Ships arrive in Port Hempstead...

[EdTheKet]

...bearing the banners of Rael.

Two large cargo vessels, escorted by three military vessels anchor just outside of Port Hempstead's harbor.

A smaller vessel is lowered into the water and a representative accompanied by several human guards makes his way into the city to talk to the authorities.

A few hours later, food supplies are ferried ashore, enough to feed many a mouth.

Some of the hungry mutter thanks to this Lord Rael the Benevolent, whereas others (mostly less hungry) say it is just another ploy on his behalf.

A few days later, the ships depart, yet nobody has seen the emissary return to the ships... Rumors about an ambassadorship soon surface, but are not confirmed or denied.

[Script Wrecked]

*a copper haired dwarven lass is heard grumbling*

"Firrst, the toehold in Sagewald, now Brrelin."

*she sighs heavily*

"And both iz preceded by the the tsunami..."

[Ravemore]

Adder watches from the shadows of a damaged building as the representative comes ashore. He looks to the ships anchored afar bearing the insignia of Rael and mutters to himself, "Bad business... an iron hand tends to dry up revenue streams. Perhaps, we may need to look at nipping this in the bud..." He then wanders off in thought.

[Masterjack]

*Beli hears of the news and goes directly through official channels to find out what the price was for the food. He mentions that he is willing to try an reimburse the city for the cost.*

[Xaltotun]

*Overheard in the inns and taverns of Hempstead.*

'Did ye see what happened?' The man appears to be quite inebriated, as if in shock or some unknown ailment.

His companions and neighbours at the bar shake their heads in unison, indicating they did not, indeed, see what had happened.

'Well, it wish merry, ah can tell ye,' tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. 'Two wagonsh rolled into Hempshtead, an' one shtopped, right? It dropped it'sh shidesh, an' a dwarf stepped out onto one o' it'sh shidesh an' addreshed anyone who would lishen.

'The dwarf was dreshed like one o' them Rael peoplesh, real shwell he wash, an' he shtarted to shay...lemme think a moment...' and he takes another long pull at his ale.

'Where wash I? Oh, yesh, he shouted out that he wash the newly appointed ambassador from Rael, but that Rael was wrong, right, and right was might...no, might washn't right, right? An' he said he no longer wanted to be part o' Rael'sh empire, right, an'that he was breakin' off all contact wi' them.

'He ripped hish tunic off, an' went into the wagon an' the sidesh wash pulled up again for the wagon to move on.

'But ash the wagon moved off, there wash a huge exploshion, an' the wagon, horshesh an' dwarf all got blown up. Blood an' bonesh all over the place. Horrible it wash. Gonna take them weeksh an' weeksh to clean it up.

'Well, the guardsh ran to inveshtigate, but they found nothing, typical, and then one found another dead body in an alley, hish head removed. No idea what that wash about at all.

'Anywaysh, it sheemsh the Rael Ambassador wash wanting to paint the town ash part of hish invinsht...invonsht..invesht...well, I shupposhe he short of got hish wish,' smiling into his ale at his own joke.

The others look at him in amazement, for they not seen the incident, but some muttered they were not surprised and others said they should perhaps prepare for an invasion to right this wrong; or was it to wrong this right.

//OOC the real Rael Ambassador was NOT injured, hurt, burnt or otherwise damaged during the making of this tale: that is, if the real Rael Ambassador was still in Hempstead at the time.

[Pankoki]

Many of patrons of one of the establishments cobbled back together in the midst of the ongoing devastation listen tiredly with hints of interest here and there, while near the door a tall human with gray at his temples listens intently with his lips pressed together. His leathers and what's left of a tabard are filthy from the work in the city, but the silver coin around his neck is all that remains to mark him as a member of the Silverguard.

The men and women eating some of what has been given at makeshift tables glance between the drunken storyteller and the man at the door when he is done, some more inquisitive than others, and after a moment his shoulders come up in a shrug.

The "patrons" look at one another and then shrug as well, and then one and all push to their feet when he nods them towards the door. "Work to do, then," he says, slapping the improvising bartender on the shoulder as she throws her rag down and joins the rest.

The shouting and sounds of labor outside indicate work crews back to thankless tasks in one of the more abandoned districts closer to the ocean.


     

*****

A gangly-limbed gnome with a soggy moustache turns to a fellow reveler in their small enterprise of escape in a district furthest from the sea. "Did you blow up any wagons lately? Explosions? Detonations? Decapitations!"

"Naw, naw, naw! But I did put sneezing powder in Councilman Aran's knickers, I did."

The gnome leaning over the edge of inebriation slaps the surface of a salvage-style countertop and doubles over in coughing laughter. "Shadon is tap-dancing over the rubble! Does the Vaeran know it was you?"

"Aw Strife, who you think gave me the key to his quarters?"

"Liar! She'd never."

"I'll never tell... Hee hee."