'Maybe,' Tandlara pats the creatures head as she stalks, her belt pouch squirming as Riddleskin displays his displeasure at sharing proximity to Reggie.
'I think Zander is right though. Its common people we want firstly, they'll be interested in the details, how easy the land is to work and so on. I can vouch for its fertility, this land is touched by the First World after all. I once knew a man who told me that common folk look down, and see to the land, only the rich can afford to look around and not watch where their going. He's long dead now. The paintings would help draw noble investors though.'
Jemini grins, the prospect of nation-building appealing to her. What an adventure! I doubt there's anything similar to this out there. "I think there is value in promoting the beauty of the land itself. From that it should be clear that the land is fertile and abundant." With a bit of concern she adds, "Though it is hard to predict what will happen if news spreads that gold has been found - we could have a gold rush on our hands."
"Keeping news of the gold to ourselves might be good idea for the time beeing. Untill we can lay claim to the land we don't want gold-diggers to swarm us and claiming the lands for themselves." Berrin mutters absent-mindedly, still staring at the horse trying to think off a name. 'Rumpy, Rumble, Runny, Rain? *sigh* Streaker, Stumbler, Stupid-Horse? Vignir, Valor... Valor. Valur, Valnir? Valnir, brave warrior!' "Valnir. Sounds good. Let's see if the horse likes it."
"Valnir! Berrin calls out. "Valnir." he repeats and clicks his tounge, the horse perks it's ears and looks over to Berrin. "Yeah, thats you. Valnir. You like that?" he says almost hopefully. Making it's way ows to Berrin Valnir smells his outstretched hand and the playfully nuzzles Berrin, almost knocking him over. Berrin laughs and pats Valnir on the flank before mounting back up. "His name is Valnir guys. He likes it!" he calls out, beaming with pride.
The newly-named Valnir happily leads the trotting expedition on their trip back to Oleg's. As evening falls on them, they ride with a vigor borne from the desire to get back before nightfall. They are rewarded as they exit the forest to see the Trading Post lit up across the plains. They can almost hear the conversation and smell Svetlana's cooking from all the way at the treeline. They spur the horses on to make the final last few miles as quickly as possible.
About half a mile out, an armored figure rides out to meet them, accompanied by two others. Kesten waves as he recognizes them, shouting a greeting to them. "Friends, it's good to see you! The dwarf who got my men drunk said you wouldn't be far behind!" He turns around, leading them back to the trading post like a returning hero.
As they arrive, the trading post is buzzing with activity. Kesten's men have built out an additional structure for them to bunk in adjacent to the main walls, along with a makeshift outer set of walls. It is nothing special, just a wooden semi-permanent building, but it looks good attached to the old fort.
There is raucous laughter coming out of the main structure. It takes a moment to realize it, but it is the normally reticent Oleg making the noise. As they ride in, they find Bokken standing on a table re-enacting some exploit that apparently involves having to literally hide behind his beard. Svetlana looks on happily, but Oleg and Jhod are both in an uproar. Both appear to have also had at least half a keg each of Bokken's ale, with about a dozen more stacked in the storage area. As they see you, they break down into more laughs and giggles, slamming their fists against the table as they wipe their eyes. Svetlana rushes to give everyone hugs as they dismount, cheerfully greeting them. "It's so good to have you all back! Bokken told us that you all met up on your journey."
The Trading Post is in great cheer. If Taxfest is half the hit that this party is, it will be a great one indeed.
'It is a pleasure to be back. I'm very glad that Bokken arrived her safely. When we met him the mountains he was worryingly eccentric,' the elven woman smiles on eof her stragne reticent smiles, and rests a hand on Svetlana's arm as she approaches.
'Has there been any trouble in our absence? Or any strangers travelling through?' she asks in a still tone, without much emotion, but tinged with a slight wary worry.
We must be wary, if the gaurdsmen are getting drunk. We must be alert and ready for the Stag Lord to make his move. I must be vigilant. I will do what I can to keep this place safe. They are my family now. She looks over at her adventuring companions. Power is to keep families safe.
Svetlana leads them in, holding Tandlara's arm lovingly. "A few travelers, mostly merchants. A few people early for Taxfest. It's been busy, but not dangerous. Nothing like what you all have been doing, I'm sure! Tell me all about it while I make you some dinner!"
Berrin grins at Kestens irritation at Bokken, 'Should have been good for moral at the least.' but frowns at his back when he leads the procession into the fort, feeling that the man needs to learn propper respect.
Seening the party in full swing and people enjoying themselves instantly puts a wide grin on Berrin's face and he heads straight to the festivities to partake in Bokken's ale. "Hail friends. Good to see you again, your company is much prefered to a boggards any day of the week." Berrin helps himself to some ale and plods down with the men and imediately starts regailing the tail of their lates journey.
"Svetlana! Dear - it is just not the same going to bed without your warm smile and cooking. I'm so glad to be back!" She looks up at Bokken's antics, admonishing him: "Weren't you supposed to wait for us before starting the party?" She waggles a finger at him in the least threatening manner possible, a wide grin on her face. "Thank you. Your accommodation and advice were most sound," she curtsies to him.
Before getting completely carried away with the revelry she goes off, to inspect Walthon and the rest of the Lebeda guard to ensure they can partake fairly in the merriment, but not compromise the trading post while doing so.
Taisper frowns as the group encounters Kesten and then enters Oleg's.
Another party? Sheesh.
Noting the night watch is a bit light, the inquisitor unpacks the bulk of his saddlebags, but then takes his shield and weapons and heads up to the wall. The air is a bit cooler away from the fires and bodies and It's marginally quieter there as well, which Taisper finds suits him just fine at the moment. He'd been hoping to have a bit of time to think and get a night's rest before having to deal too much with other people, but apparently the Master has other plans.
The inquisitor badly wants to take out his battered copy of the Order of Numbers, but figures it can wait. He came up here to watch and to think, and either would be difficult if he were reading.
'It lightens my heart to hear it Svetlana. Tandlara's smile is easier this time, and her fears assuaged, she takes Avansatra to be stabled, burshing the horse down and setting him up in stall in the stable for the night, before going to the guesthouse and washing the days travel from her face and hands, she dusts off her clothes, but elects not to change into the white dress she had gotten last time from Svetlana and walks back out to rejoin her companions, she stalks over to Bokken, her boots removed to leave her feet bare.
[b]'Hello master Bokken. You arrived safely I see? I'm very glad. Tell me, how long have you lived in those mountains?'
Bokken leaps off the table and envelops the much-taller Tandlara in a bear hug. "My darling, it's good to see that you arrived safely. My safety is a mere pittance of concern compared to yours!" He is strangely charming, in a manic sort of way. "I retired to the mountains after my last adventure, freeing the Varisian countryside of ageless tyrants. I imagine I've been there ten or twenty years now, simply enjoying the quiet dignity of retirement and brewing my ale, the recipe of which is a modification of an ancient brew I discovered in Kaer Maga some hundred years ago."
Jemini heads to see Captain Walthon, who salutes her when he sees her. "Lady Lebeda! We're glad to see you're back. As you can see, we lost the coin flip with Garess and are on guard duty tonight. We are still waiting for Lebeda's next caravan. A messenger brought word that it will leave from Restov tomorrow morning, likely to arrive the day after."
Verik heads up to see his cousin on the walls. "Taisper?" He seems unsure of himself, as he is wont to be. "I want to apologize. I haven't been treating you like family. You worry me sometimes, but I know that your heart is in the right place. You care about family, about civilization, and I know that you want to do what is right and good. I just worry that the Inquisition branch has kind of... warped, I guess, your view of what is right and wrong." He offers his hand to his cousin. "I just want you to know that I'm not going to call you names or tell you to get lost. We're family, and we're all we've got out here. I forget that sometimes when we're out in the wild. You've seen how cranky I get when I'm away from civilization. I need my books, my numbers, my planning. That's why I became a cleric of Abadar in the first place. It was the only place I could relax."
Ketsen Garess comes up to Berrin and his men, slapping the big fellow on the back. "You looked good on horseback! I guess the training and practice is paying off! We can do more training while you're at the Post for Taxfest, if you want. I'll teach you to properly use a lance."
The sun comes up with the party only mostly wound down. Halfway through the night, the Lebeda guards traded places with the Garess guards, leaving a whole new audience for for Bokken to tell jokes and stories to. It's difficult to get any sleep in the guest house with the party going on last night, but the expedition members are all grateful to not have to sleep on the ground or in a tent. The soft, warm beds are almost unbelievable after a week in the wilderness. Equally unbelievable is the smell of Svetlana's breakfast, which comes floating into the guest house like an invitation.
Less inviting, once the expedition makes it outside, is the naked dwarf standing on the eastern wall. The sight is jarring and somewhat horrifying, but Bokken is unperturbed. He stands, eyes closed, facing the morning sun. Svetlana tries to hand him a blanket, but he apparently turns her down. "No, but I appreciate the offer. I'm communing with Sarenrae, as per our agreement in the Osirion sands all those years ago."
As morning rises over Restov, Alder Delbesti, one of the many merchants of House Lebeda, makes his final checks of the caravan. The letter to the youngest daughter of House Lebeda is burning a hole in his pocket, as it was personally entrusted to him by Lord Lebeda. He checks the crates to ensure that thieves have not made off with the goods in the night. With a final checklist, he accounts for every item. All he has to do is to find the passengers and hired guard, then get on the road. With luck, they'll be able to make it to the Trading Post on the frontier by early tomorrow morning. Hopefully the bandits would not attack, though the guard he hired certainly looked formidable enough to fight them off.
Alder knocks on the door of the inn that's included in the price of passage, as well as in the payment as a guard. Just as he told them to be, all three are sitting in the inn's common hall having breakfast. Alder nods to the two passengers first. "Master Morai-Thrune, Master Rothland, I'm Alder Delbesti. As you discussed with my trade agent, I'm leading a protected caravan to the trading post to the west, on the frontier of the River Kingdoms. Since payment has already been handled, we will as soon as you collect your belongings." He motions over to the hulking man with the massive axe. "This is Corwin. He'll be guarding the caravan today. As you can see, he's more than capable of defending us. While the bandit attacks have lessened in the last few weeks, they are still occurring along the frontier."
Rothland stands, pushing his plate to the side. He is an average-looking human male, not particularly noteworthy in any way. With his brown hair, brown eyes, and nondescript features, he would blend in any background easily. "I'm ready to go now. Haven't got a lot of 'stuff'." He exits the inn, taking one of the seats on the wagon marked with the colors of House Lebeda.
A tall and well muscled young man seems to be occupied with his breakfast to the exclusion of everything else. Dressed in black traveling outfit, with chain shirt pulled over it, he doesn't seem to have a lot of possessions - only a bastard sword with a strange pommel, in an expensive looking scabbard - silver and engraved with black roses - and slightly large belt pouch. He eats wolfishly, taking large bites and swallowing them almost without chewing. His brown hair is cut short and his blue-green eyes stair at the plate as if he is confronting an enemy. From his neck hangs a medallion in the shape of inverted pentagram - a sign of Asmodeus, His Infernal Majesty.
'You were an adventurer!?' Tandlara beams widely at this revelation, her smile wide and without its usual sadness.
'I have never visited Varisia, but I have heard that its a wild a beautiful land. I have adventured myself, before this, twice in fact. One must do something to fill the long years,' she says with a smile and a wink to dwarf, clearly enjoying talking to someone with a lifespan closer to her own.
Having spent the evening chatting to Bokken, Tandlara had retired early and fell to sleep even through the noise, though Riddleskin did not find rest easy and was blearily asleep on his mistresses awakening. She slipped into her white dress and stolled outside, barefooted once more, and giggles upon seeing Bokken's antics with Svetlana, thinking of her own preference for preparing her spells bereft of clothing, she decides instead to sit in a queit area on the shirt grass behind Oleg and Svetlana's house, and regretfully wakens sleeping Riddleskin to commune and ready her magic for the day, still wary of attack in the lead up to Taxfest.
Berrin looks up from nursing his ale as Kesten slaps him on the back, giving him an ale-warmed smile. "Aye! The beast is more malable now. I've re-named 'im too." he confides. "Valnir. Good and solid for the brute. I think it means chosen or chooser or somthing like that. Choser of the fallen or chosen warrior I think I remember a friend of mine said. Gunnar Karlson, a fine skaldic warrior if I've ever met one." he goes on telling Kesten tales of the northmans prowes in battle and drinking untill Kesten fianlly nods his way out of Berrin's drunken rambling wich last a long way into the night.
Sleeping in, the sun is well up when Berrin grunts his way out of bed. A tangled mass of hair and clothing he groggily heads off for a bath and a late breakfast, taking time to shave and re-braid his hair Berrin is ready to face the day by mid-morning. Heading off to the soldiers compound he walks through it shaking hands and exhanging greetings with the soldiers he played and drunk with for two nights now, sharing grins and a couple of jokes with the more grizzled ones Kesten finds him in a ring of recruits telling a story about the particularly dire bowel movements of one Garrus Ma'Yden, who once gained the upper hand in a fight by loosing such a stench that his oponent fell victim to nausea.
"Berrin. What brings you here?" Kesten politely asks as he shakes his hand, unsure wether he likes the burly warriors presence with his troops.
"Kesten. I was hoping to take you up on your offer last night. If I'm going to be riding that beast I might as well make the most of him, eh? That charge you showed me last time around, I was hoping you'd grace me with another lesson now that I'm more comfortable in the saddle."
Kesten shrugs and agrees, heading off their seperate ways to saddle their horses Berrin and Kesten ride out for more training.
Jemini nods to Captain Walthon, her face a bit earnest. "Tomorrow, please schedule a patrol to follow the path towards Restov for a half-day. I'm expecting word from my father and want to have some certainty that no bandits will cause trouble."
Well, I've not seen this very often. Master Kend-- no, not even he would - ah... well, his heart is obviously in the right place. Jemini ascends the ladder to stand beside Bokken, greeting the early warmth of the sun with an open embrace to the dawn similar to Bokken's. "You truly have let your feet fall all over the inner sea, haven't you Bokken? There are some scars on your back that tell a story that even you would find hard to outdo."
Corwin nodded at the merchant but took the time to finish his beef and black bread before rising. It was good. Bess, the inkeeps wife had real flair in the kitchen and he made it a rule to eat well when he could. On the road one never knew when the next good meal might be. He left an extra silver.
Still a young man, only two and twenty winters, noone would ever call him tall. But what he lacked in height he more than made up for in build. Long practise with the axe had honed his arms and shoulders and shaped an enormous barrel shaped chest. His legs were thick and wide, like minature tree trunks.
Neither would he ever be called handsome, even before the broken nose, although beyond the tan and road lines, his face had more traces of patrician than commoner. He kept his jet black hair cut short.
As he turned for the door he lifted the axe of the table. An enormous deadly looking thing even in its sheath. The weaponseller had claimed it as dwarven make. No expert, Corwin figured that for a lie. Saying a Varisian was lying was like saying water was wet, but dwarven or not its quality was undeniable and it had saved his life many times.
This Delbesti seemed a decent enough sort for a merchant but his information on the road seemed scant. Corwin had spent time the night before quizzing the patrons on the rumours of bandits but heard little of use. Why a farmer had said that one of their leaders was only half a man, with a stag for a head! He'd seen a few strange things himslf in his travels but some people would believe anything.
This Rothland seemed harmless enough. The other was an enigma. Only a skilled warrior or a fool would cart around a bastard sword like that. Well he would find out which sooner or later.
Heading to the stables he made to saddle the palfrey, dodging an attempted kick and then a bite. Bah. Settle down you evil thing! The animal had seemed a bargain and now he knew why. He wasn't much of a horse lover at the best of times but this one seemed sired by Asmodeus himself. Do that again and Abadar's oath I'll carve you into jerky and walk the whole way there!
It either understood him or was just biding its time but either way it let him get the saddle on and he swung into the stirrups. The wind was blowing in from the west. It smelled fresh and clean, like a brand new day.
Taisper is thunderstruck. "A-apologize? Really?" The teen looks down for a long second, his face a confused mass of conflicting emotions. "Verik, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I think that part of why I get so…frustrated with you always calling me out on things is I'm not used to family doing that. I mean, mom would correct me when I was wrong, but by the time I became part of the Inquisition Branch, she and dad seemed to recognize my divine gifts and support me in all things. Tandlara made some points similar to what you and Jemini said to me before, but all of you are talking in the way some of the Master Hunters said people would talk around us. Master Hunter Sindelle, she said there were a couple ways for us to interact with people, that we didn't have to be direct about it. I always thought that was silly, but now…now I know what she meant."
Taisper takes a breath. "I love you, Verik. I love my family. But I think I made a terrible mistake. I think my family made a terrible mistake. And now I don't know who or what to believe. If you and Jemini and Tandlara and everyone else are right, then something awful is happening back home in Alkenstar, and who knows where else, and my connection with the Master has been…I dunno, perverted. And that makes me mad. But if the Master Hunters are right, then I'm surrounded by double-talkers and prevaricators. Those who are unsure. Those whose faith is neither true nor pure." He quickly holds up his hand. "I'm not accusing you of anything. Or at least not yet." He gives Verik a look that is impossible to read.
"The problem here, Verik, is I have reasons to both believe and disbelieve all of you. I think I've realized that the only answer I can trust will come from the Master himself. So I've been praying really hard on this, every morning, midday, and dusk. I've been asking for guidance. All today I've felt detached and ghostly, Verik, I feel like I'm on the cusp of something."
Taisper's eyes have grown distant while he's been talking, and he is looking off into the woods. Suddenly he fishes something out of his pocket; it is a small, worthless gem. Pretty, but little else. He hefts it in his bare hand, his battleworn gauntlets lying on the wooden plank floor of the watchtower. "I may have misunderstood my purpose, cousin. But I'm determined to find out, and correct my course if necessary. I have to clear my mind. I have to let go to move on. I've been here before, I think." He turns and hurls the gem into the woods as hard as he can. The small stone disappears quickly in the dark. "Good night, cousin. Sleep well. I expect I won't."
That night Taisper is beset by dreams.
A falcon flies overhead. The falconer calls but the raptor flies on, the bribe of meat ignored. There is a mountain, and it is a city that is a tree. A stag sleeps under the tree. There is blood on its horns. A man attacks it with a sword. He is gored by the creature, but fights back. Taisper finds he cannot move, and cannot look away. There is a presence at his back, heavy and golden. Taisper begins to rejoice, and to weep from it.
Suddenly everything stops. He is in the Hearing Room of the temple back home in Alkenstar City. A man he does not recognize, caparisoned as a cleric of Abadar, points at the frozen man and buck, locked in struggle.
"Judge them." he says. Looking down, Taisper sees he is holding a crossbow that throbs with divine power. Somehow he knows a single bolt will kill either man or deer.
"Wh-what is the law?" asks the young inquisitor, too tremulously for his tastes.
The man, old and craggy-faced, but with piercing green eyes, stares unflinchingly back, but says nothing.
"What is the LAW?!!" Yells Taisper. Then, thinking, adds a second question, more quietly; "…who wrote the law?"
The man continues to stare ruthlessly at Taisper. "The law is no hunting. The law is a man may kill a beast in self-defense. The law is flexible on the land on which they fight, owned as it is by a noble I recently befriended." His mouth twists up into a cruel sneer. "I wrote the law, Inquisitor. Now judge them."
Taisper does not hesitate and does not flinch. Turning quickly, he fires the crossbow bolt with perfect accuracy, shattering the sternum and piercing the heart of the cleric of Abadar, the lawmaker. With a scream, the man falls to the ground, bleeding profusely. The buck and woodsman vanish, replaced by a mob of furious acolytes, all holding torches and weapons. "KILL HIM!" they scream as one, and leap at Taisper, who drops the crossbow and runs, but too slowly. Far too slowly. He just gets out the door, barely in time, but he is not in Alkenstar City, he is in the middle of a woods, a terribly familiar woods. He runs, but his feet feel like they are in molasses, mired in a thick liquid. Nonetheless, the baying of the mob diminishes, and Taisper comes to a stop at the edge of a clearing, leaning against a tree. The clearing is a gentle rise, a hill, and at the top is a cabin.
It is Orlivanch's cabin.
Suddenly able to move, Taisper winds his way through the pits and deadfalls and other traps that lead to the cabin, his feet stepping inexorably forward, very much against his will. He steps onto the porch and is unsurprised, somehow, when the door opens and the old crazed trapper steps out, silhouetted by the light. He smiles and puts his arm around Taisper's shoulder. "Hello brother! C'mon in. Got some new pieces I think you'll admire." Taisper sees every other member of the party; Verik, Jemini, Zander, Berrin, poor Tandlara, all stuffed and placed in…terrible…compromising…pos- "Excellent, aren't they? I knew you'd like them!" The teenager tries to cry out, but in his dream he can make no sound. He windmills back and falls on the ground, then bolts for the woods again, chased by the madman's hideous laughter. "YOU'LL BE BACK, BROTHER! HAH HAH HAH! YOU'LL BE BACK! I GOT MORE TA SHOW YA!"
The woods become city streets again, Taisper is standing behind a group of clerics. He knows instantly who they are. There is blood on their robes. A voice, sounding remarkably like Verik's but much older, and belonging to some…thing much larger, speaks. "…not like it's my bloody business anyway. You need to learn, there's evil and then there's wrong. You're an idiot. And you're crazy. But you can't change either of those things, and you'll still be useful." Somewhere a raven kaws and tokks. The clerics stride away down the alley. There is a bloody mass of cloth and flesh lying on the ground that could conceivably have been a man once. "You have to read 'em right, and you can't go back ever. That door, that you lost, that's closed. Always and forever. You must think about your directives. You are both right and wrong. This is your lot."
Taisper feels himself fading. All is growing dark. The weight of revelation this time is an anchor, and he is falling. He tries to ask a question and is cut off. "But…but who are-"
"Who do you think?"
Taisper closes his eyes tight, not wanting to see, not wanting to know his fears are true.
He awakens just before dawn, slept but not rested. He groggily pulls himself up into a seating position. Twisting to his right, he is surprised by an uncomfortable lump in his pocket. His head is throbbing, he feels new knowledge, new powers, the glow of divine guidance coursing through him, but instead of exulting, he pats his mattress, his pants, his…pocket. His eyes wide, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pretty but worthless gem, the same one he hurled away last night.
Thankfully, old habits die hard, and he drags himself exhaustedly up out of the bed to begin exercising, even if it is so late in the morning. The weight of the gem is huge; it may as well be a boulder. "The eye of my enemy…" he mutters to himself. He then jogs out past Bokken and Jemini, past Verik praying, and out the trading post gates for a quick run, his steps much heavier than usual.
Alder Debesti tries his best to be as polite as possible to Alexius, both because the young man has paid for his services and because he cuts a naturally unsettling figure. As an open adherent of Asmodeus, Alexius gets quite a few unpleasant looks and a generally wide berth; the fearsome-looking sword makes him all the more a man to avoid. Alder tries not to rush him, but he has a schedule to meet. "Master Morai-Thrune, whenever you're ready, we can depart for the frontier." Pausing a moment to see if his words had any effect, he exits the inn to prepare for their departure.
Rothland idly sits in a seat as Debesti makes sure the four horses are securely fastened to the wagon. He goes over figures and sales in his head, hoping that he would soon have an opportunity to make this journey a permanent fixture. If he could obtain the rights from Lord Lebeda to be the central trading coordinator between Restov and the suddenly-lucrative trading post (which, he thought, certainly needed a better name than "Oleg's"), he could parley it into quite a bit of wealth. He would need to make nice with Oleg Leventon, the owner of the post, a man reportedly difficult to charm.
As Corwin rides up alongside the wagon, Alder turns to him. The difference in their sizes is a fairly impressive gap, but the merchant appreciates the security offered by the warrior. "Corwin! I want you to stick close to the wagon, but far enough that you'll be able to give fair warning if you see anybody. We'll leave as soon as the Cheliaxan is ready." He offers Corwin a genuine smile. "I'm already impressed by what I've seen of you. If this trip goes well, we can talk upon our return about making this arrangement more permanent."
Kesten rides out to meet Berrin, passing the jogging Taisper as he exits the gates. He leads Berrin quietly to a set of wooden targets shaped like soldiers. "We set these up while you were gone to train with. We cut a few dozen of them, and I've been issuing repair duty as punishment." He rides the horse around as Berrin watches, reaching a distance of about thirty feet. "The real trick to fighting on horseback is that the horse really does all the work. Let the horse give you the momentum rather than swinging with everything you've got. That will just knock you off balance. Just like the sword is the extension of your arm when you're on foot, you are the extension of your horse when you're mounted." To demonstrate, he spurs his horse to a gallop. He leans to the right as he nears the target, holding his blade with just one hand. As he nears, he fluidly brings it up, reaching the apex of the swing just as the horse passes the target. He cleaves straight through it, shattering it into splingers despite not putting much force on his own into it. "See, it's all in the timing and positioning, not in your strength. Give it a try. If you're getting it, I'll show you what a lance can do."
Over on the walls, Bokken shushes Jemini, then begins a meditative hum. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm." He seems lost in whatever eddies of his crazed mind he finds himself in. He is still disturbingly nude, a trend that seems to be troubling Oleg. Captain Walthon approaches her on the wall, markedly keeping his eyes from Bokken, and clears his throat to speak with her.
As Tandlara sits on the grass, Riddleskin moves uncomfortably in her grasp. Alerted by the rat, she opens her eyes to see the young Nicholas Junior standing in front of her. The young human boy looks at her inquisitively, curious as to what she is doing. Ilyana is in the distance, talking with Svetlana as they do some chores outside, occasionally glancing at him to make sure that he's all right. "Hi! Why do you look different?" His question is innocent and clear of any judgment or malice. He is simply curious, as she is likely the only elf he's ever seen.
Tandlara's green, whiteless eyes open and linger on the child for a moment, Riddlskin warily stares at the boy, small sharp teeth bared.
Then her face lights up with a smile and she says in her gentelest tones. 'Because I am different Dear One.'
Indicating the grass with one hand she stays seated in her cross-legged position, soothing her familiar with the other hand. 'Sit with me and I can tell you anything you'd like to know about me, or many other things,' smiling wryly Tandlara adds 'I have all morning, trust me.'
If the boy settles down she smiles and returns her hands to resting palm up on her knees, her eyes drooping half-closed, then begins to speak with the boy. 'I am different because I am an elf. My people are very old, much older even than your mother and father. We all have pointy ears and big eyes, because we came to the world in twilight and forests. We are not many Dear One, so you will not see much of my people. What else would you like to know?'
Even though he can't see her, Jemini nods to Bokken as he intones his meditation. Seeing Walthon approach with words on his mind she quickly raises a finger to her lips to quiet him and motion for him to wait just a little. She spends another minute, allowing the dawn to strengthen and warm up her face before she lets go and meets Walthon down the palisade.
"Good morning captain."
As Corwin rides up alongside the wagon, Alder turns to him. The difference in their sizes is a fairly impressive gap, but the merchant appreciates the security offered by the warrior. "Corwin! I want you to stick close to the wagon, but far enough that you'll be able to give fair warning if you see anybody. We'll leave as soon as the Cheliaxan is ready." He offers Corwin a genuine smile. "I'm already impressed by what I've seen of you. If this trip goes well, we can talk upon our return about making this arrangement more permanent."
Corwin just nods at the merchant's instruction. It was obvious but the man meant nothing by it and Corwin was finding he genuinely liked the little man. The compliment he disregarded. Staring at a few bully boys to warn them away from the wagon was the only action he'd seen so far.
Talk is fine tho' I hope to find a place at this post. It seems to me that it is a time for nations to be carved out of the wilderness and I want to be a part of it. Let us see what we find. In truth he had had enough of guarding caravans but there was no point burning bridges.
Tell me about this daughter of Lebeda you seek. A typical noble I suppose?
Alexius calmly finishes his breakfast and then sits for a moment doing nothing, just staring in distance, or perhaps listening to some voice that only he can hear. Then he smiles a bit, almost sadly and tosses the price of breakfast on the table before he rises and goes outside.
A tall black horse waits for him tied to the post outside. He jumps in the saddle and just nods to the merchant, indicating that he is ready to go.
Nicholas Jr. sits down wide-eyed and fascinated by Tandlara's words. "So how old are you? I'm five, and my mom's really old. Are you older than her?" He laughs joyfully as if someone told a funny joke. "Do you live in a treehouse? I always wanted to live in a treehouse, but my mom says that only birds and elves live in trees."
Captain Walthon greets Jemini warmly, but with a respect borne of their difference in station. "We need to discuss the transfer of the prisoner. I haven't found a caravan specifically heading directly to House Lebeda's holdings, but the one arriving tomorrow should be. We can send her there, but how many of our troops do you wish to accompany the caravan northbound? I imagine that there are parties that would like her in their custody instead, and I hold little hope that we've truly kept her presence a real secret."
"That's some fancy riding. Here let me try." Berrin mutters as he steers Valnir into postition, guiding him with his knees coming alot easyer to him than during their previous lesson. Drawing his sword he spreads his arms out and holds the postition a moment, finding his balance, before spurring Valnir on. Valnir starts forward eagerly, gaining momentum he is easy to controll as they near the target, like this is old news to him, charging dummies. Nearing the dummy Berrin raises his sword, determined to put force behind the swing he starts the arc backward aiming it in a forward arc. Tensing his body at the moment he anticipated the hit to reverbate up his arm he finds himself flying through the air. The world sails by strangely slowlie, Berrin is a bit startled to make eye-contact with the surprised Valnir before the world goes blank with a bone-crunching thud.
Slowly coming too the world returns with Valnir's nozle in Berrin's face, nudging him to conciousness. Gaining his sences bit by bit Berrin moans as he puches Valnir away and sits up, putting his head between his knees he slowly catches his breath. Standing up at another nudge from Valnir Berrin pats him as he grabs the reins. "You did good buddy, better than me anyways." he mutters apologeticly to the horse.
"Your still fighting on the ground Berrin, relying on your own strength instead of the horses. Your getting better, but your not good yet. Practice, then see me again." Kesten says before turning around and heading back to the trading post.
Berrin just nods and mutters a 'thanks' after Kesten. Staying out till he's hungry and tired Berrin practices his combat riding.
Alder gladly gets the wagon moving, full of goods and promise for economic opportunity, once Alexius is in the saddle of his own horse. He wonders quietly to himself why the young man, clearly of some means, chose to pay the full fare despite not actually taking a seat on the wagon. His quiet demeanor is also fairly unsettling. For a man who seeks to advance in station, Alder finds himself wanting to speak far more to the massive guard rather than the strange noble. He motions for Corwin to come closer. "About your question earlier, we're set to deliver a message to Lord Lebeda's daughter, Jemini. She is leading an expedition into the Stolen Lands, though there are a number of rumors going around about the real purpose of the expedition. I've heard that Rostland is securing its southern border in preparation for marching on New Stetven. I rather hope it's true, personally." He hits his fist against his palm for emphasis. "Anyway, I've never met her in person, but I've heard she's both beautiful and headstrong. I don't think adventuring in the wilderness is really the proper place for a nobleman's daughter, but it's not like it was up for a vote. If it makes Lord Lebeda happy, I'm all for it."
Rothland sits quietly against the wagon's back. As Alexius is close enough, he calls out to him in a voice that is soft and gentle. "So, why are you headed down to Oleg's Trading Post? I hear it's a dangerous place." He appears disinterested in the answer, possibly simply making small talk to pass the time.
"I have my reasons", big Chelaxian softly replies. "And you, why are you going there?"
Taisper eventually comes loping back into the trading post. He smiles faintly when he sees Tandlara speaking with Nicholas Jr., nodding to himself about something. He takes his time cleaning up, then starts the ol' laundry process, heating up water while looking over the rest of his gear, checking for wear or damage. It's a long process but he doesn't mind, plenty to think about anyway.
Once his leather armor and clothes are in the barrel and well underway towards being de-stink'd, for the first time since arriving in the Stolen Lands Taisper takes out some paper and his pen and begins scribbling some notes. He opens his Order... and is paging painstakingly through it. Eventually he closes the book, and after swapping laundry in and out and hanging things up to dry, he takes his chainmail and looks at it, running his hand over the skull-key logo on the chest, the golden rings.
He sighs heavily, then gets up. He heads straight for Oleg.
After finding him, he takes the first step down his new road; "Oleg! Hi man, hey. How are you. How'd you like Bokken's ale? Fantastic, isn't it? That was quite a shindig." He smiles sincerely, but it's clear he's tired. "So, look; I was wondering if you had another suit of chainmail I could trade you for mine. Just something plain. Mine is still perfectly fine, no damage. I can pay the difference if need be, of course, if you can't do a like-for-like trade. I'll uh, I'll understand."
Rothland regards Alexius's question, apparently mulling it over in his head. "I'm looking for opportunity, really. I've heard that the Stolen Lands are going to be settled, and I want to be part of that. There's not enough work in Brevoy, not for my family. I'm hoping that I can make enough money to bring them here to live." He smiles a little, lost in some personal memory. "What about you? Do you have a family?"
As Walthon elaborates Jemini listens intently, her face sharpening as he speaks to a mask of concentration. Eventually she nods and smiles. "Fine." Then moves along, nodding for him to follow her. Her demeanor is that of an inspection, a tour of the various elements that now collectively form the expanded trading post.
At length, when Jemini is quite sure that they wouldn't be overheard, she details her instructions to Walthon: "I've been growing more concerned myself over the safety of our prisoner. She may not be much of a witness - the word of a convicted bandit will not do much in court - but merely holding her captive will give others pause. They cannot know for sure what we know, and what we might find out." She quietens for a moment as she reviews her calculations, then, "Captain Walthon, I want you to personally escort Kressle back to Lebeda. You, along with most of the Lebeda retinue here. One shall stay - somebody sharp, with their wits about them, I trust you have somebody in mind for that. I want him to keep an eye on this place while we're gone. And ensure he has a fast horse, in case something happens." She looks at Oleg's place with concern in her eyes. Then relaxes a little and smiles at Walthon. "But this is only after Taxfest. Wouldn't want to deprive the guys from the party - and it'll be a time when we'll need all the security in this place that we can bring to bear."
As Walthon expresses his worries regarding leaving with most of the men, Jemini explains that, "The well-being of our mission may rest on that dirty mouth of Kressle's. I want nothing to go wrong, that is why I trust you with this task. Don't worry about us here, we'll be going for the Stag Lord, so between the transport of Kressle and our assault on the bandit king it is likely that Oleg's will be very quiet indeed."
He motions for Corwin to come closer. "About your question earlier, we're set to deliver a message to Lord Lebeda's daughter, Jemini. She is leading an expedition into the Stolen Lands, though there are a number of rumors going around about the real purpose of the expedition. I've heard that Rostland is securing its southern border in preparation for marching on New Stetven. I rather hope it's true, personally." He hits his fist against his palm for emphasis. "Anyway, I've never met her in person, but I've heard she's both beautiful and headstrong. I don't think adventuring in the wilderness is really the proper place for a nobleman's daughter, but it's not like it was up for a vote. If it makes Lord Lebeda happy, I'm all for it."
Corwin's interest is perked at the mention of the expedition although he has to surpress a chuckle at the thought of his family's reaction to the man's analysis of north-south relations. No doubt securing borders is part of it but I doubt the marching part. Rostland doesn't have the men. If.. when .. things start I'll wager it will be the north that moves first. He is quiet for a moment. This Jemini sounds interesting. For a noble.
He points a thumb at Alexius. So whats the story with the devil worshipper?
Coming back sweaty and dirty from exerting himself and taking several tumbles from Valnir Berrin apears deep in thought as he enters the trading post again. Taking Valnir to the stables he waters and feeds him as he strokes him down. "You did good." he says to him as he works him down, "I'll get the hang of it sooner or later, don't you worry." Talking to Valnir in soft tones as he settles him in Berrin heads off to bathe and eat when finished.
Wolfing down Svetlana's cooking Berrin takes out his gear when finished and sees to it's maintainance, oiling and sharpenng his new and beutifull sword he admires the craftmanship agin, going over the links in his chainmail he thinks wistfully about the brestplate due to arrive soon. Gathering his laundry he follows Taisper's example and heads out back with it and leaves it out by the bale for Svetlana to clean. Sitting down on the bench again he fishes out his needle and twine and starts patching his socks. Looking up as people pass he smiles and nods as they pass.
Alexius looks at Rothland and smiles softly. "You could say that I am an only child. But I do have a large extended family. My cousin is sort of famous - you may have heard of her, Abrogail?" He pauses for a moment, and then continues."I suppose that I came here to prove myself to my father and to her."
After that, Chellaxian seems to become lost in his thoughts, or once again listening something that only he can hear.
If Oleg has any objection or reservation to Taisper's request, he apparently keeps it to himself. He responds with a taciturn, "Okay. I've got a spare set if you want to make a trade." He goes into a back storage room and pulls it off the rack it rests on. He takes Taisper's armor and meticulously inspects it, then does another inspection of his own to make sure of its quality. When he is satisfied, he nods and hands Taisper his new chainmail. "Here you go. I'll hang onto this one for a while in case you want to trade back."
Verik walks by right when they make the handover. The cleric's eyes go from Taisper's new armor to the symbols of Abadar on his old one, then up to Taisper. "Cousin, what's going on?"
Captain Walthon seems to hear Jemini's words and their meaning. "Of course. I'll assign Sergeant Tabow to the job, along with two of our men. I guarantee that the prisoner will make it to your father's holdings, where she will stay until needed for her testimony." He looks around and quietly whispers to her, "I've heard rumors from the north that Lord Garess is ill. Kesten's men have been discussing what might happen if anything happens to him. If he were to die, there is a case that the King could invalidate the adoption of his heir and name a new Lord Garess. Kesten's men are worried about the possibility that he may turn their holdings over to House Lodovka, or even House Orlovsky to curry their favor."
Zander sits down with Berrin, watching the Trading Post as it buzzes with activity. Instead of speaking, he merely raises a glass in a silent toast to his comrade. The archer still carries his bow, despite the number of guards are prepared to take up arms if anyone attacks.
When Jemini returns to Oleg's proper, it doesn't take long for her to spy Svetlana; who is buzzing about with the efficient determination common to those that have several dozen mouths to feed. Lucky for her, the guests, traders, soldiers and followers trickle in for breakfast in an unsteady rhythm, many choosing to keep their beds company while last night's party has time to vacate their temples.
"Hi there Svetlana! Can I help?" Jemini is sincere, albeit not particularly efficient in a kitchen - after a few minutes of watching Jemini try haphazardly to peel potatoes Svetlana diverts to Jemini the task of carrying plates of breakfast to the eating tables.
Captain Walthon seems to hear Jemini's words and their meaning. "Of course. I'll assign Sergeant Tabow to the job, along with two of our men. I guarantee that the prisoner will make it to your father's holdings, where she will stay until needed for her testimony." He looks around and quietly whispers to her, "I've heard rumors from the north that Lord Garess is ill. Kesten's men have been discussing what might happen if anything happens to him. If he were to die, there is a case that the King could invalidate the adoption of his heir and name a new Lord Garess. Kesten's men are worried about the possibility that he may turn their holdings over to House Lodovka, or even House Orlovsky to curry their favor."
Jemini looks at Walthon with a hint of a worried pout on her lips. Then, "I hope you're right and one of our merchants comes by soon. I expect my father knows something, or will want to know." She reflects for a moment, "Tabow... good." She smiles to the captain, "I know I can depend on you. These will be... interesting times."
"Thanks so much, Oleg. Blessings of the Master on your business and livelihood."
"Oh hi Verik." Taisper's attitude is one of calm resignation, though his young eyes are still shining. "I had a dream last night. A capital-V Vision. Like you remember the one we had after we saved that poor old worshipper of Erastil who was also a bear? Him? Kind of like that night, only...only not. Not exactly." The inquisitor steps off to the side in case others wish to do business with Oleg and talks as he puts on the armor, making sure everything fits as it should. "I was...well I was punished, I believe, Verik. That should make you happy, huh? You and pretty much everyone but Zander, I suppose. I was punished in a myriad of ways unique to those of our faith, and worse; unique to those in the Inquisition Branch. Visions of chaos and war, blood in the streets of Alkenstar City. I had to kill a Lawmaker, and was made to pay for that transgression with my life, though I did the right thing. I was shown actions and consequences, I was shown the differences between wrong and evil, and the thin line between them. I was shown the other side of the coin of what I do and what I was taught. I was told...I was..."
The teen suddenly gives a huge sniffle and looks to the side. In the morning sun, large tears can clearly be seen running down his cheek. His voice is mostly steady. "I was told I could nev-...ne-...that I could never see my family again." he takes an enormous, shuddering breath, and seems to settle himself a bit. "Never."
Taisper pauses for a long time, staring over at where Bokken had been standing earlier but where now Sarenrae's most potent symbol of power shines brightly over the trading post. His face is unreadable, his thoughts unknowable.
"There was more." He suddenly says, continuing. "The strangest thing is I was also rewarded. Verik I've been praying like I've never prayed before for hea-, um, for certain magics. And my prayers were answered. I was given them. But I've also been given, well, I guess you could say "new marching orders." I have a new purpose now." Taisper finishes putting on the last of the armor and does a few experimental moves, swinging his morningstar, putting on and taking off his shield, that kind of thing. He nods in satisfaction. "Feels right, feels good." he mutters. Then he focuses on Verik again. "Actually it'd be more accurate, I suppose, to say that I've been given a purpose, period. Certain things have been made clear. Including the fact that the Master himself finds me lacking in a certain, very worrisome regard. In my vision, Verik, a servant of the Master of the First Vault told me in no uncertain terms that I am crazy. As a loon. As, uh, as Orlivanch. " Taisper's mouth is a hyphen of rigid disapproval as he says this last.
"I've got some things I need to do, Verik, if you don't mind. But this armor, this...new...armor, is part of the new directive I've been given by the Lawgiver himself. By the Master. That's all I can say, I'm afraid. It's part of both my purpose, and my punishment." The golden-haired servant of Abadar gives his cousin a much more characteristic lopsided smile and claps him on the shoulder. "We can talk more later if you want, just lemme go get some things done for a bit." With that Taisper takes his key off his waist and clutches it in his hand as he walks back over to the table where he left his book and other tools.
The merchant looks back at Alexius before responding to Corwin, not wanting to upset his customer, especially when that customer is a "devil-worshiper." "I'm not sure. He's barely said two words since we got here. He rather gives me the chills. I have no idea what his agenda is, but he's Cheliaxan - it can't be good." He focuses on the road ahead of them, not wanting to dwell on the strange man riding behind them.
The hours pass silently and slowly. Rothland makes no more attempts at small talk, and Alexius does not pick up the slack on it. The uninteresting traveler simply puts his head back against the wagon and tries to sleep. Despite the road's occasional bumpiness, he seems to have some success.
As it begins to darken, Alder calls the wagon to a halt. "I guess this is where we're camping tonight. We'll proceed in the morning. I'm no great cook, but I'll see what I've got in the stores." As Corwin goes about putting together a fire for them, Debesti finds a few loaves of bread and some decent-looking cheese to share, as well as a skin of wine for the customers. He hesitatingly decides to offer some to Corwin as well, torn between the relative expense of the wine and his desire to not offend his potential business associate. Rothland in particular seems to tear into the food, slurping and gulping it down quickly.
The late evening sky is vast and quiet. Things are quiet on the southern frontier of Brevoy.
Rothland has a small dagger tucked into the folds of his jacket. He's also wearing a subtle leather armor under his shirt. It's a bit unusual, as he really doesn't seem the type to have either.
The merchant looks back at Alexius before responding to Corwin, not wanting to upset his customer, especially when that customer is a "devil-worshiper." "I'm not sure. He's barely said two words since we got here. He rather gives me the chills. I have no idea what his agenda is, but he's Cheliaxan - it can't be good." He focuses on the road ahead of them, not wanting to dwell on the strange man riding behind them.
Corwin lets it go, pretty much what he expected. Gods. Cheliaxans. Nobles and devil worshippers, now theres a mix. He tried to imagine his family dressing up in black and sacrificing the smallfolk to otherworldy creatures. He couldn't quite do it... maybe Alexey.
His attention goes back to his horse who is doing its best to run him against a hedge, the boundary of some farmer's land. Gah!
As it begins to darken, Alder calls the wagon to a halt. "I guess this is where we're camping tonight. We'll proceed in the morning. I'm no great cook, but I'll see what I've got in the stores." As Corwin goes about putting together a fire for them, Debesti finds a few loaves of bread and some decent-looking cheese to share, as well as a skin of wine for the customers. He hesitatingly decides to offer some to Corwin as well, torn between the relative expense of the wine and his desire to not offend his potential business associate. Rothland in particular seems to tear into the food, slurping and gulping it down quickly.
The late evening sky is vast and quiet. Things are quiet on the southern frontier of Brevoy.
Not minding playing the servant, Corwin proceeds with his tasks quickly and efficiently. The cool, crisp air makes him feel good. Given a decent supply of food and wine he'd prefer the country to the city any day.
He perks up further at the passing around of the wineskin. An Orlovsky vintage, Mistglen Manor, unless I miss my guess. A taste for good wine was one the few useful skills he had absorbed from House Surtova by his reckoning.
Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he does a careful circuit of the camp and checks the horses before finding his bedroll.
Eyeing Zander's bow Berrin just nods back, taking a sip of his own drink, cooling off in the hot sun. Turning back to his gear emties out his backpack and sees to his equipment, checking tha seams of his pack, the straps and buckles, seeing to the points of his fichhooks and unfurling his line to roll back up. Satisfied that everything is in working order he pulls up his footprint book and compass, leafing through the book and cleaning the compass. "Can I see your maps?" he asks Zander suddenly. Spreading them out on the table Berrin places his compass by them and starts tracing invicible lines. 'The Brevic border runs around here... This would be the edges of the western expedition. Who was on that one again?... Mountains make a nice natural border, as do thick woods...' Lost in his own thougts Berrin wonders silently if these any merit to all this talk of founding nations. 'Haven? Huh!? Well, maybee..'
As Taisper joins them on the tables Berrin looks up from the maps. "Hei Taisper, how's things? New mail? Looks good on you. A few buckles and straps and it should fit you lke an old shoe. Hei, me an' Zander were just looking over his maps. Care to join?"
Early in the afternoon, one of Kesten's men calls out, "Got a few coming in from the north!" Everyone rushes to the northern walls to look at the incoming group, which must be from Brevoy. As they look to the distant figures, they seem to hail the Trading Post with a flag. The flag has a key on a white background with three stripes above the key: the holy symbol if Abadar. Verik and Taisper exchange a look at each other. The appearance of the three stripes means that the group is headed by a senior bishop, a mid-level official in the Church's hierarchy.
"In the name of the Lawgiver, hail!" The group has a herald, one whose voice carries clearly over the distance. "His Eminence, the Bishop of Rostland and Issia, wishes permission to make entry to this outpost of civilization."
Kesten looks to Oleg, who sort of rolls his eyes and nods. "With our warmest invitation to His Eminence and his guests, please make entry." Kesten's noble upbringing is clear, shown by his smooth delivery of the honorific greetings.
The Bishop, flanked by four acolytes and his herald, makes his way into the old fort via the main southern entrance. Kesten quickly jostles his and Walthon's men to receive him, with Jemini positioned in the front. Zander takes a position on the walls, clearly displeased by such displays of "nobility". Jhod joins him, not wanting to be involved in all the pomp and regalia of "civilization". Verik and Taisper stand in the second line as representatives of Abadar.
The Bishop surveys them as he enters. An imposing man with steely blue eyes, his presence is one of power and authority. Despite being in his 60s, he looks as vital and fit as a man half his age. "Blessings of the Lawgiver be with you." His voice is equally powerful, carrying significant weight behind every syllable. "I come to observe the forward march of civilization, and to guide it if I deem fit."
"Oh, great!" Berrin mutters from atop the battlements as he spies the Adabarian flag. "Just what we needed, more pompus asses." He glances at Verik with the last comment.
Barrin makes his way slowly down from the battlements, making his distain known with frowns and shakes of his head as the men are hustled to form lines. Going over to the benches he gathers up the maps before helping himself to a tankard and siting atop the table facing the procession, he takes out a dagger and starts cleaning his nails between sips of the tankard.
Young man wakes up and stretches. For an instance he looks like a regular young man, far from his family and friends, perhaps a bit lost in the wilderness of Brevoy.
After a moment, he approaches the fire. "That bread and cheese looks delicious. May I have some? I have money to pay." He smiles almost shyly.
As the Bishop of Rostland and Issia makes his way toward Oleg's Trading Post, Jemini sighs inwardly and mumbles mostly to herself, "Verik, I blame you for this." Oh by Iomedae's beard! This could've been such a pleasant day... For a moment she considers to follow Berrin's example and nurse an orphaned tankard - but she opts to hurry to her bunk instead cleaning up a bit, trying to be as presentable as possible given the time constraints.
When the bishop with his entourage arrives, he is greeted by Jemini who radiates welcome: "Your Eminence, welcome to Oleg's Trading Post. I am Jemini of Lebeda, and grateful for your arrival. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask, I myself as well as my captain, Walthon, are at your service. This is but a fledgling outpost, but we hope it will grow into a gateway for civilization into the Stolen Lands. With your arrival here this dream has taken a great step forward."
"Hey thanks, Berrin! Glad it looks good. Hopefully it also looks just...normal." Taisper seems sort of...settled...in a way that might be difficult to describe. "I been thinking about all this holy junk and inquisitor stuff, and well, I'm gonna tone it down, focus more just on fighting. I've been way too over-the-top and it's irritated the heck out of everybody, so, I think it's time to maybe stop. I'll always worship the Master of the First Vault, but just in a more low-key way. Hahaha! Get it! 'low-key?!' Oh, that's rich. But anyway, yeah! I'd be glad to look over things with you guys, I haven't been good about following along with the mapping, so it's high-past time I pitch in, I reckon." He smiles a bit ruefully.
When the word comes down that a bishop is approaching, Taisper freezes and his face turns to ash. By the Master. They did it. Verik and Jemini really did it. They're gonna attempt to have me tried. I never imagined I would have to put Branch Immunity to the test so quickly, and so far out in the woods, here, what if I was wrong? What if, this far from the Networks and Channels, I am too exposed and alone to be assisted? Though his hands shake, the teen sets his jaw resolutely. So be it. If I am to die on this day, it is not better than I can ask for, than I probably deserve. At least that death may give me a fighting chance, or be at the hands of holy men.
As Verik rushes past he gives Taisper a pointed look. "Taisper, don't be such a layabout! A Bishop is here!"
Play along... "I know, Verik! I'm coming! Be right there!" the inquisitor nods eagerly.
Hiding his key in his pack and leaving it at the table with the rest of his things, Taisper gets up slowly, now with no visible signs on his person that he is any way affiliated with the church, and realizes he's not really sure what he should do. How far do I take this? I have no idea! In the end he packs his things up and moves up to join the mass of men in lines waiting to greet the Eminence. He wants to be close enough to hear what's going on, but blended in with everyone else. Lawgiver guide me. This is too soon!
Bishop Vinodragov seems to respond well to Jemini, as any older gentleman would towards a beautiful and charming young woman. "Ah, Jemini Lebeda. I haven't seen you in years, though I saw your sister just last week in New Stetven. It is good that this expedition is led by one of such an auspicious family. It bodes well for the forward march of civilization over the wild savagery of this frontier. Now, where is Cleric Jarrow?"
Verik hesitatingly steps forward. "I am Cleric Jarrow, humble servant of Abadar. How can I assist Your Eminence?"
The Bishop looks him up and down, somewhat disapprovingly. "I see that the rigors of the wild have caused you to neglect your clerical regalia, but that is to be expected in so wild a place. The Church in Absolom has received your request, and requested in turn that I oversee its fulfillment." He nods to his herald, who presents Verik with a book: The City Building Guide, as per his request. "I understand that you have been joining this group in their explorations of these untamed lands." His eyes bore into Verik, intense and almost accusatory.
Verik tries to maintain his dignity and decorum in the face of what is feeling more and more like an interrogation, or even an Inquisition. He spares a glance at Taisper, who has fallen in line near Kesten's men for some reason. "Yes, as I feel it is in my duty to bring civilization personally to these bandit-plagued lands. We have had great success thus far."
Vinodragov stares at him intently. "Unacceptable. It is not the place of a priest of Abadar to go traipsing into the wild, not when there are more relevant duties at home. You will curtail yourself in the future, as your task will be to oversee the construction and renovation of this location. Your talents are best utilized in organization here, not battling bandits and dragons."
Verik looks utterly shocked by this proclamation. He stutters for a moments, sputtering and speechless. However, his adherence to the rule of law wins out. "As you wish, Your Grace." He looks to the others, most specifically Jemini, as if to say, 'Do not question his decision; that will only make it worse."