D1: Ashin's Commission (El Jefe judging)

[El Jefe]

Michael holds up the group for a moment and speaks low.

[sblock=Michael: ]Michael made out a perplexed expression on Corporal Moar's face in the twilight. "The stockade?", he questioned, "But that's almost to Kinthriver, I can't take you there!" At Michael's request, the trooper shrugged. "I can put in a word with the Lieutenant, but there's no telling what he'd decide."

OoC: Still your choice.[/sblock]

 

[ajanders]

Michael looks down at the ground for a moment in thought.
Sela, you never make this easy, do you?

He weighs up the distance to Kinthriver, his general lack of direction sense, his specific lack of provisions, the likely number of pickets, his complete lack of stealth skills, and comes back with only one answer. Sneaking to Kinthriver isn't an option. Somebody will catch him.
I really should have been a ranger.

He looks back up and squares his shoulders.
"Gentlemen, let's get you home."
He swings his shield forward to display the holy symbol of Sela. It's about time somebody recognized and respected the pillar --that much luck he's due.

Sela, you promised me a useful death. Help me to die well when the time comes. And if I get a chance to dance with Roselynn first, I'd be really grateful.

The first step is the hardest, but he grits his teeth and goes on.

"Hello, the camp!"

And Sela, you heard what Zaeryl said about us. Are you going to let him get away with being right?

 

[El Jefe]

[sblock=Michael: ]Several things happened at once. The three soldiers he'd been escorting down from the ridge quickly joined their comrades. To Michael's eyes, the "new" detachment numbered six or seven, with all but one in leather armor. The exception wore a long robe, belted at the waist, embroidered with the symbol of Fallon and with other arcane markings. The men in leather quickly surrounded Michael and the now-vacant demon-horse, while the robed man stood back a ways. One of the soldiers seemed to be in charge; he took the position directly between Michael and the checkpoint, brandishing a spear as did the others.

"Moar! La-linn!", he cried. "Who is this man? Report!"

Corporal Moar took a position a few steps to the side of and behind the leader, who never took his eyes off of Michael. Moar saluted, and began: "Sergeant Rollo, SIR! This man was part of a force who overwhelmed our position and took us prisoner. He gave us medical attention and saw that we were returned to our unit, SIR!"

Rollo quickly responded. "How many are there? And where are your weapons?"

"Sir! Six men sir, some with magic! The corporal does not where his weapons are. The corporal was knocked unconscious during the fight and came to in the custody of the enemy without weapons. The enemy had possession of other prisoner's weapons, so the corporal believes they may have the corporal's weapons. Sir!"

Rollo's eyes narrowed. He addressed Michael. "Is this true?"[/sblock]

 

[ajanders]

[sp]
At the mention of weapons, Michael says something remarkably unclerical about his wits, smacks his forehead, and apologizes quietly.
(OOC Which ENworld will not permit to print: Michael got his clerical training from a Selan mystic of moderate language. He was taught to swear during his service by cavalrymen and muleskinners.)

Michael takes a deep breath.
Here we go...

"Corporal Moar's report is correct, Sergeant Rollo. I apologize for my oversight in forgetting their weapons."

Michael centers his weight over his feet and gets ready to dodge and block spear thrusts.
We hope Sergeant Rollo is not an over-hasty man.

[/sp]

 

[El Jefe]

"Corporal Moar's report is correct, Sergeant Rollo. I apologize for my oversight in forgetting their weapons."

[sblock=Michael: ]Sergeant Rollo was unruffled. "Where are your companions?", he asked, a tiny bit of suspicion draining from his voice.[/sblock]

 

[ajanders]

[sp]
Phew. Not stabbed yet.

"Truthfully, Sergeant Rollo, I don't know where they are."
Michael pauses.
"We didn't exactly part as friends."
[/sp]

 

[El Jefe]

"Truthfully, Sergeant Rollo, I don't know where they are."
Michael pauses.
"We didn't exactly part as friends."

[sblock=Michael: ]"Where did you leave them, and where were they headed? And was it just you and five others?" The sergeant still regarded Michael warily.[/sblock]

 

[ajanders]

[sblock]
"I left them," Michael replies "maybe two miles back, on the far side of a ridge. If you've got a map, I imagine I can point it out. There were five of them, plus me.
Where they are now, I can't say. We left it that I was going here and they were going anyplace not here. Where they are now, I would guess, is 'doing something stupid'."
He pauses.
"That's why I left."
[/sblock]

 

[El Jefe]

[sblock=Michael: ]

"Where they are now, I can't say..."

The point of Sergeant Rollo's spear dipped almost imperceptibly. "Very well", he observed, "Hand over your weapons and follow me. And don't try any magic if you want to keep your health, if you know what I mean." The man obviously expected this "Cleric of Sela" to disarm.
[/sblock]

 

[ajanders]

[sblock]
"Very well."
Michael tries to sound perfectly nonchalant about this, but it's not everything he'd hoped for.
Though thanks to Zaeryl, they have every reason to distrust you.

He hands his hammer, dagger, sap, and sling to Sergeant Rollo or his designee.
But just once I wish somebody'd recognize the pillar. The stone I could understand, but the pillar? Come on...

He hands off the shield, and if requested, doffs his armor.

Finally he opens his healers kit and pulls out a leather roll of scalpels and lancets, which he hands to Sergeant Rollo personally.
"PLEASE be careful with these?" Michael asks plaintively. "They're dwarfwork, the merchant told me, and I'd have to look for years to get another set this good."
[/sblock]