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Winter of Storm and Shadow: Interlude #2
We'll Start Right Here Owen the Brenin nudges his destrier down a street still full of debris, and the occasional body. A fresh yet thin blanket of white covers most of the ground, except where the underlying slush colored by mud and blood seeps through. A pall of smoke still clings to the centuries old riverside city of Gorna, and the snow-laden sky diffuses Pelor's rays until they are nothing but a monotonous gray glow. "They did not go easy." He says, looking to the goblinoid bodies that were now being heaped upon carts to be burned in pyres outside the city walls. To the left of the Brenin another man on a horse replies. "They fought like thirsty ticks on a fat bear." Cedric the Whiteflame, captain of the Brenin's Griffon Guard, looks over to the Grand Duke and flashes him a slight smile. "But we fought harder. We always do. Our Wolf Packs have become well versed in city fighting, and it blooded the Fist in a way chasing giants never would." Owen nods thoughtfully, then turns his attention to the man riding on his right flank. "The Autumn Guard have chased the remnants out of the city?" "Yes your Radiance, into the jaws of the Winter and Pelor Guard. The Olwythi will harry any survivors to ensure they pose no threat to the ffolk." Cadofyth Morgan Hazeleye rubs his unshaven face with his right hand. "The Pelor Guard will remain in Gorna for the rest of the winter and the Autumn Guard have leave go back to their crofts and steadings. The Winter Guard will return to Aberglain." At this, a fourth rider on a white Gyric mountain pony speaks up just behind the group of men, "What of that Gareth business?" asks a bespectacled gnome decked out in a fine wool cloak, and smoking a long pipe carved of alabaster wood. The shield of Gyruff on the left shoulder of the cloak identifies him as a servant of the Griffon Chair, and the royal blue color of the cloak identifies him as the High Wizard of Geoff. "I doubt he'll be too active this winter," Owen replies, looking to the sky, "But the First Ward is having the Rangers keep a hawk's eye on the area. Darkheart cannot hide forever." The group rides a few blocks further until Owen eventually stops his steed in front of a large building on the edge of an expanzsive plaza. The door is missing and the roof timbers have collapsed, exposing half of the interior to the snow. Red clay shingles litter the inside of the first room beyond the door. A broken placard swings lopsidedly from a chain above the door. The rune for `assembly' is inscribed upon the wooden sign, and just below it, half of the sun sign of Pelor is visible before the sign ends in splinters. "Master Pebblebottom," Owen says, turning to address the gnome, "I will need someone to begin the rebuilding of our capital. To make it as grand as it was before the giants came." The scholarly gnome looks up to his Brenin, "Well, sire, there aren't many qualified folk for such a task, perhaps the High Chancellor knows of..." Thomlin tapers off as he sees the meaning of Owen's words revealed in his grey eyes. "Oh, yes your Radiance! I would be honored. Let's see, we'll need at least five master masons and five master carpenters, one for each ward of the city, and of course their journeymen and apprentices, and separate work crews for each ward, though that lyre of building Buck procured for Aberglain could do much..." "I want the use of magic limited." Says Owen, "Use the Art when manpower would be impractical, but I want as many Gyri hands as possible employed in this endeavor come the spring. I want the people to feel the accomplishment, and I want them to be proud of their capital once again." "Yes Master Owen... your Radiance." The elder gnome replies rather distractedly as his mind whirs with engineering and logistical calculations. "We'll start right here." Owen says, his gaze, and the eyes of the others, falling upon the derelict hall that would soon, as in times past, offer sanctuary, comfort and healing to the Gyri who passed through its doors. 
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