Refugees at the Farms

One hundred non-combatants from Shadowdale are escorted to the Morning Farms. As they arrived, one hundred and fifty Akh'Velahr seemed to have returned to Myth Drannor as well. The Shadowdalians seem rather exhausted from their trip, but they are unharmed. It seems the trip was uneventful.

Imesah makes her way out to greet them and to oversee the setting up of tents and other things. Seeing as refugees have been in the farms quite a few times the materials for doing so are already available (though perhaps stored away). She also asks if there are more coming, and if so, when?

After leading a successful escort along North Ride, he dismisses the convoy of militia troops for the night and takes room at the inn. He has earned a nights rest. Half of the escorting militia have requested to remain in Myth Drannor with Elder Farl and are granted permission. At first light he takes the remaining troop and returns to Shadowdale.

Having been informed in advance, Cleo has seen to it that the houses that had long sat empty since the Zhent Occupation of Shadowdale were un-shuttered and dusted.

The plan for refugees--oft-used, now--is put into place with somewhat practiced ease:

- Orphans are placed in the orphanage
- Families with children are placed in the empty houses
- Elderly and infirm are placed with families, with priests, or in the temple barracks, as needed
- Overflow are placed in temporary shelters arranged by Imesah until the Silver Tower is made ready, then will take residence there
- Excess possessions are clearly marked and kept in storage or with the local bank
- Livestock is likewise marked and penned separately, where possible
- Refugees are to be treated for all ailments and diseases, including malnutrition and mind control from undead or space worms
- During this long period of rest, refugees will be surveyed to ascertain skills and abilities, so that work can be assigned when they are willing and able
- Security patrols are more frequent, in order to keep the peace
- In addition to ongoing temple life at the Dawnspire, the Chauntean Shrine is asked to maintain daily vespers, and a daily meditation period in honor off all the goodly gods is organized for the top of the Silver Tower
- Waterfront calisthenics and stretching begin promptly at dawn. Attendance is mandatory. All are welcome.

Cleo darts cheerily from task to task, throwing himself into the work of coordinating refugees with an almost manic fervor.

((( Not sure what I'm describing? Think Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation.)))

*Iwean will go along the path the invasion (refugee evacuation) took to determine how much damage was done.*

Two days pass and a shipment of creates carrying some one hundred bottles of Mead is delivered to the Black Hounds. A gift to the mercenaries for their aid.

Thanks to the organization and aid from so many, elves and humans alike, the refugees seem relaxed and feel welcome. Children daily play with the others, and even those in the Orphanage seem to be having fun, feeling as if they have more friends. There are smiles all around. Some of the adults offer to help with any farming that may be done; not only would they be willing to do it, but it gives them something to do that is familiar to them and eases their minds.

To Iwean, there is some flattening of grass from the travels, but nothing is destroyed outright. No trash, no disrespect of the lands. They only stopped once, and that was in the Black Hounds Compound.

A few days go by and eventually a woman arrives at the farms, something large draped over the back of a horse. It is wrapped with care and she rests her hand on it as if it's most precious. She is a broad-shouldered 6-feet tall human woman with long tresses of silver hair. Appearing to be dressed in nondescript brown and green leather breeches and a jerkin, she looks over some of the people, quietly taking in the area around her.

She doesn't seem to speak to anyone quite yet, but it's clear she's looking as if she may need to speak to someone soon.

Cleo, who, to most anyone's knowledge, hasn't left the Morning Farms in quite some time, approaches the woman. His hands are clasped in front of him. His robes are stained and frayed, but clean. He leans forward slightly, his face pleasant but darkened with worry, young but exhausted.

"Greetings. Welcome to the Morning Farms. My name is Cleo. May I have yours?"

The woman's gaze moves to Cleo as he approaches and she quietly looks him over. For a long while, she is quiet, listening to the sounds of those walking around and taking in the general atmosphere. She finally speaks up.

"My name is Ambara. I am in need of a powerful cleric, and I was told by a woman I may be able to find one here, perhaps in the Dawnspire." Her gaze moves to the bundle overlaying on the horse's back. "My son...it may be impossible, but it must be tried." Her gaze moves back to Cleo. "Do you know of whom I can speak to regarding this?"

Ahri stands quietly by Ambara, a small figure compared to the woman. Having traveled with Ambara, and not having slept very well, she seems worn out from the events of the last few days. She does not say anything, but she does smile faintly as Cleo approaches, brightening her otherwise grim expression. The mage seems to be, or is trying to be a comforting presence for the woman with the silver hair.

The young priest's expression is one of concern and confusion as he glances from the woman to the bundle and back to the woman.

He tilts his head and nods the slightest greeting to Ahri, then returns his gaze back to the woman.

He blinks, and understanding slowly dawns on his face, wiping away the confusion but only deepening the concern.

"My name is Cleo. I know why you are here. And I will help you if I can. Please follow me."

The woman just nods to Cleo and follows him. She doesn't speak any more words for now, being rather quiet about everything. Her hand remains on the wrapped thing over the horse, almost protectively as she and Ahri follow Cleo.

Cleo walks slowly away from the Market Square and crosses the little bridge. He walks slowly, head bowed, hands clasped within his sleeves, his wan tenor warbling an ancient dirge.

He leads the visitors past the orchards and up the hill toward the gleaming Dawnspire.

There, he bids the two guards posted outside the temple doors to relieve the horse of its burden, should the woman and the horse allow it.

Once this is done (if it is done), Cleo opens the large temple doors and holds them open until the women enter the temple.

Then he glances around a bit, steps inside, and softly closes the door. ((PMs from here, pls))

A grizzled older woodsman starts showing up every couple of days with a large burlap sack over his shoulder, which he gives to the refugees. It's contents are somewhat random, being anything from mushrooms and herbs to tubers and other collected victuals from the forests and wilds, though once in a while he shows up dragging a boar or deer, sometimes strings of rabbit, and once even a sack of squirrels, which, after about six hours of cooking, he turns into a surprisingly tasty and hearty stew. Rarely he shows up with a small keg on his shoulder, which he shares with as many as it can be doled out to.

He seems to be known by alot of the refugees, at least by sight, and some of them he seems quite friendly with. He refuses any offers of trade, something that seems to be an old arrangement, brushing it off and flat out ignoring any further mention of it. Some of the refugees call him 'Sargeant' or 'Militiaman'. He quickly corrects that, stating 'Ah quit'.

Whenever he visits he insists that the nearest priest he finds checks the supplies for 'that'un Taint' before giving it to the refugees, then spends the rest of the day or night drinking and talking with them. Sometimes he tells groups of children somewhat rambling stories about 'Th'Umber', which appear to be stories about some war against 'Th'Reds' or 'Them pinky basturds' he was in long ago and far away from the Dalelands. A fair amount of his stories seem implausible and fantastical. Every once in a while in the middle of telling a story he gets a far off look, starts pausing at odd times, and the tales take a darker turn, filled with pain, horror, and loss. The refugees and others listeners learn the look quickly and usher the children away before he can go too far. When this happens he seems locked into the telling, and will continue even if everyone leaves.


(RP handling familiarity with SD villagers was handled with ADM Revenant late last summer.)

ewayneself wrote:

Cleo walks slowly away from the Market Square and crosses the little bridge. He walks slowly, head bowed, hands clasped within his sleeves, his wan tenor warbling an ancient dirge.

He leads the visitors past the orchards and up the hill toward the gleaming Dawnspire.

There, he bids the two guards posted outside the temple doors to relieve the horse of its burden, should the woman and the horse allow it.

Once this is done (if it is done), Cleo opens the large temple doors and holds them open until the women enter the temple.

Then he glances around a bit, steps inside, and softly closes the door. ((PMs from here, pls))

The guards would be allowed to take the bundle, though Ambara looks a bit defensive at first. Once the bundle is carried inside, the horse is lead away to a stable and Ambara follows Cleo inside.

Gennedy wrote:

A grizzled older woodsman starts showing up every couple of days with a large burlap sack over his shoulder, which he gives to the refugees. It's contents are somewhat random, being anything from mushrooms and herbs to tubers and other collected victuals from the forests and wilds, though once in a while he shows up dragging a boar or deer, sometimes strings of rabbit, and once even a sack of squirrels, which, after about six hours of cooking, he turns into a surprisingly tasty and hearty stew. Rarely he shows up with a small keg on his shoulder, which he shares with as many as it can be doled out to.

He seems to be known by alot of the refugees, at least by sight, and some of them he seems quite friendly with. He refuses any offers of trade, something that seems to be an old arrangement, brushing it off and flat out ignoring any further mention of it. Some of the refugees call him 'Sargeant' or 'Militiaman'. He quickly corrects that, stating 'Ah quit'.

Whenever he visits he insists that the nearest priest he finds checks the supplies for 'that'un Taint' before giving it to the refugees, then spends the rest of the day or night drinking and talking with them. Sometimes he tells groups of children somewhat rambling stories about 'Th'Umber', which appear to be stories about some war against 'Th'Reds' or 'Them pinky basturds' he was in long ago and far away from the Dalelands. A fair amount of his stories seem implausible and fantastical. Every once in a while in the middle of telling a story he gets a far off look, starts pausing at odd times, and the tales take a darker turn, filled with pain, horror, and loss. The refugees and others listeners learn the look quickly and usher the children away before he can go too far. When this happens he seems locked into the telling, and will continue even if everyone leaves.

Though he brings many random things, the refugees seem very thankful for him taking the time to aid them. The stew is what snags at them the most though, their excited murmurs apparently. Clearly this is a stew they will talk about for ages. Many of the refugees do not seem surprised that Eustace quit. Some of them nod in understanding, a couple (though very small number) can possibly be heard muttering something about everyone leaving Shadowdale to die.

When he tells the darker stories, the refugees do indeed usher the children away. One older man in particular, however, seems to stay and listen. It's likely he's well past his prime and judging from his frail body, he's not to last much longer. He's simply an old man. The look on his face as Eustace reveals that he likely understands their nature. This is a man that's probably seen war and been involved in it in his days.

Once Cleo closed the temple doors, it would be days before he was seen again.

A young girl can be seen wandering around asking for a "Mister Cleeoofoos". She has a skip in her step and bright, young eyes.

Cleo eventually finds the girl. The young priest is dressed in black and his eyes look ashen and forlorn, yet he cannot help but smile at the girl's cheer.

He crouches to her level, gives her a weary grin, and says "Hello there, Miss. I'm Cleophus. How can I help you today?"

The girl looks extremely excited to see him. If his memory was good enough, he'd be able to tell that it was the small child he's encountered before- Amethyst. She jumps forward and hugs Cleo, squeezing as tightly as her tiny little arms can.

"Mommy said we were coming here to see the horses and the chickens and stuff and I was so bored! But then she said your name and I remembered! Do you have chocolate milk here?" Her voice is full of excitement and some of the words flow together quickly.

Cleo grins, but it is a wistful, complicated grin accompanied as it is by misty eyes and a stitched brow. For a moment, it seems he's unable to speak.

He stands and offers his hand.

"I'm sure we can find some chocolate in the market in Town. Let's tell your mom where we're going, then let's go see the elves!"

Word spreads quickly to Myth Drannor that the Undead did a heavy attack on the town. What's worse, rumor has it Undead took many of the bodies. Refugees look to panic, seriously concerned about their loved ones. They look as if they'd be ready to pack and move back to Shadowdale at any moment to try to learn if their family members are alright that were left behind.

Cleo emerges from the Dawnspire sallow eyed, soaking wet, thin and pale.

He stands on the high hill in front of the Dawnspire which overlooks the whole of the Morning Farms. Below, to his left, by the pier he sees the chaos in the refugee camps. His head bows, his shoulders sink.

He looks up again, chewing his lower lip, his sky-blue eyes casting about, as if for answers written on the land itself.

He looks rightward, to the Dawn Knight Barracks, then frowns. "No. There are too few here, as it is."

He looks next door, to the big house that serves as an Abbey. "...Imesah...damn."

His eyes wander across the orchard, to the Silver Tower standing in the distance. "Jay has his own matters. And I've already kept him for days..."

He looks far out to the horizon, where stalwart trees sway, hiding dangers untold. "Garren. ...where are you?"

His gaze returns to the square, where he now spies a certain woman sitting at a table, a book open in front of her. He smiles. "Praise the Dawn. A few yet remain."

His smile fades into a stitch of worry as he looks back over his shoulder, to the Temple. "Leeora..."
Swiftly, he turns and rushes inside.

Lucent, who was stuck solving an issue in Myth Drannor caused by a fey queen, was not around when the town got attacked. Once the news reached his ears, he prepared himself to visit the town and see what happened. He would alert his mate to stay within the elven city waiting for him to report back.