Making Arrangements

[Lyra]

26th of Frost, 122 AS

The streets of the Knob were far more active than elsewhere in the city. People fought, monsters died, lives were saved and taken away. After the Dome was erected the mists themselves did not cause harm outside of what was left of the The Presidium, but the dome did nothing to contain the spawn that came from the mists, or those that wandered from the large crater that lead down into the Warrens. It seemed many of the beasts had taken refuge in the nearby mine, a problem Lyra suspected would not be done away with any time soon. Yet that was not why she was here.

The Hobbled Gobbler came into view, and Lyra hovered down to the first step. To most the tavern looked to be simply that, a tavern made of good wood and lit from within in an inviting way. Ever since Searing, however, the Gobbler was not a mere building. Lyra looked into one of the large eyes where a window should have been, and smiled.

"Hello, beautiful." she said, taking a step up to the door, but she paused and gently ran a hand along the doorframe, "It seems you are well cared for. Your owner is the trustworthy sort."

Perhaps trust was too strong a word, but it felt right in the given situation. After a few more pats and a gentle rub over the door frame Lyra walked through the door which opened on its own. She knew Franky was there. She saw him through the wall, his soul a mix of greens and mottled red and grey. As she had the last time she visited Lyra took a seat at the bar, grimacing slightly as she adjusted her robes to find a comfortable position.

[Franky]

Franky was sat in his office, looking over the scrawled map that was his layout of the Knob. His efforts to reclaim much of the Knob had been going well. Barricades had been pushed further along, buildings sealed up and now used to house the displaced. He had notes sprawled about particularly dangerous zones, places for potential supplies, and places where people were reportedly held up and trapped still.

Progress was slow, and winter was growing long still, but it was progress nonetheless.

Still, hunger was gnawing at everyone, and exhaustion was rampant. Franky thought back to those days in his third campaign. It was his first campaign as an officer, and his contingent had been tasked with punching through enemy lines to capture a fort. Fort Chadwick, designated as such by some baron who had raised the funds to have it built had become known as hell to Franky and his men. They were successful in their mission, they captured the fort and held it, awaiting on reinforcements to come and push back the lines of the war.

But they never came.

The enemy surged ahead, surrounding the fort, cutting off all communication and travel for Franky's Imperial contingent. And the siege began. The first season was bombardment after bombardment, but the fort was strong and held, and Franky's soldiers were well disciplined.The second season is when rationing was initiated heavily, as they had not received even a crow since the initial capture. Third season is when winter came, and disease began to spread. Franky and his men were limited to a single, small ration every three to four days.

Then the supplies ran out.

The bombardments had long since stopped, after all, why waste the ammo? As soldiers succumbed to starvation and exhaustion, Franky had ordered their corpses be rationed out to the remainder of the soldiers. And in those brief respites of cannibalized nourishment, they conducted small raids into the complacent siege forces. They suffered their own losses, but managed to capture several enemy bodies and brought back to feast on. And they continued this cycle for another full season. Each successful raid pushed the siege lines back for fear of being eaten.

And then, a final push, with Major Frankorg and the entirety of his forces, speared back through the enemy lines, wearing the skins and scalps of their enemies. They cut their way through for days, never resting, never stopping or turning back. By the time they finally reached the other side of the lines, the few survivors were collapsing in exhaustion, only to find the reinforcements there, finally. A smug captain, some noble's son who chose to not attempt a fifty-fifty campaign to bring reinforcements to Franky's men, for fear of looking bad in his first command. He held out a hand to Franky, congratulating him on a daring escape.

Franky severed the hand that was offered and shoved it down the noble's throat, and was given a small court martial which was expunged and then given a medal and a promotion. And that's when the red haired goblin became known as the Butcher of Bekari, the man that ate his enemies.

Franky was snapped out of his unpleasant memory, not wishing to see cannibalism again in his life time as Hobbie began to purr. A friend had arrived. Franky looked out the window, seeing Lyra arrive. A sigh. When he had decided to open a tavern, he thought it would be nice to have open doors, open arms, meet new people, make new friends. Looking around his shambles of an office, he then closed his eyes.

New people these days tended to be gods wanting something, or those who probably would be gods if not so unnaturally perverse.

He opened his tired eyes, leaving his office, not bothering to lock it, for what did he have left to steal? He trudged down the stairs, passing through the kitchen where the goblins were butchering an entirely unrecognizable creature that Franky could only hope wasn't a person at some point. He passed into the bar, looking over at Lyra. He nodded at her, grabbing an unmarked bottle of brown slurry, a terrible liquor made from leather and spent hops. Two cracked wooden cups were laid on the bar that Franky now leaned against as he pulled out the cork, pouring the foul smelling liquid.

Once poured, he picked one up, looking at the being that was once a woman and now was something more, a grin growing on his face, "Of all the bars in all of Karnor, what brings you to mine, Lyra?"

[Lyra]

Making Arrangements

26th of Frost, 122 A.o.S.

"What indeed." Lyra said with a smile. She watched as Franky prepared the drinks, eyeing the cup as it was set down in front of her but she did not pick it up.

"Have you anything milder... without alcohol, if you carry such." It was phrased as a request, and she would not insist beyond this if it turned out the Hob did, in fact, only serve liquor and wine here. She doubted that was the case though given Franky's propensity to serve all who entered his domain. It was that very quality which had pushed the man to become what he as now.

Peering passed the veil Lyra examined Franky's new, demonic self. Tall and dangerous, imposing as it was intimidating, yet the image of such a terrifying creature was somewhat mitigated by the calm of his movements as he tended his work behind the bar. It was like watching a lion curled in front of the fire, unusual as it was not what one would expect, and did nothing to change the intimidating air that he gave off.

"You seem well, if worn in these times. How are your affairs since our pact was ended?"

"A price to be paid."

[Aegis]

REVIEW TIME

Lyra
Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 1/3rd word count, 4 XP, may not be used for magic

Skills Used Eligible for Expert/Master Progression: N/A

Lore Development Opportunities: N/A

Comments: Best of luck to the queen moving forward.

Franky
Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 1/2rd word count, 5 XP, may not be used for magic

Skills Used Eligible for Expert/Master Progression: N/A

Lore Development Opportunities: N/A

Comments: Franky was there