[Fort Silence] The Battlements of Fort Silence.

For the past several weeks, a quiet, serious young man had been staying at the Bright Star tavern in a village situated on a nigh-endless series of plains and rocky crags, not far from Fort Silence itself. Though the mountain could not be seen from such a distance, the range in which it was situated stuck up like spires on the horizon, and the man's gaze frequently strayed with a wistful expression towards them.

The tavern's keeper, Isildra, was a middle-aged woman with little tolerance for rowdy patrons, and the young man found he enjoyed her equally-stolid company. A wanderer like himself had very little local knowledge, and so he'd begun a friendship with the woman, often helping her clean the place - a task for which he displayed bizarre fondness - in exchange for information about the area. Many times, her descriptions colorfully illustrated some of the politics, geography, and cultures of the surrounding villages and towns, and Falcon found himself quite grateful. Isildra did not know what to make of him, he knew - his serious, quiet demeanor, so much like her own, was a rare exception among the tavern's usual patrons, and although it leant the two of them an easy air of companionship, it also isolated him from the rest of her usual crowd. Still, the two continued to interact despite this uncommon nature, and found a friendship consisting of time spent cleaning together, drinking tea, and conversing about the local land.

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Soon after the cry went out for the defense of Fort Silence, Falcon - seated at a table in the tavern, one sunny morning - learned of the news via the town's paper service. Displayed in clear, bold font, the rousing call to action stirred many memories and sentiments in the man's blood, and he resolved to travel to Fort Silence as soon as possible. He brushed restlessly at the locks of hair he'd neglected to cut properly, staring down at the paper with a slowly-deepening frown.

"Something wrong, hun?" Isildra asked in a quiet voice as she wandered over, clearing a stack of plates from the table. Falcon looked up, his frown lessening somewhat in politeness.

"Nothing, friend," he murmured instinctively. A quick glance up at Isildra's worried - and amused - face told him that he was unconvincing, and he sighed.
"There is a call to aid Fort Silence, over in the mountains; it seems they're to be the target of slavers soon." Falcon's mouth twisted into a sharp grimace. "In force."

Isildra covered her mouth for a moment, surprise flickering across her features. "We'd all known that the fort was home to many, many former slaves, and that someone would come after them eventually...hun, you shouldn't. It's too dangerous. Why, if you stayed, I'd have half a mind to offer you a job here," she joked, a smile replacing the sudden nervousness in her features. Falcon let his head drop slightly in response, a mildly hopeless expression overtaking his normally pleasant features.

"...I must. There is no other choice. I must do -something- about this, lest I simply ignore everything I have ever stood for. Your...your hospitality has been generous, and your company kind," Falcon continued quickly, knowing that if he paused, she would do anything to plead him to stay, to not risk throwing his life away. "I am honored to have known you, Isildra...but it is time for me to depart."

"To -this-?" She responded in a hoarse whisper. "To die? What will -you- do against an army?"

At this, Falcon quirked a single eyebrow, amusement flitting over his face. "You've spied on me as I've gone to train in the fields beyond." He stated calmly, without a hint of reproach. Still, Isildra flinched as he knew she would, staying silent, but displaying mild guilt. After a moment, he continued.

"It would not be the first time I've had to face an army."

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After paying for his breakfast, he quickly settled with Isildra, closing out his accounts before packing his things and setting off after a swift, heartfelt goodbye to the woman.

"Thank you," he murmured, hugging her tightly for a moment. She nodded into his shoulder.

"You've been my best customer - quiet, paid on time, and helped me clean. What else could I ask for?" She gave him a smile, patting his arm. "Go on. Good luck to you."

"And you as well," Falcon responded, nodding. He turned, and began the long walk to Fort Silence.

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Falcon's pace was determined, and before long he found that he could see the vast mountain in the distance, and that its shape - and habitation - reminded him dearly of the home he'd left behind. He could only hope that when he arrived, the fort stood still, untouched by the ravages of war.

Falcon wore his traveler's garb more frequently than his usual ornate outfit due to the hardship involved in crossing the landscape on foot, and found himself rather grateful at the present moment for his foresight. His drab green-and-grey did little to separate him visually from the other woodsmen, militia, or villagers who bundled together in a long mass of people, close-pressed and weary, all traveling together to Fort Silence. From what he could overhear in nearby conversations, many of these people were fleeing the initial, probing attacks of the slaving guilds who sought to reclaim their "escaped property". Falcon's teeth ground in anger, and he simmered throughout the long trek, clenching and unclenching his fists.

As a general rule, the man hated slavery of any kind. Having rescued several slave groups already in Alancria, Falcon had been exposed to the most vile practices of such endeavors, and had listened to many a story from an escaped, hungry, fearful slave. In his homeland of Avalon, Falcon would have ruthlessly butchered any who claimed to involve themselves in such "business transactions" - but here, in this new place, it was best to tread lightly. And so he did, following almost meekly along with the rest of the caravan, just another weary face in a long train of misery.

Eventually, the group reached the massive, awe-inspiring stone gates of the fortress - Fort Silence itself. Although Falcon mentally sized the place up and estimated it to be roughly equivalent to the Grand Keep of Avalon (or perhaps a little smaller, a jealously defensive side of him admitted), it was nonetheless stupendously constructed. The amount of effort and time needed to drag such heavy, unbroken stone blocks into place and set them atop one another was mind-boggling; a siege would have a difficult time using artillery to pound the fortress, as the projectiles launched would be nowhere near the size of the monoliths constructing even the outer gates, let alone what Falcon could see of the inner fortress.

He nodded quietly to himself. Good craftsmanship indeed.

At the gates ahead of him, he noted guards zealously checking the stories and identities of all those passing through, as well as monitoring for obvious weaponry. Falcon sighed; while he commended the guards for their zeal and dedication, it might have been the one time it made things rather difficult for him...

Falcon obediently shifted into the crowd who claimed to have "combat experience"; he smirked, wondering just how much combat experience was really normal among the throngs of villagers and former slaves pouring into the fortress. Hopefully, the man thought with a more grim smile, he'd be able to make a difference in the press of battle.

As he walked, Falcon openly admired the craftsmanship at work, finding even further parallels between the place and Avalon's own massive fortifications; the masonry at work here was astounding to the man, and he couldn't help but trail his fingers along the sides of the walls, feeling the smoothed rock underneath his fingertips. For several long, quiet minutes, Falcon progressed ever deeper into the mountain, until the wooden gate, previously just a small outline in the distance, was suddenly directly in front of him, manned by a dozen stern soldiers.

He gave them a polite nod, continuing to move along with the rest of the crowd, doing his best to escape further notice.

Analiese and her squad made quick time in getting to the fort, glad that the people were getting out of their way.

"It seems you all are preparing for a siege?" She said, her voice reflecting the realization that her question was now rhetorical.

"Where is the commanding officer of the fort?"