, perhaps we should introduce ourselves. If we delve deeper into this, it is sure to make it easier." Satrokeis stated formally. However, before anyone could properly respond, he spoke again, first turning to the Nullmina and making sure to employ his own bit of charm in his words. "But first, let me see if what I have gathered is correct. My line of work involves catching names. You referred to the boy as Gills on a few occasions, and the girl as Sorcha. You also have referred to yourself as Murchadh, correct?" He turned next to the Airetaim. "And I believe the barmaid had called you Rowan." Lastly, he turned to the two Dinti he had not addressed. "The one with the bandana was simply referred to as 'Seeker'... and you, gunman, had been called Trance. Am I correct with all this?" As a final note, he added, "My name is Satrokeis."