Nikolai roars and strikes the ground with the broken blade as he completes his arc. The wisp flies higher and then lets out with another bolt of lightning at the Dragonlord's friend. Frustrated by the distance between he and his foe, Nikolai's fury overcomes his reason. He lifts a large stone from the water and hurls it at the wisp.
The rock sails wide and misses. Nikolai bellows his displeasure for a few seconds, but his voice grows hoarse and he stumbles as the strength drains from his legs.
Standing his ground Berrin keeps up his relentless volley of arrows, launching three at the will 'o wisp. Two sail wide but one passes through an image, leaving only one floating skull left.
Jemini swiftly crosses yonder the stream, until she judges she is out of range of enemies that may be affected by the healing effect. She eyes the wisp warily, then extends her sword straight into the heavens - the holy flames that wreathe the blade flare up and extend skyward and are met halfway from the top by a silver light that falls down to Jemini and washes out from her in a swift circular wave feels as a warm and gentle embrace on the skin.
Frustrated beyond measure at his inability to even see their foe let alone target it, Akiros has Kydal step over to the still enlarged Nikolai. Passing over his bow to the Dragon Lord Akiros says quietly, yet with strength "Here, my friend, take this, and end this chapter of evil once and for all."
As the last of the illusory decoys winks out of sight, the will-o'-wisp makes its decision. Coldly logical, it deduces that its greatest chance of survival is to flee to the northwest over the water as quickly as possible. It could retreat slowly, but that would leave it exposed for a longer period to the arrows of the attackers and the two flying opponents. It decides that probability dictates that it should risk leaving itself open to attacks from Verik and Borodin for a moment in order to create the maximum distance between itself and them.
This was the incorrect decision.
As soon as it flies backwards - for it has no back to turn - time seems to slow for both of them as Elsir's time-weaving spell reaches its finale. Verik lashes out with his warhammer right as Borodin swings with a stroke of his dueling blade. The latter slashes across its rubbery body - but the hammer hits it squarely and completely. The aberration seems to deflate, dropping out of the air as gravity takes hold. Fettered by the pull of the ground, the will-o'-wisp falls as a glittering comet through the canopy. It dissipates as it falls, leaving nothing more than a pebble-sized husk on the ground. As quickly as Berrin slew Hargulka, Verik's hammer ended the ancient alien creature - and with that the final vestige of the threat that Hargulka and his kingdom of monsters posed to civilization and humanity in Newhaven.
The near-silent fall of the wisp is interrupted by a loud and triumphant shout from up above, which those observing would not think the Banker capable of doing.
"YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!" Verik raises his warhammer high in the air above him in exultation, even as he loses momentum to hover where he is next to Borodin. Instead, he swoops down in the wake of the fallen wisp, almost chasing after its corpse to ensure the creature's demise was not another trick or illusion. Seemingly convinced, Verik lets out another shout. "Anything else you want to add there, TALK-BALLOON?" Verik would put a hand to his ear except that he wields his warhammer. "What? Nothing else to add?" Caught up in the moment, one would almost wonder if the Banker has lost his composure entirely and plans to spit on the fallen aberration, but instead seems to gather his wits and swoops around and back up to where Borodin circles near the canopy of the trees.
Reaching Borodin, Verik salutes with his warhammer and says in a more normal voice, "Praise and thanks to you Borodin, for that wretched skulker nearly had me in dire straits with his powers, and I could not manage to hold myself in the sky with the weight of my armor. I...I am glad you struck the good stroke on it and brought the beast down with me." He says the last part somewhat sheepishly, not sure of the tone of his praise or what Borodin will do with it in response.
Borodin has a bemused smile at Verik's exuberance. He has sheathed Augur by the time the Banker is back up in the canopy with him.
"No thanks are necessary my friend, for any of you would do the same for me I am sure of it. Besides, I've always been light on my feet so I wasn't too worried about that lightning. Why, there was this time when I was running from the guard.." Borodin's once smiling face suddenly turns neutral as he stops abruptly in mid sentence. Verik can see his posture change subtly but his smile returns quickly. He slaps the Banker on the shoulder and says.
"Sorry. I don't mean to bore you with tales of my wretched childhood. Come, let's join the others and see what our combined might has wrought."
With that, Borodin slowly floats down to the forest floor to get a better look at the ruins of the once mighty Hargulka.
Following the wisps fall with his bow, looking down an arrow nocked and drawn to his cheek, Berrin releases a breath he'd been holding when Verik whoops and flies back to Borodin. Relaxing the arrow Berrin's world seems to slow down as Elsir's magics leave him, blinking a few times he feels almost lethargic as his thundering heartbeat slows down and he seems to sag a little.
Tearing off his helmet a wide grin is spread out on his face and he raises the helmet high and cheers for Verik and Borodin as they descend. Greeting them with hugs and claps on the back when they come to inspect Hargulkas corpse.
Tearing his sword from the dead trolls chest Berrin turns to his risen horse and, walking up to the skittish beast, dropping his helmet, sword and bow on the banks of the stream, wades out and embraces the horse in a long, solid hug. "Darn, stupid beast. Don't ever do that again, you hear. You gave me such a fright old boy, scared me to death. It's alright now, it's alright, we won, your safe, your safe." he mutters with his face pressed into Valnyr's neck, patting him as he speaks, calming both himself and the horse in the process.
The soldiers are abuzz with excitement and joy. They had marched out of Sanctuary grimly, knowing that they would likely be outnumbered on the field of battle. When the battle started, it seemed hopeless that they would do more than stall the enemy. None of them, save perhaps their beloved general, thought that they would win the battle. When they surged forward in the wake of the death of the minotaur champion, they smashed the monstrous army on the bridge. The adrenaline and joy of victory followed, and the army restlessly waits for the return of their leaders. They had followed Hargulka south into the forest, followed by the cavalry led by Aylene Myrdal.
Just over two hours later, the troops on the southern edge of the loose crowd stand up and start cheering and whooping. The word of the Founders' return spreads quickly through the army of Newhaven, leading to a wild collective cheer. Bloody, tired, and victorious, the Founders ride proudly through the ranks of men and women who fought for them at Hydra Bridge. They praise Jemini Lebeda, their noble regent; Nikolai Rogarvia, their champion; Verik Jarrow, their healer; Akiros Ismort, their inspiration; Elsir Tel'ran and Borodin Loginov, new additions to their leaders; and finally Berrin and Aylene Myrdal, their commanders.
Strung between eight of the accompanying knights is the massive corpse of the king of the trolls, a still-red-hot shard of a sword between his tusks. The soldiers stand up across the battlefield, running towards their leaders to shower them in glory and praise despite their exhaustion. A few hundred captured enemies - mostly kobolds and lizardmen, but not a single troll or hobgoblin - stand corralled at the edge of the battle.
The Founders carry the body to the bridge, where the hundreds of soldiers rush to create a formation. They stand and cheer as the Founders - not a single one killed in the terrible battle - arrive at the blood-soaked bridge and turn to address the troops. The soldiers back up from pressing in on them, where they were shaking hands and petting the horses, in order to hear anything their victorious leaders might have to say.
Verik hears the roar of the soldiers, the victorious men and women of Newhaven. Like Dragonshead before it, the Battle of Hydra's Bridge would be set into the histories of Newhaven...and well beyond its borders. Even more than Dragonshead he surmised, given the length of the battle and the many acts of bravery and sacrifice that have occurred.
As they stood there with the corpse of Hargulka, relishing in the sheer glory of the moment, Verik knows that sometimes the histories need a push in the proper direction. They all shared in the victory, but it was important to be clear about those moments. After all, Verik knows from experience that whatever truth he writes in the official records are not what gets spoken of in the taverns, trails and even the halls of the mighty.
Verik steps forward and raises his hands to gain the most visible attention, raising his voice and setting his cadence to that of practiced oratory. "Soldiers of Newhaven! Listen to my words! Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters of Newhaven! Hear me!" He waits a practiced moment, continuing to wave his hands downward to lower their cheers and chatter, and then continues. "Soldiers and citizens of our land! I speak to you not as the Banker of Abadar, but as High Cleric of all of Newhaven on this occasion! Know you that whichever of the Gods you hold most dear in your prayers this day, they have smiled upon you and our cause! Victory on this day, belongs to all of you!"
A thunderous cheer rumbles in waves across the bridge and fields on either side of the river, though it is quickly quieted down as Verik continues his introduction. He has their ear, and now seeks to turn it to the champions. "My brothers and sisters! Know that the Gods have witnessed this victory, and its stories will be spoken for all-time - know that you will speak of your part of this battle to your families, children and grandchildren! You see here before you the vile corpse of the fallen Hargulka, the final to fall to our righteous fury!" He sweeps a hand to his left and right to indicate all of the Founders. "All of us had a hand in his demise, but know you that your Champion, Nikolai Rogarvia, struck the first telling blows with arrow and blade to rend his flesh." Another cheer goes up, and some call Dragonlord in their fervor. "Yet, YET WARRIORS of NEWHAVEN! That is not the end of the story! For Hargulka struck a grievous blow, empowered by fell magic, and nearly laid your Champion low, and all that had been gained was nearly undone! But for ANOTHER Champion, who did not succumb to his own fierce wounds, who took his own MIGHTY BLADE and with a great series of hewing strokes CUT DOWN the once-haughty Hargulka and ended his miserable reign! Your GENERAL, who took the shard of sundered Dragonsbreath and drove it in his gaping maw to which you see it now! Under witness of the Gods I speak of your General, your commander, the slayer of the Troll-King! Hear now from Berrin Myrdal!"
Riding slowly through the throng of men a wave of relief washes over the general and a satisfied smile plasters itself on his face, the battle was over and he was still alive. Looking over those he was riding with his eyes come to rest on Aylene and he amends his thinking, they were still alive. Staring at Aylene a good spell as they finish their leisured ride to the bridge Berrin is quick to dismount and rush over to Aylene before she dismount, grabbing her by the waist he lift her, armor and all, clear of her horse and puts her down facing him, earning a pleasant quip from Aylene he pulls her close and kisses her deeply, drawing hoots and whistles from the body of men and smiles from the armored knights.
Releasing Aylene from a long kiss he leans in and whispers "I love you." into her ear before turning to the now ordered army as Verik speaks to them. Listening to his words Berrin runs through the battle again in his mind, reliving briefly the terror and desperation and the hate and anger he had felt in those brief moments that had felt like an eternity. As Verik calls Berrin to the stage Berrin face screws up in shock and his first instinct is to turn and run, public speaking had never been his calling, he had given talks but now?
As the waves of cheers wash over Berrin and the look in the soldiers faces register in Berrin's mind, the feeling of elation comes back to him and he strides forward with both fists in the air and roars at them, drawing a resounding reply, filled with that victorious elation, from the men. Grinning, Berrin can't help a swell of pride as he looks over the army. Who would have believed it? A fighting force, strong and disciplined, men who fought of an army of monsters, under his command. Berrin's old Sergeant must be turning in his grave right now, Berrin assumed he was dead anyway. Gritting his teeth he pumps his fists a few times, drunk on victory and pride.
When the roaring and cheering has gone on for some time Berrin lowered one hand and opened up the other, calling for silence with a somber face. Letting the noise die down Berrin waits a few moments, making sure he has their attention before speaking. Lowering his hand he draws a deep breath, spreads his legs, puts his hands behind his back and sticks out his chest, standing tall before the army.
"Men, of Newhaven!" he begins, his voice echoing over the crowd. , of Newhaven! looking over the gathered he sees his pride reflected in every face he sees. "The day is won! We have won! The enemy is routed, their leaders dead. We have answered the evil that came knocking on Newhavens gates and. We. Have. " stepping forward he punches a fist in the air and near screams the last, drawing a cheer from the crowd Berrin starts pacing back and forth, waving his hands and inciting another round of wild cheering.
"Look at him!" he says pointing at Hargulka. "You did this! You joined this army to defend your homes, you trained and you trained, you fought dragons and now you've marched miles to meet monsters in the field and routed them. Each and every one of you lot! You rose to the challenge. You claimed your right to live on these lands as free men. You have made a statement. You have said; We will not be bullied! We will not cower! We will stand up and fight for our home! You did this. You. You. And you!" pointing a finger for emphasis another cheer runs trough the army. Berrin lets it run it's course, grinning at the soldiers. This was good. This was perfect. The day was theirs, but then, a shadow still loomed over them.
Growing somber he raises his hands again for silence, calming the cheering. Unsure how to proceed he knew that there was still much work to be done.
"But..." he says, raising a finger, "...all is not done. Newhaven was founded to be a beacon of hope, a place were goodly folk of all races could start a life anew, a land of opportunity and peace. But some do not see our ideals as something to follow, nurture and encourage. Some see us as a thorn, sticking in their sides, pawns to be used for their own ends. You see, Hargulka had a master, just as the dragons had Choral he had a Queen, the Winter Queen. A wicked fey witch, bent on overrunning us, bent on Newhavens, and all of Brevoys, subjugation. They are at odds, those two, Choral and the Winter Queen. They seek to destroy one another as much as we seek to be free of their conflict." Suddenly dry in the mouth Berrin puts his hands on his hips and surveys the men. The mood had grown somber.
Looking at them for a few moments Berrin draws his greatsword and gently puts the tip into the dirt, holding it before him. "I have fought for many years now for this country, we all have.." Berrin gestures behind him, encompassing the founders, "..and you know that we work day and night to ensure Newhavens growth, stability and survival. So.. I put my sword before you. This is my sword, the sword taken of the Stag Lords corpse at the battle of Stagfall, before he was raied to redemption by our first founder, Jemini, before he became Nikolai Rogarvia, the Dragon Lord, our champion. This is the sword I raised to fight off the dragons, this is the sword that brought Hargulka to the ground. This is my sword and this is my promise to you, this is my boast; I will not rest, none of us will, till both Choral and the Winter Queen, along with any other evil that threatens Newhaven, in whatever form it takes, lies buried in the ground, dead. Now.." Berrin yanks the sword up from the ground and sheathes it, steps over to Hargulka's corpse and gives it a kick. "..drag this sorry carcass and those of his lieutenants up onto that bloody ridge and string them up for all to see. Let this be the last job you do before we head back home as victors, let their bodies serve as a warning to those who would enter Newhaven with evil intent, let them serve as a testament to the mettle of the men of Newhaven." Having given the order Berrin finds himself at a loss for more words, looking over to Aylene Berrin heads back into the crowd of the founders to find Valnyr's reins and Aylenes hand to hold.
Verik fades back behind Berrin as he addresses his soldiers, looking briefly at the expression of Nikolai before standing near where both he and Jemini are located on the south side of the bridge. He looks at Nikolai twice very briefly, his mouth almost seeming to work silently at words that he does not utter, weighing them.
Finally, Verik does speak in a low voice to Nikolai, though he continues to look straight at Berrin even as he utters the words. "I did not do that to slight you, Nikolai. I spoke truth that Berrin brought Hargulka down...besides which Newhaven will need more than one hero to be remembered this day. Your great deeds today will already be immortalized in tales and songs of legend."
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he adds, "You should speak to them after Berrin, for I know they wish to hear more of what you would desire to say."
When the final blow is struck against the wisp, Jemini shudders. Her shoulders sag a little with relief and she exhales deeply before breathing in her lungs full of the new chapter that would surely come for Newhaven now. She looks to her companions. Akiros, Berrin, Borodin, Elsir, Nikolai and Verik. The ranks upon ranks of overjoyed soldiers behind them. Cheers upon cheers, the soldiers celebrate their champions. Jemini, too, is cheering - but tears well through her eyes and stream down her cheeks. I was afraid, so afraid to lose one of you. Blessed Iomedae! Blessed Sarenrae! That this battle has come at so small a price - this is the hand of the gods at work. She kneels down and prays, tears mingling with the happiest smile.
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Despite all that has transpired in the last few days, perhaps no one is prepared when Verik speaks to the Dragonlord in low tones. The huge man effortlessly reaches out to grab Verik by the back of the neck and slams his armored body into his own bloodied chest. The embrace is loud and firm, as Nikolai wraps his wounded arms around the cleric, lowering his head to whisper in Verik's ear.
"No apologies, priest. Not today. We won it for them. For her."
Nikolai Rogarvia releases the embrace, only to step to Akiros and Borodin. He extends a hand to Elsir, and nods to one soldier after another, punctuating Berrin's words with his own approval.
Berrin stops and looks at Aylene at the exact moment Nikolai releases from another hug and looks at Jemini.
The silence is deafening to him. The moment long and tortured and laid bare for everyone to see as the assembly waits for the next hero to speak.
The men are still cheering in the back, but he can hear it fading. Wind rushes past his bleeding ears to brush her face, lifting her hair slowly. The light form the sun centers on her, highlighting her eyes, her skin pure in tiny, tearstained streaks down her face.
He cannot break her gaze just yet, but he must. He forces the decision for the hundredth time.
"I am not your champion," he says in the awkward silence. The address begun, he turns his head to look over the men. He steps toward them, dirty, bleeding, and weary. His words are loud because of his size, but not the boasting of a celebrant. He speaks loud enough to be heard, and nothing more.
"A champion is virtuous. He is loved. He embodies everything great about the people who love him. I am none of these today. I was a murderer. I was tortured by our enemies from a young age and driven to darkness by his whim. If I face death in your defense, it is because I owe each of you that and more. I can never reclaim my crimes, and because of that, I will never forget them. And I will never fail to stand between your home, and the sword of your enemies.
I never lived as one who toiled the earth, and defended his loved ones and kept his own keep. I never declared my love for one woman and fought every day just to honor her and my fathers. I am not your champion, today, men and women of Newhaven. Today, you are my champions.
I envy your virtues. It takes little courage for me to lift a flaming sword and bring death to my enemies. Courage is in the man who trains every day to defend the man next to him. Today, you didn't choose me to fight for you because you honor me. Today, I fought to spare the lives of noble men like yourselves. Men whom I aspire to measure against in some small way. You are all my champions, and my brothers. And I thank you all for winning this war together, and for your mercy in letting me stand for you."
He looks at the line of friends behind him, then back out to the crowd. His blade is fractured, and produces only a hint of the flame it did before its sundering. But he lifts it hi overhead and summons enough emotion to shout. turning the modd beck to one of revelry.
"For all of you! For Jemini! For NewhaveeeeN!"
After both seeing and living through several events this day that defied explanation, Verik was nevertheless stunned at Nikolai's reaction and words to him. He could only nod in perfect agreement. A day of days to be sure.
As Nikolai moves forward to greet the others, the look to her is not lost upon Verik. He has seen it before, twice in fact. Suspected it before then, though much of that was due to petty jealously after the Return. Verik does nothing of course but watch the lingering reaction, and then he begins to speak to the soldiers. Speaks to them humbly as a man transformed. Yet another event of this historic day that defies common belief.
If logic is to be counted on in the short-term, Jemini will not miss the opportunity herself to speak to her people. Possibly Akiros or one of the others would try their hand at it as well, to relish in the victory. No longer do they need any aid from the Banker of Abadar or High Cleric of Newhaven. Time enough then to do what must be done, what he cannot ignore any longer. He looks to the north bank past the crowds of soldiers to where he believes some of his Keysworn and Vaultmen are assembled.
Smiling without mirth in his eyes, he nods to Borodin in politeness as he moves past him and slowly winds his way through cheering soldiers and off the bridge to the northern side, even as Nikolai's voice rises in answer to the cheers.
09/4710
The month following the Battle of Hydra Bridge was a solemn time for the populace of Newhaven, with the battle fresh in their minds, efforts were made to soothe the inevitable aches of families of the men and women lost in the battle. A graveyard was consecrated in Sanctuary to hold the fallen in a ceremony led by High Cleric Verik Jarrow, an orphanage was established and overseen by the First-founder Jemini Lebeda and added housing was built for the, surprisingly, still growing populace. Efforts were made to expand Newhavens borders toward their allies in the east, Varnhold, and the ruined Erastilian Temple was annexed into Newhaven territory and the area cleared for settlement.
With the troll threat dispatched Jabber, now chief of the Sootscales, announced within a week of the battle that his kobolt tribe would join Newhaven as citizens, assuring concerned parties that any wrong doers and doubtful among the Sootscales had died in the battle of Hydra Bridge or shortly there after.
10/4710
With the area around the ruined Erastilian temple cleared and the intentions to rebuild it announced and verified, Magistrate Jhod Kvaken announced his resignation from council and his intentions of accepting the offer of the local Erastilian clergy to take up the mantle of High Priest and assume the leadership of White Hart and it's surrounding area. Going with the blessing of the council and the resources to to build the temple and housing for a budding hamlet everything seemed in order as Elsir Tel'arn was raised to the council in his place.
Efforts continued to connect Newhavens border to Varnhold and to solidify it's infrastructure of roads and farm.
As the month drew on voices started to become louder and louder, voicing concern that the Erastilians had lost their voice in the council, refusing to listen to High Priest Jarrow's assurances that every faith had it's voice on the council through him as High Priest a sizable number of the clergy made camp in front of the Temple of All-Faiths in peaceful protest insisting that the High Cleric pay them more heed and take their concerns seriously. Thinking to come to the clerics aid, General Myrdal rode out with three units of Newhavens First intent on dispersing the crowd with words, his message was met with leers and jeers and thrown dirt along with the rising of angry voices. With one thing leading to the next more than one nose was bloodied and the result was a rallying of persons taking to the streets in the Erastilians support.
Neth - 11/4710
"That's preposterous! Abolish taxes once even for a so-called holiday and that will only lead..."
Verik's protest is cut short by the sudden rise of Jemini from the Founder's Council table, her icy stare and curt gesture of one hand all that is needed to silence him. Hal had just concluded his assessment of the protests and recommended both a well-publicized tax "holiday" as well as promoting a larger number of formally-recognized festivals in order to prove the goodwill of the Founders.
Verik is nearly in awe over her ability to chastise him over the escalating events of the past month with but hardly a word spoken in anger. Both he and Berrin had felt the sting of her disapproval after the so-called "incident" with the Erastil supporters a fortnight before. As famous as Berrin's shouting matches with Aylene had become at times, he confided to the men that it was nothing as when Jemini was chillingly disappointed in him.
"We know very well your opinion on taxes Verik. Yet I am interested in the preservation of Newhaven before these demonstrations give rise to anarchic rebellion. I must leave within the hour, so let us dispense with the rhetoric and put it to vote." Indeed, Jemini was dressed in her warmer traveling garb to take to the roads that day for the north with Svetlana, a full-fortnight tour to quell discontent starting with White Hart and Jhod.
The vote is not even close - only Oleg votes against the tax holiday with Verik on sheer principal, with Verik the lone dissenter on the increased festivals measure - Verik notes sourly that Olegsgrav's inns and taverns stand to gain handsomely from the measure, but Jemini intercedes before any response could be had from it.
"That's settled then. Gentlemen, the declarations and funding are to be handled without delay, so please give this your full attention. I go now to speak to yet another man who should know better." With a final cool look to Verik to make her point clear, Jemini adjourns the Council.
In Neth 4710 as harvests have finished and the first winter storms from the north buffet the realm, the ongoing Erastil-Abadar feud enters its second month and demands the full attention of the Founders. A twin-themed approach is used to deal with the upheaval: Jemini and Svetlana lead a public relations effort to visit the communities between Sanctuary and Olegsgrav, including White Hart to bring Jhod away from the rhetoric that feeds the malcontents. As part of this campaign, a tax "holiday" has been declared for a time as well as several full festival periods recognized (and paid) by the realm. Meanwhile, Akiros moves swiftly to complete the move of his guardsmen to their new facilities in northern Sanctuary - including a new jail and guard tower to visibly enforce the penalties of breaking the law. Olegsgrav is reinforced with more guardsmen and a new barracks to house them, as the population growth of the border trade town threatens to get out of control if a formal city watch and patrols are not added.
Even Jhod realizes the dangers of letting the dispute grow out-of-hand, with some so-called "supporters" voicing wild opinions against the Founders and the realm that he finds objectionable. To reinforce the positive image of the Founders in White Hart (and send a clear message), Jhod has a prominent monument sculpted from a fallen tree on the west side of his grand park, one which depicts the original Founders in their lifting the curse of the old temple ruins - Jemini, Berrin, Zander, Tandlara, Taisper and Verik are all represented. Yet in a final creative snub the likeness of Verik is set apart from the others in the sculpture, allowing for "decoration" to affect it without marring the other likenesses - mud, rotten food and other matter is heaped on and around it and becomes a new pastime for visitors and locals alike.
Despite the upheaval, the spread of new homesteads occurs in the south near the Tuskwater, its hardy and capable homesteaders capitalizing on the opening of those lands since the obliteration of the trolls and lizardmen at Hydra's Bridge that fall. More lands are expected to be opened up before the winter's thaws, well in time for new plantings.
Kuthona - 12/4710
It should be burned to the ground.
Verik walks through the main "street" of the series of ramshackle huts and hovels - the main thoroughfare is far from straight, winding back and forth like a snake with indigestion, even doubling back on itself at one point near the end where it stops at the largest structure. The Banker wrinkles his nose and steps over a snow-covered pile of...something...as he walks with a jabbering Jabber, who is excitedly pointing out various features of the new ward of the Sootscales. Proud of names nearly as much for their neighborhood as for themselves, the kobolds have taken to call this place the "Scales" and despite the cold have made rapid progress beyond the half-completed stone wall which ends the Temple Ward and starts their own.
It should be burned to the ground. Truly, that might happen of its own accord anyway. Scrapwood and cracked blocks of stone are set together with mud clay, sticky tar pitch and occasional bits of rope, the only saving grace from a northern wind not knocking them down is that they are fairly low to the level of the ground. A constant smell of burned animal dung cheerfully puffs out from many of the structures in a low lying haze. Verik realizes most of the living quarters have been dug into the earth - he has no idea how the Sootscales have managed it without proper digging tools in the hardening winter ground - with some even having tunnels that connect one or more structures together. Yet there are also rope-bridge catwalks that connect other hovels together up high with rickety platforms, giving vantage points on multiple levels by the Sootscales that make no sense to any but a kobold. Jabber continues talking while waving to several of his people who have come out to watch them. Verik nods absently, his mind turning over in what he can do to change this wreck of a development.
It is not as if the Sootscales had money to buy proper supplies, even if they knew how to build with them. Now he realizes why Jabber and the other leading kobolds were so keenly interested in the new dumping grounds for Sanctuary just east of here. Without his insistence they would have built this in and around the dump directly, regarding it not as refuse as a human would, but as a treasure mine from expert scavengers. Verik was correct that many of the Sootscales would find excellent work manning and maintaining the dump of the city. He just failed to realize they would use half of it to build their community.
"Is Banker Jarrrr-ow pleased with Jabber? With Sootscales good homes yes?" Jabber has completed his tour and turns to Verik to see what he thinks about their accomplishments, even as more snow starts to fall. Dozens of kobolds from various hovels peer out at him, waiting for his next words.
It should be burned. Burned down and started over. The only reason why the citizens of Newhaven would not be piling petitions at the town hall in droves is because the new defensive wall obscures it, being past the graveyard grounds of Pharasma which does not see traffic. Winter is setting in fast. The Sootscales regard this disaster as a palace by their standards. Verik sighs and then locks his face in a forced smile.
"I am pleased by your hard work, Jabber. Well done...yes ahh...to all of you Sootscales here...well done." The toothy-grinned hoots and shouts echo from a dozen places in reply, with Jabber doing almost a capering kind of dance. The Scales have arrived.
With winter in full effect, the last month of the year nevertheless sees the raising of the defensive wall (City Wall east) that will eventually ring three sides of the town. Yet new grounds have been cleared (2nd District East) and set aside for more rural use for the communities that surround Sanctuary - plans for stockyards are in motion for the next year. For now, a much-needed dumping ground (Dump) has been established, along with the kobolds new "ward" of the Scales (Tenement) just beyond the wall. Also the water supply (Cistern) has been expanded and solidified with the kobolds' help at Sanctuary Castle, offering a steadier supply to inhabitants of the town besides collecting from the Tuskwater or melting snowfall.
Olegsgrav sees a growth of its permanent-dwellers around the grand market as winter sets in, a surge of craftsmen, laborers and artisans that may put the border town on the map beyond being merely a waypoint to the trade routes.
Jemini is back from her tour around the realm, focusing more negotiation efforts on investment in Sanctuary from Brevoy as well as offering new land opportunities to those that want to make Newhaven their home. On a quieter note the tax "holiday" is over, but still set to extremely low levels as an incentive.
In the south, the expansion of new farmlands along the southeastern shores of the Tuskwater beyond the Gudrin continues. A true land boom, the migrants from other lands both north and south account for much of it, as well as lands granted to veterans for their part in Hydra's Bridge. The spring planting season promises to bring an unprecedented amount of traffic alongside and through Lake Tuskwater.
"Verik, what do you mean 'there's no time'? We've just spend all morning catching up on matters of the realm and you quite pointedly ensured that even tomorrow's agenda was exhaustively and preemptively addressed 'while we're all here'." Jemini cocks her head in mock disapproval. "I've been told - your words no less - that the place is nothing short of the maelstrom made manifest outside our doors, but children seem to love it all the more for it. I've been gone for too long to have missed this development and it would be remiss on my part to not go immediately. Given that it is a very real possibility to get lost in that place - as I gather from the report on the missing-then-found Weaverly kids - I will need someone that has their bearings and is familiar with the place. No! No more 'buts' and 'ahs' -" Jemini hooks an arm into Verik's and gleams with excited energy as she drags him onward, "we're going! We're going to the Scales!"
This I got to see. Berrin cracks a lopsided grin at Jemini's insistence of touring the Scales, Berrin had seen them, and he wasn't keen on going again, but this he had to see.
"Yeah Verik, no time like the present eh? You must be exited to show off how well you've 'civilized' the kobolts." With an emphasis on civilized the sarcasm drips from Berrin's voice as he gets up to follow them to the Scales.
"The lack of time for my part had nothing to do with the mundane logistics of tomorrow's Founder's Council, but rather with an invitation by the Second Sword of Iomedae to discuss arrangements for a meeting with the newly arrived priestess of Pharasma...oh well nevermind as I conclude that's just now been cancelled." Verik grumbles sourly as it is clear to him Jemini doesn't really care about his explanation in her own exuberance on the matter, though he does not relent one bit on walking arm-in-arm with her out of the hall. "You do realize the Sootscales have made the proverbial fish stew out of fishguts, correct?" Verik seems to mull over his last words and adds absently, "It's possible they are actually using real fishguts in their so-called construction..."
Looking back at Berrin who trails along with that irritating grin upon his face, the Banker supplies a retort with an equal dose of sarcasm. "What? Not bringing Aylene along to make this even more entertaining for you? How about Reggie or the horse?"
"Aylene? Good idea!" Gesturing over a messenger Berrin leans in and whispers in his ear, sending him on his way to fetch his wife.
"They'll join us at the perimeter." Berrin says smugly.
"Now now, I don't want this to be a formal visit," Jemini admonishes, "formal visits only really hit the main public places - I want to see what is inside. Maybe we'll get invited for supper by a nice kobold family."
The messenger halts at Jemini's words and looks at Berrin who's face has adopted a grimace at the the thought of a kobolt cooked dinner, he'd ridden past the tenements several times to survey the new building grounds cleared east of the main district to investigate the prospect of raising a more militarized zone, a smithy, stable and perhaps to help Akiros and Borodin's dream of an Aldori dueling school, Berrin supported the idea fullheartedly but he had ideas of his own about what would be taught there, tactics, mass combat and leadership. If proficient commanders could be recruited there then Berrin was all for the idea, but the smell emanating from the tenements made food the last thing to come to his mind.
Glancing at the messenger he shakes his head and shrugs, maybe bringing Aylene was a bad idea, of course not inviting her was a bad idea as well, that could bring a whole new level of problems on Berrin's head.
Looking like he bit into something sour Berrin's train of thought takes him far away and comes to the conclusion that he needs a beer. Sighing he looks to Jemini and Verik to lead the way.
Verik adjusts his white cloak irritably to both ward off the cold and keep it from being soiled in the snow-covered mud as he, Jemini and Berrin walk up to the new stone-and-iron gate at the eastern wall of Sanctuary. Already nicknamed the "Scalesgate" by the posted guardsmen, there are always men assigned to its watch - men who are surprised as they see the First Founder, Captain-General and High Cleric of Newhaven (without escort) greet them and pass through the gatehouse. One guard tries to insist that they should wait until an escort detail can be put together to accompany them beyond the wall, but Jemini politely waves them off back to their duties like a mother hen to her flock. The three pass on into the newly laid-out eastern district of the town on a well-marked dirt road.
"The refuse pits on the far side are already in operation thanks to the Sootscales - for the most part the lake winds carry the smell north and east away from town - and eventually we will have a rural market out there with grain silos and pens for livestock, which should help the surrounding farmsteads immensely. As for the Sootscales...well here we are at their 'entrance' I suppose." Verik stops at a rough track that detours north into what could have been mistaken for the dump itself - two piles of mis-mashed wooden boxes and beams that form something of a ramshackle ceremonial "gate" with a winding track beyond into disheveled hovels. The outer boundary of the "Scales" is evident as the kobolds have formed an outer ring of hovels to act almost as a wall, but with small spaces between some of the "buildings" to allow egress for those of their size. Even here the smell of burning dung is strong enough to bring Verik to fetch a kerchief from his vestments and put it to his nose and mouth. "Lovely. Shall we go inside then?"
Originally the soldier-citizens of Newhaven (under the planning of Verik and chief architect Galen Laviil) constructed two neat rows of low barracks-style buildings for the freed Sootscale population to occupy, even as laws and plans were being made for their oversight and incorporation into the population. Some of those buildings are still intact, but most were soon stripped of their wood and stone to fashion what is now the "Scales" borough, nearly doubling its size. The main path through the Scales winds purposely like a snake between what were the old double rows of buildings. Jemini and Berrin can see that most of the kobold-crafted houses, hovels and huts have no doors to them - though many have planks of wood that serve to keep the chill air out, yet allow smoke to exit from the interior. Most hovels are dark and lack lighting other than low hearth-fires, but where they can see in it is clear the kobolds have mostly dug into the ground for their interiors, bringing their ground floors several feet down from ground level. Interestingly, this serves to provide them with extra warmth and protection from the extremes of cold, heat or wind. The excavated earth from their homes seemingly has been used to make a clay-mud to shore up cracks or gaps in their haphazard construction, as well as to block up spaces between homes to disallow obvious access outside their borough. Most edifices are low and one-story, but in a few places a second level has been added in the form of twisted balconies and gazebos - with some connected to each other across the paths with rope bridges that could not be possibly safe except to a smaller creature. Added to all of this are scraps of debris from the new dump tacked on to decoration and accent. The Sootscales have shown their sheer excellence for scavenging. Everywhere the smoke of burning dung snakes out through doorways and ceiling holes, the kobold's primary fuel for hearth-fires and ovens. The nearby farmsteads have clearly provided a cheap and abundant resource to the Sootscales, who evidently have no sense of smell or aversion to animal waste to heat their homes and cook their food.
As the trio pass through the warrens, they realize they have not seen a single Sootscale out and about. Initially thinking they are simply shy or dwelling deep in their homes because of the cold, it becomes clear after a few twists and turns that their places seem to be deserted. The conundrum is resolved however as they turn another corner to what amounts to their main "square" at the end of the path. Jemini, Berrin and Verik suddenly come face-to-face with dozens of the Sootscale population, all out in the open air and arrayed to greet them, with Jabber at the head of the congregation. He shouts several quick works in their draconic kobold-speak and they all put their arms out and bow to the Founders.
It would be endearing if not for the fact that as they bow their eyes remain fixed on the trio, and their attempts to smile show large amounts of snouts with sharp teeth, creating a rather unsettling visage. It is clear though that the kobolds' greeting is genuine and not an attempt to intimidate them or have them for a meal.
At its conclusion Jabber steps forward proudly and says in their tongue, "Welcome to home of Sootscales! You very welcome to see us! We knew you come, yes we did! Eyessss see you come! Yes! Eyessss see you!" Jabber ends his last statement with a knowing half-chortle as if sharing in a grand joke, though it is not immediately apparent as to what he means.
Feeling an involuntary shudder at Jabber's drawn out mention of eyes watching the Boyar's grin, which had started to fade as they made their way through the 'tenements' of the Sootscale tribe, went away completely. Pulling his fur-lined, blue cloak tighter Berrin glances around, wondering how many there were that he couldn't see, hiding in the rubble they called home.
Forcing a smile Berrin, unable to altogether hide his discomfort from his face, addresses Jabber. "Hah!" he fake laughs, wondering what the joke was. "Yes, errm.. we're here. Jemini was so keen to see your new home and I just had to come along... To, err, see you as well, of course.. erm.. Jem?" Raising an eyebrow he looks to Jemini, trying to gauge her reactions to what was effectively Sanctuaries first slum.
Jemini radiates delight as they enter the Scales and impossibly it increases even more when they encounter their welcoming party. She gives an earnest nod in return to the collective kobold greeting and breaks into a dazzling smile as she addresses Jabber and his Sootscales: "Thank you! I am genuinely happy to see the Sootscales have found and made themselves such a grand home in the heart of our efforts - it speaks to what is possible when we look and treat each other as more than our respective races. Jabber, kobolds of New Haven, allow me to thank you for your contributions for your efforts to secure and develop New Haven. I hope to see the Sootscales thrive, and Jabber - if you please keep up the good work with Verik here, he won't say a word of it but he too relies on you a little. ...thank you."
Jabber beams with delight at the words of praise, though it is clear that most of the others do not understand what Jemini said to have a reaction to it, except by way of her expressive demeanor. Jemini does pick up the draconic word "Kimreka" several times as they regard her, in some cases pointing and speaking low to each other.
Jabber bows again to the Founders - prompting about half the others to do the same in confused fashion - and then says to them, "Jabber thanks very much for you believe in us. We earn. I teach them ways. Let me shows you Eyessss." Jabber calls out in a louder voice. "Eyesss. Eyesss?" A few moments go by and the new chieftain taps his foot in irritation. "EYESSSS! Cuka rara omd kruv aeuirkark!"
Several of the other kobolds begin chanting and calling for "Eyessss" as well, though Berrin and Jemini spot some of the other kobolds - females most probably by the way they clutch several younglings amongst them - usher in the younger ones out of the cold and back into a few nearby hovels. Others stand where they are but shiver in the winter's air. It suddenly occurs to Berrin and Jemini that most of the kobolds lack proper clothing - while Jabber wears a loose garnache-style cloak and a fine leather belt, most others wear only a blanket with arm and neck holes punched through them, or a re-purposed sack, or nothing at all. None wear shoes. Most of the males do wear some sort of makeshift or actual crafted belt however, with tools or small weapons sheathed. To their eyes the Sootscales have red scales as the most common, with black scales being the next common and hues of blue or green being much more rare - perhaps something akin to rarity of eye or hair color in humans. There are no white-scaled Sootscales as far as they can tell.
The hooting and calling for "Eyessss" grows louder as finally a black-scaled shorter kobold comes through the gathering and carefully approaches the Founders to where Jabber is, looking wary and somewhat afraid. Jabber reassuringly puts a clawed hand on his shoulder and says proudly. "This is Eyessss. Eyessss is scout, very very very good scout and watcher. He see anything Founders need seeing. Has earned his name in tribe, as all must do to show worth and...vaaluuue...as Banker Verik shows us. His name earned is Eyessss." Jabber finishes the explanation proudly and adds, "Say hello Eyessss. To Founders."
The smaller kobold is clearly afraid at being put on the spot with the attention, but he obeys his chief. "Ha...haloooooo." He smiles a toothy grin as he looks to Jabber for confirmation. Jabber nods approvingly. It is then that Eyessss starts an exchange that Jemini realizes is about her directly.
"Kimreka." Eyessss points a clawed finger at Jemini and nods.
"No, Eyesss. First Founder Jemini Lebeda." Jabber corrects him and smiles reassuringly to Jemini.
"Kimreka!" Eyesss challenges his chief and stubbornly repeats the draconic word. Jabber taps his foot in irritation once again and puffs out his chest in response.
"NO. Firrrrrrst Founder Jemini. Jem-in-i. Sra ek sraos rodae omd rok aormad rar uvm moka, ku aeui verr ika es vruvarrae!"
The black-scaled kobold cowers and takes a step back, looking back and forth between Jabber and Jemini, his head cocked slightly to one side as if trying to understand something. Finally, he says in a more timid voice as if in a question. "Firrrst Jemini Kimreka?"
Jabber regards him harshly for a moment, then seemingly gives in and answers in a voice that could almost be one of resignation. "First Jemini Kimreka." Eyessss grins and bows to the Founders and then scampers off, even as hoots and calls go up amongst the kobolds, repeating the name "Jemini Kimreka" in a cacophonous babble.
From Berrin's right two youngling red-scaled kobolds come scampering up to him, though stopping well short of his reach. They nimbly hop up and down and cry out, "CREAK'TRU KERRAR!" Then they hoot once more and scamper off away from Berrin into a hovel-hole. Several of the male kobolds point and hoot in what apparently is accepting laughter, though Jabber clearly finds it embarrassing, and waves them off with an angry retort.
Abadius to Pharast - 1-3/4711
Captain Jellicoe looks out from the most prominent hill that commands the surrounding countryside. To his north and east he can clearly see the change in ground that runs out into the Far Kamelands. To his south a darker greenish haze in the distance marks what is being termed "The Watchwoods" by his men and the civilian farmsteaders. Behind him to his west the ground eventually lowers to the Near Kamelands, and though he cannot see it the Shrike River winds there marking the old border of Newhaven. An old border now, Jellicoe muses to himself.
Captain Jellicoe is new to his command, being a sergeant during the Battle of Hydra's Bridge under the First Army. He has the distinction of being one of the men who cornered the foul two-headed lieutenant of the Troll King, recognized by Dragonlord Rogarvia himself as one of the Trollslayers. That and other actions during the battle promoted him to full officer shortly after. So when the Dragonlord persuaded the Founder's Council to expand Newhaven's Territory northeast in to the Far Kamelands, Jellicoe was one of the first to volunteer to lead the laborers, soldiers and engineers to make that happen. Already a wave of new farmsteaders had arrived and were living in makeshift camps as the snowmelt was still underway, the Spring planting season just a month or so away, Gozreh permitting.
Jellicoe walks back from the vista and down to the makeshift command pavilion at the palisade-enclosed fort that was to be his base of operations for the time being. He summons his two company lieutenants and the ranking engineer for a meeting. "Right then. We'll set the foundation for the stone watchtower on the crest of that hill over there, which will give good lines of sight from three directions. The barracks will be constructed here - make sure the boys don't put the latrine trenches too close - and the first plots for homesteaders can go over there where the grassy slope levels off."
"Excuse me, capt'n?"
"Yes, what is it Trask?"
"Well capt'n, the boys and me were talkin' last night about the name of the place, and...well...we were thinkin' you could put in to call it Dragonswatch...in honor of the Dragonlord and Dragonshead Battle and all."
Captain Jellicoe nods thoughtfully, and after a moment answers his lieutenant. "The Founders didn't have a name specified that I know of. Dragonswatch is a good name Trask - I'll send that in with the next dispatch to Sanctuary."
As the hard winter of Brevoy and the Stolen Lands turn to a late Spring in 4711, the growth of Newhaven takes a new turn. Encouraged by Nikolai Rogarvia to see to their northern and eastern borders in order to ward off Brevian expansion by a troublesome knight banneret, the Founders agree to encourage growth and expansion northeast. New territories of the Kamelands up near the Restov-Olegsgrav road are claimed in the name of Newhaven, with a new base of operations established in a place called Fort Dragonswatch. Calls for new farmsteads and homesteaders give rise to a new wave of immigrants from the north and elsewhere, and soon Fort Dragonswatch itself becomes a full-fledged town in its own right, named simply 'Dragonswatch' by its permanent inhabitants. Provisions for the region's defense (watchtower, barracks) as well as its rural dwellers (granary, stables) are provided for, and though the Far Kamelands have soil not as rich as those to the west and southwest the crops are well sown. Varnhold gains valuable trade and better security for its trade routes to both Sanctuary and Olegsgrav, and the whole area becomes a promising new area of the former so-called Stolen Lands.
In White Hart, Mayor Kavken receives a surprise in the form of dozens of caravan wagons of the gnomes arriving in his enclave, led by the enigmatic Narthropple. The gnomes desire to form a permanent community (new subjects event) there in the shady protection of the now-tamed southern Narlmarches, to which Jhod and his council of elders agree. A thriving new borough emerges in White Hart of gnomes, each with an eager (some would say insatiable) desire for enterprise and entertainment in the then-sleepy community. White Hart quickly gains a reputation of being a "backwater" no longer, much to the chagrin of Verik Jarrow. By the time the snows have melted, a new place called Scarves and Colors is much of the talk of the tradeways in Newhaven - owned by the gnomes it is part dance hall, drinking tavern, gaming den and hub of the doings of the more colorful citizens of Newhaven.
No one can best the mighty brew of Bokken from Olegsgrav, but a new brewery arrives in Sanctuary to support the wide demand for locally produced ale, mead and cider. Named "Havener" ale by trade, it is not as fine (nor as expensive) as a fine keg of Bokken's, but holds its own to any local product, and is more readily available. A new pair of fine inns open up as well to support the constant influx of visitors to the large town that is Sanctuary, though they compete with other more informal establishments.
Gozran to Sarenith - 4-6/4711
It was all going too fast, growing too fast, getting out of hand.
Jhod Kavken, Patriarch of Erastil and Mayor of White Hart, sat at his large wooden desk in the Temple of the Elk, his head buried in his hands from near exhaustion. Papers lay everywhere - some in stacks on the desk, others loosely strewn about or even on the floor. He had been up all night with some of the other council elders in an attempt to deal with matters that had gotten out of control since the Spring. Tax matters. Issues of crime and punishment. Problems of growth and disagreements between various peoples and factions with the expansion of White Hart. An entire night spent, and they had barely made a dent in all of it. Somewhere, that pig-eyed Verik Jarrow was laughing at him, telling him he knew it would happen. He despised the Abadarian all the more for it.
When Jhod founded White Hart with the other Erastil elders last year, his worries lay mostly with the proper reformation of the Temple of the Elk and his designs for a great hunting hall in Old Deadeye's honor. Matters of the then-village's growth were easily handled as it should have been - by a community of elders and committed townsfolk, all under the guidance of its Patriarch of Erastil. It was to be a quiet locale, one devoted to reverence to its patron, to the old ways that were the best ways. It was to be a fresh beginning, a departure from the rampant growth and bureaucracy of Sanctuary or even Olegsgrav. It was to live in harmony with the wilder areas of the Narlmarches to its north and east. It had all gone so well at the beginning - minus the feud of course that brought First Founder Lebeda and Svetlana Leveton to his door demanding an end to it. He acquiesced of course, but made it clear he would brook no interference or meddling with how White Hart would be run. Not from Akiros Ismort, not from Oleg Leveton and certainly not from Jarrow or his cronies. Jemini agreed, and he expected her to live up to it. By then hard winter had set in, and Jhod was confident the year 4711 would be a grand one for his fledgling community.
And so it was, until "they" came in ever larger and more frequent numbers. Not only patrons of Erastil came, but immigrants came looking for work in the cutyard camps of the upper Narlmarches. Miners and stonemasons came for the new quarry to the north or the Thorn-Shrike Junction Mine to the east. Farmers came to sell supplies, then stayed to maintain permanent stalls for the workers when they came in from their workcamps. Narthropple and his gnomish enclave was not the reason for White Hart getting out-of-hand but it didn't help either - especially once 'Scarves and Colors' opened its doors. Naturally, an inn opened to house guests coming in to see it. Naturally, the stables were erected to serve both visitors and supply draft stock for the camps. One thing led to another, which led to something else. The village of White Hart became a boomtown by the Taxfest/Stagfall festival, and by the time Jhod realized he had a full-fledged growth problem on his hands it was already too late, his vision of a shining example of Erastil know-how had disappeared, replaced by something else.
Jhod stifled a yawn and followed it with a foul-mouthed curse. Damn that Jarrow - he half-suspected the Banker somehow had a hand in it, encouraging immigrants and opportunists to flood his once-peaceful town and mar his vision. In truth he knew that was not the case, but the narrative did have a ring to it. At least Master Narthropple had been a tremendous help in providing knowledge of architecture and city planning, something he lacked entirely. No crawling to the Abadarians for their foul books and lackeys on the subject. Still, tax shipments were well overdue to Sanctuary, and his volunteer force of Erastil sheriffs were stretched to the point of exhaustion. Fights and robberies were being reported on a nightly basis now. He had to do something before the summer solstice, or else the entire town might go up in flames when all the men were in from the camps.
Jhod wearily extinguishes his lantern, and calls for a junior priest from the hallway. "Boy, go tell Tobias to get on a horse for Sanctuary. Tell him to put his hat in his hands and ask Marshal Ismort that we need help up here getting White Hart in order with miscreants, with as many lawmen as he can spare. Tell him to ask General Myrdal to send some men to safely get the tax coffers back to Sanctuary. Tell him to go this very day."
The Spring of 4711 marked continued expansion into the Far Kamelands around the new town of Dragonswatch in all directions, even as the town itself was bolstered by a greater military presence (garrison, smithy) to secure the Varnhold route and deter incursions from Brevian opportunists. Expansion also occurred west of Olegsgrav after an failed attempt by bandits on one of the gold mine shipments - the land there past the Stagfall meadows was wild and rocky, but provided a new opportunity for hardy folk seeking a more rugged existence than what was afforded elsewhere. Some new farmsteads were sown with crops in the south along a tributary of the Little Sellen, but continual threats by surviving lizardmen warriors from the Candlemere Marshes kept growth restrained in the southern Tuskwater region.
In the towns, White Hart expansion was the most significant (inn, stables, house), forcing Jhod Kavken to submit his town to greater coordination and "bureacracy" with Sanctuary as the village had grown to a large town before the summer solstice. In Sanctuary, Banker Jarrow's grand vision of a proper sewer and sanitation system was made reality - thanks in no small part to the Sootscales who had a hand in both building and maintaining the tunnel system. In Olegsgrav word came of a rare find by one of its southern lumberyard camps - an unearthed ruins of a fort structure from the days of the Taldan Fifth Expeditionary Force from over two-thousand years ago (kingdom event). Though not much of actual material value was found intact, the archelogical findings encouraged an influx from several Brevian scholars and other sages of the region to Olegsgrav.
During Sanctuary's Taxfest/Stagfall celebrations, Banker Jarrow gave what was became known as his "Galt Speech of 4711" in which he railed against the evils (as he saw it) of the Galtan Revolution, promising opportunity to Galtans in Newhaven who would emigrate here, as well as sounding a promise when law-abiding Galtans would one day return and take back their homeland. The speech was meant for a local audience but spread along the caravan routes well beyond Newhaven, prompting a new wave of Galtan immigration from the River Kingdoms as well as passionate replies (both for and against) to the Banker himself.
The summer solstice in Sarenith marked the first time it was formally celebrated as a week-long festival (increased holiday edict), with some special attention by Jemini of an observance a fortnight prior called 'The Burning Blades'. More official festivals were planned for the latter half of 4711, including Archerfeast (3rd Erastus), Armasse (16th Arodus), Harvest Feast (Lamashan) and Winter Week (Kuthona).
Erastus – Rova 7-9/4711
Berrin fidgets absently with his cloak in an attempt to the clasp chain to stop scraping against the upper part of his breastplate near the neck. At least until Aylene nudges her elbow against his side to get him to quit. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his stance in the diplomatic line on Newhaven’s side, ceremonially squaring off against a rather large and brutish-faced man that is one of Lord Varn’s generals. General Boar-Face Gaptooth Something-or-other. Berrin appraises his counterpart briefly, figuring he could take him in a fight even though the man seems to have a devotion to Gorum and has clearly seen a scrap or two with the scars on his face. He could take him. Not that he needed to worry about that, as the ceremony was…well…strictly ceremonial and between two long-time allies.
Jemini is currently in the middle of her speech, hers going just after Lord Varn’s own speech, which was mercifully rather short. Not that Jemini gave long speeches, but the occasion called for more formality than he expected. The ceremony was already a candlespan in length and it was an unusually hot afternoon, especially to be in full dress and armor. Who had the bright idea to hold the damn thing at the actual “border” between Newhaven and Varnhold anyway? Then again, to hold it in either Dragonswatch or Fort Tors would have given too much preference to either side, so this meadow along the bank of the East Shrike was chosen. Berrin understood that of course, understood the significance of the ceremony was not just for the peoples of both lands but for New Stetven and Restov as well. Political theater as he would say now. A year ago he wouldn’t have cared a whit about political theater. Now he knows it could be the sign that helps to stay hands and avert some fool’s blunder to start a war no one needs. So the ceremony takes place. It was the true reason why Jemini, Nikolai, Halarouth and Kesten were all out here with Lord Varn and all his top men. Still, it was hot, and he doesn’t have to like it.
Berrin leans over to Aylene and whispers, ”Why are we all here again? They could have just given a toast to this border thing with flagons of Bokkens and had it done already.” He knows the answer, but it was fun to see how she was going to respond, and it gave him something to do.
”Shhhh,” answers his wife in that irritated tone he now knows so well. ”Don’t act the fool. See those three over there? Surtova men as you well know from last night’s briefing. Then there’s the pock-marked one past my father’s bannerman – that’s a man from Orlovsky keeping eye on the Surtovans. Another man to our right who father knows is a spy for Sellimus of Restov…hmm…yet it’s that gangly one over there with the ponytail I’m most interested in.”
”Yeah? Why is that? What House?” Berrin squints his eyes to look towards the man but the afternoon sun’s reflection off the Shrike threatens to hurt his eyes.
”Not a House. That one Hal said may be a spy for the ones backing the bandits out here – you know the bandit chief that was cut down by mercenaries out of Dragonswatch last month? The graves dug up and all…Hal thinks someone wanted to make sure a divining couldn’t come back to their true masters. Hopefully this shows them all that Jemini and my father mean business out here with these farmsteads and the new road from Dragonswatch to Fort Tors. Now be still, she’s almost done and we’re gonna have to greet people soon.”
Berrin suppresses a groan of boredom, and waits patiently for the end of the ceremony. Yet everything goes as planned and really is never as awful as he imagines it beforehand. Finally as the sun gets lower and the smells of the evening feast fill the air around the pavilions, Berrin goes to change out of his armor and get ready for feasting. He knows he and Aylene will be up most of the night enjoying stories with her father and his men, and then the very next morning the Newhaveners leave back for Dragonswatch. Berrin muses to himself that it would be a good time for both he and Aylene to stay awhile at Dragonswatch and let the others go on home, maybe detour up to Olegsgrav for a few days and catch a showing of that bawdy bardic troupe at the new theatre Oleg was going on about at the last Founder's Council. After all, the Captain-General of Newhaven had to keep an eye on new happenings in the realm for security's sake, did he not?
The summer months of 4711 mark good weather and another year of promising crops for Newhaven to feed its people and sell to Brevoy. Though it is too late for full planting season, more lands are cleared and patrolled in the Far Kamelands up to the formal border with Varnhold, marking a clear end to lawlessness in the scrubby plains between the two realms. During this time a well-equipped and troublesome bandit gang was finally rooted out and destroyed by a group of mercenaries out of Dragonswatch, ending most serious disturbances of the new farmstead communities. Yet in an odd affair the unmarked graves of the deceased bandits were raided in Dragonswatch a few days later, with a night-time fight seeing magic used that shattered many headstones and burned the gravekeeper's cottage to the ground (kingdom event). Fortunately the High Priestess of Pharasma out of Sanctuary came up the following month to reconsecrate the grounds, though not without expense to Newhaven's coffers.
The road through Dragonswatch to Fort Tors and to Varnhold itself see ever-increasing trade as the area is pacified...which lessens the demand on the older Restov-Olegsgrav Road, causing a degree of rumors and rumblings from the north. The concerns are strong enough that the First Founder and Lord Varn hold a formal ceremony on their shared border, reinforcing their alliance for all to see - and backing their words with military patrols to ensure the road is safe for travel.
In Sanctuary, the main city walls to the north and south are finally completed, marking a full enclosure except by its western water approach. As Jemini had hoped to encourage, a group of Irori monks from the Inner Sea make their way to Sanctuary and construct a working monastery at the town's eastern edge, adding their insight to the Interfaith Conclave - something that Verik finds both surprising and yet helpful in his own initiatives. To that point he had been continually fighting challenges to his leadership of the Conclave by the Milani, Desnan and Cailean factions, but the presence of the Irori faith seems to quell chaotic dissent and provides more thoughtful interactions for a time.
Dragonswatch becomes known for a new and irreverent feasting and gaming hall, which caters to the mercenaries and soldiers training there. Some say a man named Gladcoin out of Sanctuary has an ownership stake in the new business.
Olegsgrav builds a theater-in-the-round with funds from its ample coffers, providing its own degree of entertainment to travelers and laborers alike. It has two stages for different types of shows, but the most popular is clearly a bardic troupe of acrobats, jugglers, fire-eaters and rope-walkers - nearly all of which have the habit of dressing in tight or scanty clothing for their performances. The shows become known across Newhaven and beyond, bringing further attention to Olegsgrav as a trading hub. Yet even in the more straight-laced and reserved capital of Sanctuary, business is booming (kingdom event). Its security and new sanitation system rival most smaller cities in Brevoy or the River Kingdoms...and rumor has it that the Pathfinders are taking an active interest in expansion there for archaeological benefit, giving rise to interest in Sanctuary's soft-spoken Magister, Elsir Tel'ran.
Berrin's face is a mask of open surprise as he hears the kind words Jemini has for the kobolts and their endeavors in Sanctuary. Grand homes? These hovels were dirt-packed scraps picked up from the heap nearby. But then Jem would see the best of it wouldn't she...
Looking around Berrin eyes his surroundings again and tries to see what Jemini sees. Low houses, mud-packed, dug down hovels with rickety bridges connecting the upper stories of those few that reached above Berrin's own height. Tightly spaced, the narrow alleys ending in walled buildings and a narrow road winding through the buildings. Raising an eyebrow the Captain-General realizes that this place would be a nightmare to assault for anything larger than a dwarf. Was that what Jem was seeing? No probably not. In a rare moment of insight Berrin suspected that she saw something grander, she might actually mean just what she was saying; There was hope for cooperation between species maybe not thought of before. If kobolts could be convinced to integrate with human society then what next? Dragons? The implications blew Berrin away, made him feel small in the grand scheme of things. Looking to Verik with a newfound respect for the Bankers efforts in interracial cooperation Berrin made a mental note about asking Verik to bring Jabber in for a defense meeting, if Jabber was the mastermind behind this districts planning then he might hold interesting insights on possible city defenses as well.
Relieved when Eyess was revealed to be a single kobolt, living and breathing and giving lip to his leader, not some malign draconic sorcery Berrin wonders at the title the small kobolt insists on giving Jemini, curious at what the children call him he turns to Jabber for an explanation.
"Kreka-tu-what? What did they just say to me, Jabber? And what is that title Eyes gave Jemini?"
Jabber seems to answer with a degree of chagrin in his tone and demeanor, though interpreting the facial features of kobolds is not nearly the same as with humans. Still, they have experience with Jabber, and he has always been one to please the Founders with his efforts, whether servant or chieftain.
"Jabber sorry about names given by Sootscales. Apologizes I do please. Jabber try teach Sootscales that names are earrrned. Sootscale must show Jabber and seek-sayers of Tribe Sootscale of what they learn and do, and they earrrn name, work for name as Banker Jarrrrow teaches Jabber long time ago."
He gives what could be counted as a sigh and continues. "Sootscales want name to show they are good. Name is good. Some Sootscales give names to Founders, which is not good. I try teach ones that human Founders earnnss names long time ago and no need new names, no need kobold names. We Sootscales learn human names for you, but some Sootscales give you names too. Jabber try to teach them right and wrong you see. Most sorry they not call you prop...properrrrley."
He turns to Berrin and eyes him directly. "Sootscales call you many things Bearr-rin blade man. Many scared of you, scared of big horse monster, see you at big battle with name of many-heads monster. One name is said more than rest, that of Creak'tru Kerrar. Means slayer of king of trolls. Some see you as new king of trolls, but Jabber explain - teach Sootscales you not kill troll king to take place of troll king."
With even more embarrassment, Jabber bows low and looks down at Jemini's feet. "Great Lady, Jabber apologies. Sootscales like Eyessss call you Kimreka. Kimreka is fire ball in great sky, but fire ball when ball creeps up from earth, when ball is low. Sootscales no like ball of fire when high on perch and burns and blinds, true, but when first climbs up from earth we Sootscales like and be better. That then is Kimreka. They call you that."
Lamashan - Kuthona 10-12/4711
Akiros slams his fist upon the grand meeting table in the Founder's Hall, clearly beset with anger. The cloudy-eyed Praefectus-Marshal is often passionate about his work and concerns, but is rarely one for open displays of anger in public. Today, however, is a different matter. "That's three! Three caravans raided and sacked in the last month less than a day's ride to Olegsgrav over the border. The raiders aren't even trying to take the goods now, they're just killing and burning the lot. He turns to Oleg Leveton in a request that sounds much more like an imperious demand in the tone of it. "I request that you heed my advice this time and call up a constabulary force to bolster the city watch under Guard Captain Ludomir. Establish forward patrols now, before your wall-less city is sacked in a night raid."
The ensuing argument goes on for a bit with a to-and-fro between cost and protection, politics and practicality, with Verik, Kesten and Zander joining the fray until Jemini finally calls an end to it. Winter is setting in and the cold of the Founder's Hall - even with a full roaring fire in the hall hearth - seems to be sapping her usual patience.
"Hal? Your best estimate of this situation with the border raiders. It's too far for Restov's influence, particularly as we ended the last of the bandit hideouts northeast of Dragonswatch last month. My father does not think it is a push by Surtova, Orlovsky or the other Great Houses. Pitax, then? Their so-called envoy threatened us again not but a fortnight ago after all with our opening of new claims in the Moorvale."
A short series of wracking coughs near the hearth fire turns attention to Halorouth Callmanov, who clearly seems to be suffering from a winter illness as of late. Slim and wiry by nature, he now seems weaker and almost gaunt in the shadows of the firelight. He wipes his mouth with a kerchief and returns back to the table. "Quite right, First Founder. It's not Sellimus or his Aldori hotheads this time. However, it is not Irovetti of Pitax either. I am sure from my contacts on that front at least. No, I do think they are Brevian, but the orders are not from the Great Houses of Brevoy. The issue at hand is that the Houses are relaxing their grip on some of their lesser quasi-nobility - they are withdrawing men and resources from exterior holdings for some reason, leaving the wilder areas of southern Rostland open to adventurism by the minor baronets and knights of little consequence. I think a feud has brewed between some of them, and our supplies are considered open game."
Agreement of the probable causes soon degenerates as the Founders debate the topic on what should be done.
"We could send the First Army north..."
"What? And provoke a border incident that would surely bring attention of the Surtovans? Why don't you just put Nikolai at the head of the column for good measure..."
"Two companies of the First just got back from chasing bandits - I can't just send them off again without a rest and refit..."
"Well don't look at me. My wardens are stretched as it is - we still have lizardmen attacks south of the Gudrin and one report suggested a troll was sighted..."
"We can't run the army around with every report that comes in..."
"We must protect our people..."
"Winter is coming in hard and fast this time..."
"Enough!" Jemini puts up a hand and adds, "Gentlemen and ladies, please." She stands up and walks to a wall with a detailed map of the region, from Mivon to Port Ice, Pitax to Restov. A long moment passes, and then the First Founder audibly sighs. "I did not want to do this..." She turns back to the table and resumes her seat, the set of her jaw clearly showing she had her mind made up in decision, ready to persuade the Council to her argument. "The coffers are flowing and the foodstocks are as good as they've ever been. We've long felt that since Hydra's Bridge we've been able to hold off expanding the armed footing of our realm, but I believe that time has come to an end. We have enough people of fighting quality in our lands, and I do not want us to be beholden to mercenaries every time there is a disturbance. It is time to expand the army and militias outside of Sanctuary. We must call for new formations and have them housed, trained and equipped come next spring and summer. Founders, it is time for new swords and spears to be made in addition to plows."
Though there is discussion, surprisingly there is not a split vote from the other Founders. It is Kesten Garess, however, that asks the most poignant question. "Will not our call for arms not be seen by the North as an aggressive act? Some would surely interpret it as a threatening move by Rogarvia."
Jemini considers Kesten's words for a moment before answering. "I believe our enemies will call us 'aggressor' or 'weakling' in either case, and we can do nothing to avert that. We will do what we must to protect our people, families that placed their faith and trust in us to provide safety and new opportunities for them. Let us keep our word to them."
In the last months of 4711 the Realm of Newhaven officially celebrates its first Harvest Feast with an unprecedented amount of bountiful crops brought in from its many farmsteads. Food supplies for Newhaven and its trading partners are in great demand before what many predict will be a harsher winter than the prior year. Sanctuary establishes its new grain silos on the eastern edge of the city (granary). With news of the final bandit hideout crushed northeast of Dragonswatch (kingdom event), the Far Kamelands are now virtually free of organized threat. Life is tougher in the wilder lands west of Olegsgrav and Stagfall, though the lands are claimed as far northwest as the moors of the east side of the Sellen River above the Hooktongue Slough - the wide valley is soon called "Moorvale" by those hardy folk that emigrate early to it. A new watchtower is erected over the mountain pass into the Moorvale and protects the nearby iron mine - that place is soon named Tallhart. A mixture of mines, quarries, lumber camps and farmsteads can be found in the Moorvale, though it is a place that feels far away from the seat of Sanctuary.
Life in Newhaven is productive and peaceful since the eradication of the bandits in the Far Kamelands, but beyond the northern border the signs of trouble are brewing. For these and other reasons, the Founders agree to spend resources in strengthening and expanding its military for the coming year. Full garrison compounds are expanded in Olegsgrav, White Hart and Dragonswatch. Dragonswatch in particular is known as a base for recruitment, and strengthens its grip on law and order (jail) as a means to keep reign over the mercenaries and soldiers with idle time there. Craftsmen of specialty open new shops in Dragonswatch and elsewhere, in anticipation of taking advantage of providing the materials needed to supply the army.
Even as the snow and ice hits Newhaven hard from the north, the Winter Week's celebrations are popular and profitable, creating a late economic boom (kingdom event) in the land, though rumor has it that it competes now directly with Restov for influence of its markets and craftsmen, something which is sure to displease the Lord Mayor.
Closer to home in the lives of the Founders, the Winter Week's celebrations mark the arrival of several new curious folk to the fledgling Harborage House. Most appear to be apprentices of arcane study that have come to learn under the tutelage of Magister Tel'ran, while some appear to have ties to the Pathfinders - one in particular named Kargath seems to be a longtime friend of Elsir, which is made all the more curious by the very fact that he is a dwarven warrior. He is given a room in the Harborage House and can be seen at times walking and talking with Elsir about the city. Plans for the expansion of the lodge are in the works and Verik has seen to it that the approvals have been granted by the town council, but work has been delayed due to the harshness of the winter season.
Borodin Loginov's Aldori Fighting School is nearly complete, and already he seems to have a promising group of recruits to study. Though the place is small it has the virtue of being located in the less-conspicuous eastern side of Sanctuary beyond the walls. Berrin and Borodin continue to discuss a possible joint-venture to combine Aldori training with military planning and officer training, although Borodin has plans for a separate "Kor Mannix" cadre as well, something he seems reticent to elaborate on for now.
Verik Jarrow takes on an ownership claim of a craftsmen enterprise called "Mercadi's Wagons and Woodworking", though Master Mercadi is still the master woodworker. Demands for merchant wagons and wagon repair has increased greatly throughout the year, and the Banker seems well-positioned to take advantage of it. Rumor has it that he has struck an accord with his Galtan acquaintance Aleza Bellavieu for ample supply of draft horses to help sell his wagons. For her part, Aleza has become the most prominent and successful horse breeder and trader in Newhaven with no less than two ranches to the south of Sanctuary - a dramatic turn of events from her days as a survivor from the old elven ruins only a year prior.
Abadius – Calistril 1-2/4712
”An explanation for this is required Mayor Kavken! What is the meaning of this brutal reaction?”
Madame Aleza Bellavieu, the now-wealthy landowner and entrepreneur of Newhaven sits atop one of her fine stallions, staring hard at the Mayor of White Hart and Patriarch of Erastil, Jhod Kavken. He has a small entourage of four Erastilians with him aside from the other White Hart guards and townsfolk -sifting through the ruins of burned encampments that lie around them. Recently Aleza had become the de facto spokeswoman for the Galtan refugees, and she was here to ensure that her people – however unruly and troublesome – were being treated fairly after a violent riot occurred not but a few days beforehand. She has her own small retinue of men with her, though beyond a couple of bodyguards they accompany her to help scribe and facilitate her business affairs. Though Aleza often uses the services of the Vaultmen in her business dealings there are none here today, for that would be challenged before she even got into White Hart.
Banker Verik Jarrow and his people – two Initiates and two Keysworn guards – survey the damage a respectful distance away from the rest, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. Verik knows his presence could undermine Aleza’s inquiry over the ousting and arrest of so many of her countrymen, yet she insisted Verik not leave her when she had to detour their planned journey over to White Hart. He picks up a charred and twisted leather belt from under a smoldering heap of cloth and examines it, even as he listens to the tense conversation nearby.
”The explanation is simple, Madame Bellavieu. Galtan troublemakers attempted to take lands that were not theirs to take, threatened good townsfolk around here and even roughed up some that didn’t just open their foodstores to them. I told them to leave. They refused. My men went in to clear their camps and they responded with violence and burning. Two men were killed and many more wounded besides. Those that didn’t flee are under arrest in the town jails and await trial…”
”Why are not the charges and names posted then?” Aleza is the only one atop a horse and higher than the rest of the men, though as she lacks one leg the accommodation seems to be well understood. Still, it is clear Jhod Kavken doesn’t like being challenged.
”Haven’t had time yet, as we had to hunt down some of ‘em who had ideas to start a resistance in the forest or some such nonsense. I’ll get you a list if that’s what you’re asking me.”
”And just how many do you have locked up in your jails? Thirty? Fourty?”
”Fifty-three…”
Verik listens on as he drops the burnt object and turns to survey the wider destruction of the encampments. Galtans. Even with the winter snows not yet abated a host of Galtan refugees had come up the East Sellen through Mivon and into Newhaven. First a trickle, and then the trickle became a deluge – several hundred by the Wardens as best count. Fleeing some new dreadful purge, they risked death from the elements rather than remain as sheep to the slaughter. Unlike Brevian and River Kingdoms immigrants or Pitaxian refugees who were simply grateful for new opportunities and freedom, these Galtans were bold and boisterous, set to complain and demand at every turn, with expectations well beyond their means. It was like having five-hundred Grigoris running around. Svetlana Leveton had more petitions by and against these Galtan refugees in the last two months than she probably had the previous two years. Of course, the promise of new lands and opportunity from his so-called “Galtan Taxfest Speech” last year had much to do with why they came to Newhaven. He meant well of course, but it had farther-reaching consequences than he had ever thought possible.
”…and who will pay the damages to my town for these acts? I’d include fines in the charges but they have no coins to rub together anyway.”
”I will see to allay some of the damages, Mayor Kavken. But only if you can provide a fair and accurate itemized tally of them that I may review first. I am not an open coffer to be taken advantage of.”
”I never said that you were Madame...”
Verik orders his mind to stop dwelling on what he cannot change and focuses on the town instead. In terms of sheer scenic beauty Jhod and his people have worked marvels – the raised plateau of the old ruined shrine now houses the much larger great-hall temple, but still incorporates that wild raw beauty that he remembered those years ago when they came to this place. The park grounds around it only serve to highlight the Temple of the Elk further, giving it a commanding presence across the town but not dominating it. Trees and garden pathways wind around through the park and between the major clusters of buildings – natural and scenic with a touch of wild to it. That much is impressive. Yet Verik can also see the clear signs of how the town is suffering due to haphazard growth and lack of proper planning. In some sense the “town” of White Hart is not one town but six to eight separate villages, each cluster allowed to add buildings without regard or thought to how it would impact the town as a whole. Some buildings have been expanded or added in places where roads clearly should go, creating bottlenecks that could have been easily avoided. Some clusters overlap into other areas, creating disputes of property that are unnecessary and stifle future growth. With recent additions of new “village” clusters, it is clear that dwellings in older areas have already fallen into dilapidation or disuse, wasteful and inefficient. The marketplaces are not where they should be to accommodate all residents equally. They would never be able to add sewer tunnels here, and paving the main “thoroughfares” would be a waste of resources, as they were inconsistently narrow with no main roads to speak of. Thankfully Jhod did not allow the Galtan refugees to “grow” a new village where they stood now – if he had it would have effectively blocked caravan access into town from the main South Narlmarches road. A good lesson as to why the Manual of City Building was essential, as White Hart contained numerous examples of what not to do. Pathetic really.
Verik keeps his thoughts to himself and does not utter a single word of criticism, as he knows it would detract from the issue at hand. He doesn’t even protest when he spies out the mockery that has been done to his likeness to the Founder’s monument statue in the distance. As it turns out however, it is no longer necessary to utter words with Jhod Kavken to start up a fight.
”I see your smirk over there Jarrow. Think this is amusing do you?” Jhod clearly misinterprets Verik’s expression for the predicament he finds himself in, pointing rudely at the Banker. ”We wouldn’t be in this fix if you hadn’t run your mouth last Gozran before Stagfall. What’s in store for this year? A call to the masses around Lake Encarthan? If my people find another nest of tatzylwyrms I’ll be sure to crate them up and send them to you to tame.”
Gasps of shock echo from the Initiates at the berating of their beloved Banker, and both of the Keysworn take a threatening stance behind the Banker, but Verik shrugs and puts both hands behind his back, looking on and smiling a tight-lipped smile that does not touch his eyes. Jhod has a point Verik knew, though he would never admit it openly. It was in part why Verik was on his way to Olegsgrav with Aleza before diverting to White Hart – after visiting the new Bank there they were heading to the region of the Moorvale with Svetlana to listen to demands of the newly arrived Galtan settlers there.
Aleza Bellavieu returns the topic back to matters at hand before another exchange. ”Mayor, what are the dates of these trials?”
”The trials for the most serious charges will be after the week’s end when the Elders Council can give sole attention to it.” Jhod turns his full attention back to her and considers the timing involved. ”We expect about a dozen to be heard and judged this way, for the cases of violent beatings and arson. As to the rest they are minor…I am calling in community elders from all of the outlying ‘steads so that we may expedite the rest of the lesser trials in a few days. I want this all done a fortnight from now if I can manage it, what with the preparations for the planting season starting soon.”
”Very well. When will representation be available for the accused that stand trial?”
”Representation? They won’t be. It’s not necessary if they can speak for themselves.”
”What?” The strain in Aleza’s voice indicates surprise and indignation. ”Not necessary? All should have representation to understand Newhaven laws and what they are accused for! Every last one! We have not left Galt for new lands to be treated at whim by yet another power!”
Clearly the rebuke chafes Jhod and that of his entourage. ”The trials WILL be fair, Madame Bellavieu. We don’t need extra folk to hide and obscure things and look for paper holes that aren’t about what we’re there for…now just you hold right where you are Jarrow!” Verik had stepped forward with a note of protest on his lips, standing paces away from Aleza and Jhod. The Patriarch of Erastil once again jabs a finger in Verik’s direction and unleashes a scathing remark. ”The last thing we need is for you and your money-grubbing lawyers and bureaucrats to come up here with a caravan of useless parchment and muck up the works! We’re handling this the way it needs be!”
It was one thing to accost him personally, but quite another thing entirely to disrespect the Law and skip over entire portions of it. ”It’s remarkable Kavken that you equate qualified magistrates and masters of law with money-grubbing and bureaucracy, but the Rights and Responsibilities of the Accused will neither be flouted nor waived!” Verik takes two steps forward and adopts a commanding posture, pointing at Jhod in return. ”YOU may place faith in your bumpkin “elders” to pretend-play as learned judges here, but I do not. The Laws of Newhaven are clear…and they WILL be followed to the letter. These people are entitled to fair justice and not your brand of farce! Whether in Sanctuary, Olegsgrav, your so-called town of White Hart and even down to the most inconsequential hamlet, thorp or farm-barn in your jurisdiction!”
Jhod’s face is wroth with outrage at Verik’s words and he closes the distance rapidly to stand at less than an arm’s reach away before replying to him, his voice dripping with venom and threat. ”S#%*eater! You accuse me? I more than ANYONE here know of the need to have a fair and just trial to an accused man or woman. NEVER challenge my honor on that again if you know what’s good for you!”
It almost goes horribly wrong at that moment. Though the reaction was instinctive, Verik’s hand has moved down and grasped the shaft of the warhammer at his belt that he calls one of his “Twins”, ready to draw it upwards and smash Jhod’s lower jaw in the process. Jhod’s livid face suddenly shows realization at what he has put himself into, the longbow upon his back or club at his side too slow to draw, his only choice a hunting knife at his belt. The Erastilian followers see this and reflexively draw their longbows, putting hands back to arrows in their quivers. In response both Keysworn men raise shields and half-draw longswords at their belts, stepping forward to protect their Banker from harm. Danger suddenly fills the air between all them all, and even nearby citizens stop what they are doing and go still. Aleza breathes in audibly but does not speak as she watches the showdown, the hands on her stallion’s reigns tight and ready to wheel him away if a fight erupts. The moment hangs in the air for what feels like hours.
It is Jhod that acts first, his eyes never leaving Verik’s face but very slowing putting up both hands to show he is unarmed, taking that pivotal first step backwards to diffuse the situation. Another moment goes by, and no one else moves a muscle. He then carefully says to Aleza, ”Madame, you’ll have to pay for your own to come up from Sanctuary if you want these accused represented, but I’ll allow it. Some of them surely don’t need it as their charges are minor, but you’ll have to decide that in each case.”
”That’s fine…Mayor Kavken.” Aleza’s voice sounds almost a full octave higher and somewhat breathless. ”I agree to the terms and thank you for them.”
Finally breaking his gaze with Verik, Jhod turns to her and nods. ”It may take some days to set straight, but you’re welcome to stay and oversee it. HE is not however.” Turning back to the Banker of Abadar, the Patriarch of Erastil says quietly but forcefully, ”Get out of my town. You and your people. Now.” He then waves off his followers and abruptly heads back towards the winding road that leads to the park and Temple of the Elk.
****
”Are you certain you want me to stay here? My people can coordinate the details of observing the trials and the payments after all.”
Verik resists raising an eyebrow at the softness and tone of her question, for Aleza Bellavieu was always a woman who decided her own way in things and almost never deferred to others, himself included. Besides, at this hour he can only hope to make the Two Fork Mines by nightfall and does not wish for her to spend the night in such uncomfortable and hastily arranged quarters. He concludes she must still be rattled from the standoff and answers her question. ”No Aleza, you should remain to ensure the agreement between you and Kavken holds. He and his cronies will bully your people but they won’t do the same to you. I’ll go on to Olegsgrav and get these two candlewicks in tow to Junior Banker Quiss, and the extra days will give me time to see how he is handling affairs at the new Bank. When you get there we’ll go on to the Moorvale and address the demands of the settlers.”
Aleza gives him a sly smile and replies, ”Well then I shall send word to you as soon as I am to depart. Perhaps when I arrive you shall have made appropriate arrangements for a show at the theatre I trust? I have heard much praise and should not wish to miss the opportunity to see it with you.”
Aleza is a good friend of Verik, though at times she throws his demeanor off with quick quips and jabs of mockery and jest, such that he is never quite certain what she is getting at. She has a quicker mind than he does – as he well knows – but whether in agreement or debate he is always glad for her company. Certainly she cannot be serious at seeing a lowbrow and lewd performance. Can she? He can never quite tell, so he plays along. ”I shall see to it straightaway, Madame Bellavieu.” He bows grandly to her as if she were of the House of Lebeda. ”Until then, I bid you farewell and good fortune.”
Abadius - Calistril 1-2/4712
Deep winter swirls in Newhaven during the first two months of 4712, though snowstorms in the reclaimed Stolen Lands are not nearly as harsh as Rostland and Issia to their north. Settlers and immigrants still arrive to the relatively young realm, seeking freedoms and opportunities that are lacking where they came from. In the Abadius and Calistril months, tracts of snow-covered and dormant farmstead land are still dispensed out in areas of new settlement to encourage growth and prepare for the upcoming snowthaw and planting season, in areas called Stagsreach, Moorvale and the Far Tuskdowns.
A new group of refugees have come in some numbers to Newhaven in the deep winter from the south - hundreds of Galtans have made their way up the East Sellen and through Mivon to reach them. The rumors of new lands in the North are not new, but mixed with the standard tales are new ones of the High Cleric of Newhaven calling for them specifically, with promises of growing strong to one day take back their old homeland. The Galtan refugees are still a small number compared to the Brevians and River Kingdoms folk that already call Newhaven their home, but they are vocal and demanding to be heard well beyond their numbers. That, and the fact that many undertook the journey ill-prepared for the harsh winter climate, creates a small crisis for the Founders as they strive to deal with several hundred Galtans before they starve and freeze to death. Sanctuary provides for a Galtan encampment in its eastern district until the winter subsides, but many ignore the warnings and head north into Olegsgrav while a splinter group heads to White Hart. In Olegsgrav, Oleg Leveton quickly assesses the issue and provides land, resources and protection for those willing to go west into the Stagsreach wildlands or the Moorvale beyond, while at the same time putting real coin into forming two full companies of militiamen that will enforce regional security. Tallhart Tower is expanded to a full fort at the Stagreach Pass into Moorvale, with an extra full company of experienced soldiers residing there.
Many Galtans take up the prospects and assistance, and overall the relocation appears to be a success. Still, they make many demands of their new hosts - their proximity to the Sellen above the Hooktongue Slough and Pitaxian patrols on the other side of it make security a highly vocal concern for them. The settlers want a second fort in the Moorvale itself that they can make for should there be an incursion, and despite the grumblings of its expense the Founders agree to its construction from new lumber camps and quarries in the Stagsreach.
In White Hart the splinter group of Galtans clash badly with the inhabitants there, resulting in vehement protest during their misguided attempts to settle there without approval. Jhod Kavken orders the encampments to be struck and the Galtans to move on, but their refusal turns into a night of deadly violence and the camps set to the torch. Most of the refugees are captured and arrested, though only a handful of ringleaders and malcontents receive serious charges against them. White Hart consecrates its new graveyard with the few that fell in the unfortunate conflict. Also as a result of the clash, Jhod formalizes the volunteer militia that trains to protect the area, a great many of them experienced hunters and followers of Old Deadeye.
Elsewhere in Newhaven, the planned settlement of the western side of the Tuskwater begins in earnest as winter storms subside. Dubbed "the Far Tuskdowns" by the settlers, it has good roads up to Sanctuary and the Skunk River homesteads, with timber available from the northern rim of the lake - they are careful not to venture too far west however, for fear of reprisal by rumored faerie-kin and stranger beasts beyond their meadows.
Olegsgrav finally sees the completion of its own Bank of Abadar, led by its new Junior Banker, Thomas Quiss. Smaller than the Bank of Sanctuary, its focus is devoted almost exclusively to servicing the many business needs of Olegsgrav's merchants, traders and shopkeepers, as well as verifying the quality of Newhaven's fledgling currency from the Olegsgrav Mint.
In Sanctuary, the new year brings a series of bardic performers and patrons of Shelyn to construct a fine theater for those that appreciate the arts, called The Crystal Sphere and Silver Rose Theatre, or the "Sphere and Rose" for short. It caters to a richer and more refined audience of opera, song, dance and poetic recitals than its rival performance theater in Olegsgrav, though in part that reflects the differences of population and style between the cities. Sanctuary also completes its "Park of Lanterns" just north of the pier, though it is too cold for most citizens to enjoy it at the time.
In its eastern district the construction of the stockyards are completed next to the granary silos, offering a complete rural market for the surrounding farmstead communities to bring in their goods for sale to the capital. Aleza Bellavieu, Galtan entrepreneur and breeder of fine horses is instrumental in the construction of the stockyards; she uses new lands purchased near her own newly completed mansion to develop a borough for Galtan settlers who seek to work and live in Sanctuary permanently, thereby ending the need for the temporary encampments as winter turns to spring.
With lesser fanfare a new Aldori fighting school led by Borodin Loginov is constructed in the heart of the eastern district, though it is small compared to the grand plans of General Myrdal to construct a war academy next to it. Rumors spread of a new "secret" society of Aldori being developed at the school soon thereafter.
For Borodin Loginov himself, the month of Calistril marks him in a very different role - that of a full-fledged Founder and the realm's new Spymaster. His predecessor, Halorouth Callmanov, was noticeably suffering from ill-health throughout the winter, but in the course of a single night he disappeared from Sanctuary, never to be seen since. The last of the Founders to see him were Jemini and Akiros in a late night meeting, and by the next morning he was gone. Many rumors of speculation and concern arise from the former Spymaster's disappearance, including concerns of being a double-spy for Irovetti of Pitax, the Lords of Mivon or any of the Brevian Houses. Other rumors claim the position is "cursed" and that Hal suffers from the same affliction that laid Founder Tandlara Errisen low. Yet Hal has seemingly left detailed records of his operations, resources and entire spy network to his successor. Some say Hal recommended Borodin directly to the First Founder in their last meeting, for Borodin is consulted almost immediately and accepted the offer within the week. Whatever the truth of it may be, Borodin Loginov is now a busy and important man in the affairs of Newhaven.
17th. Pharast 4712
"What'ya think?" Berrin asks the large man next to him, somewhere between Berrin and Nikolai in size, a bearded, Scaldic man in his late 40's with more gray than red in his braided hair standing in the rain, mud caking up to his knees from the slogy dirt road that was Sanctuarys east district.
Dressed in battered chainmail and with a notched axe at his hip and a plain brown wool traveling cloak draped over his broad shoulders, his round wooden shied painted white with a broad red stripe across it the man just grunts in reply as he stares up at the mortared, two story, grey stone building with water dripping from it's slanting red-tiled roof. Boxes, barrels and crates are stacked by the buildings front under linen cloth and the narrow glass windows are dark, that, and the grey, overcast sky give the impression that the building is old and abandoned, not new and waiting for it's first inhabitants.
Sigmund Greyhelm, veteran of many wars, former sergeant of the Red Stripe mercenary group and Berrin's former drill sergeant, arches an eyebrow and stares at Berrin.
"There's more in the back, com'on." Berrin says, waving him toward the archway leading to the courtyard of the compound. Sighing, Sigmund follows.
Coming out of the dark tunnel, some 30 feet in length and 10' in width, and out into the wide courtyard Berrin has grown a grin and he starts pointing out the various features within the walled compound. "Barracks for students living quarters, staff will have quarters in the main building, stables, weapon storage, food storage, kitchens, Sanctuary has sewers so there are latrines in all living areas and the dump is nearby so refuse disposal is simple. Drill area, jousting area, duel ring and best of all..." Berrin pauses and looks at Sigmund seriously, "You're here." he states, drawing a snort from Sigmund.
"No, seriously. We'll be drawing veterans from our ranks to send here, both army and police, and we've already seen interest from across our borders from Brevoy, Rostland, Varnhold and even Myvon. Men will be coming here to teach and train in short order, everything is in it's place but for one thing. I need a headmaster, someone I know and can trust. Someone to sift through the dirt that is sure to come through here and find me the one's that can be trusted to lead men in battle. A war is brewing, sir, and Newhaven needs capable commanders to lead it's troops."
Silence ensues as both men stare at each other appraisingly in the grey light, Sigmund in his worn, veterans gear and Berrin in his padded white Captain-General's uniform and his blue cloak, Berrin is the first to brake the silence.
"You're training kept me alive, sir. Me and many others as I was made general. If not for you none of this would exist as far as I'm concerned. You thought me soldiering sir, not just fighting, you kept me alive for two years despite my best efforts. This is, in part, your legacy around you. We need you Sigmund. I need you."
Another silence ensues, longer this time, as Berrin has said all he could think of and Sigmund still just stared at him.
"You've come a long way, boy, I'll give you that." Sigmund finally says, grudgingly braking the silence, and drawing a lopsided grin from Berrin as he looks around the compound again.
"Alright. I'll bite. But don't you expect me to go around salutin' and 'sir'ing you boy!" he says, jabbing a finger at the Boyar.
Berrin barks a laugh and grabs Sigmund hand in a clasp and shakes it with both hands. "Only in public, old boy, only in public. I am, after all a Boyar now."
Raising an eyebrow at Berrins enthusiastic shacking of his hand Sigmund raises his other hand to point a finger.
"Alright, but I'll need a quartemaster, I've never had a head for logistics, just shoutin', and I'll need people I can trust, if any of those teachers don't hold up to my standards they're out, and the same goes for these so called students...."
***
12th Gozran 4712
The first thing to run through Berrin's mind as his shoulders bunch up at being caught sneaking out is how much Aylene sometimes reminded him of his mother in the way she could use her voice to freeze him in his tracks. The second thought to run through his mind is followed by guilt at comparing his beloved to his mother and then more guilt follows as the realization hits him that he was caught.
"But Aylene...!" Berrin near whines as he turns to face his wife, standing in the stairway in her night gown, a slight swelling of her belly on her otherwise firm warrior figure betraying pregnancy two months in. "The opening is tonight! Everyone will be there! The shrine, Talking Heads..."
"And the Nymphs Fruit!" Aylene finishes for him, hands on her hips, face like stone, her fiery red hair back-lit by a flickering torch and her emerald green eyes taking on a yellow hue as her anger manifests. Those eyes that would be shooting lightning if they could.
"Yes, and the Nymphs Fruit.." Berrin tries, lamely, unable to think of any good reason to go besides that he wanted too.
"But, Aylene..." Berrin tries again.
"No! Berrin. But nothing!" A finger comes out, pointing admonishingly. "You have lessons in the morning. We've discussed this, Berrin. As a leader of men and a noble you have resposibilities, Master Ratlain will be here first thing to go over your History and Lineages, Master Beufork will be here by noon to practice your speaking and grooming and you have council in the afternoon..." Aylene trails off, seeing her husband hanging his head with his fists bunched at his sides.
"But Aylene.." Berrin starts again, growing angry at the unfairness of it all. He never asked for this, sure, he asked to be Boyar to marry Aylene, but the lessons? It was getting too much. "Everyone will be there.." he tries again.
"The masters..." Aylene says again, softer this time.
Berrin roars, looking up, anger evident in his every feature. "I've been slaving over those books for months! I've attended every lesson with every master you could draw out from the far reaches of the coldest hells for months! Filling my head with nonsense of lineage and postures, which fork to use for which course, which glass and what wine, what to address what lord and his bloody dog
Silence ensues as husband and wife glare at each other for what seems an eternity, the husband angry at his loss of freedom and the wife angered at the tone of his voice.
Sighing, Berrin's features soften as he looks up at his beautiful wife, made even more beautiful by her pregnancy and terrible anger. "Aylene... Please... I need this..." Berrin says, giving up, desperately wanting to go but desperately wanting to keep his wife happy as well.
"Alright." Berrin looks up, not believing he just heard the ok from his wife. Seeing her features had softened his hopes stir. "Give me a few moments to get dressed. I need this too."
Turning, Aylene heads back up stairs, leaving Berrin at their bottom with a grin on his face, the happiest man in the world. "But don't you dare make me carry you home Boyar Berrin Myrdal..." she grumbles as she goes.
Pharast - Gozran 4712
Spring comes with it's rains and ice melts to the nation of Newhaven as it does to the rest of the northern countries. Farmers make ready to plant, lumberjacks start inspecting their turf to see how woods come out from under the winter and tradesmen make ready for a new season in business. With the thaw comes comes caravans from the north and south and boats come in from the Tuskwater out of Lake Candlemere from the River Kingdoms, sparking a discussion in council about the waters security and possible defenses.
The council discusses the possibility of restoring the cyclops tower at Harpy Isle and, in lieu with that, Newhaven claims the lands surrounding the Tuskwater under it's protection, building roads and drawing more settlers to farm and work the land. Meanwhile White Heart sees a before unknown number of caravans and tradesmen come to their town (kingdom event) as the town seems to be the popular bet among merchants for profits in trade. Drawing less public attention, though it goes anything but unnoticed by the upper echelon, is the building of a military academy in Sanctuary and the appointing of Sigmund Greyhelm as it's headmaster, a Scaldic veteran of many winters, and men and women are drawn to it and it's potential.
The following month sees a curb in Newhavens expansions and a shift to focus on it's cities infrastructure. A sector in Sanctuaries east district is carved out in honor of Cayden Caylen, Desna and Calistrae with Berrin and Aylene Myrdal's support as a temple, a tavern and a dance hall are erected. Named Talking Heads the tavern sports Nagrundi's twin heads as it's sign post and next door to it the Nymphs Fruit is opened, offering shows, a place for monitored gambling and a place for gathering in general merriment. Rumored to have direct ties to the Archbanker a stable is built as well to service the rising need of travelers to Sanctuary.
Marking it's rise and growth the cities of Olegsgrav and Dragonswathc build a park and a monument for it's citizenry to enjoy and a jail is built in Olegsgrac and Whiteheart as well to house the growing number of disturbances to the peace that inevitably follows the increase of gathered humans and demi-humans alike.
Desnus – Sarenith 5-6/4712
Borodin finishes scribing in the last of the requisitions for the Founder’s Council with the usual flourish to his signature, and with an exasperated sigh he heats the wax one more time to embed the Seal of Newhaven at the bottom before placing it on a stack of similar-looking documents. He closes a nearby heavy-bound tome which is his “official” ledger, locks the intricate lock, puts his boots up on the desk and stretches his arms behind his head. The most tedious bit of his new duties done for the month, just in time to be reviewed before the treasury coffers are opened and counted. Borodin finds himself perspiring and takes a small sip of the chilled water next to him, only to find the summer air has taken all the chill out of the water and left it warm. Ah well, at least there is a breeze coming off the lake on most afternoons, and he can feel it slightly coming in through the narrow barred window to his office in the Founder’s Castle – not much but enough to make it tolerable and also gives him a glimpse of the outside by which to judge the time of day. Late afternoon, about a standard candlespan before the workday last bells ring, several hours before the summertime sunset. Good, he has plenty of time before his next scheduled meeting.
Draining the unsatisfying cup of water with his feet still propped up on his desk, he still cannot help but wonder at all the items taken for granted here in Newhaven. The cup - a fine fired ceramic with decoration of the Stag Seal. The water – chilled at one point, and more to the point, fresh and clean. The table - made of fine walnut, carved and polished. Tapestries of color with scenes of beauty or the insignias of office. The ledger – leather-bound and capped with metal with an intricate and expensive lock. Parchment. Ink. Quills. Candles. Oil. Light. All of it was far beyond his reach in another lifetime.
It was the reason why he had the finest, well-crafted and most comfortable boots that could be made in the region. Actually, he had three pairs now. Boots were not only a sign of wealth and status - though admittedly less overt than jewelry or a fat pouch on the belt – but a pair of boots were the symbol of what he lacked in the ‘othertime’. When he was younger and a ratter on the streets and rooftops of Mivon, he scraped together scraps of leather and burlap to give him something that would keep his feet from freezing, could keep him moving to find food. A hobbled thief is a dead thief after all unless they are really adept at begging, and he was poorer at it than most. Later in his life after the Fall by the Conqueror, a good pair of boots were only possible when a dragonsworn guard was slain…and one never knew if the pair would fit or not. Borodin chuckles to himself then, remembering that his best boots were from a bravado lieutenant he had slit the throat of in an ambush, one of the few things carried through to this ‘beforetime’ he found himself in. He still has those boots hidden in his house, just in case. One never knew after all.
Yes, so many things taken for granted, unless you are the poorest of the poor…or a survivor rebel in a hostile and ruined world. He chuckles with mirth at thinking that if they actually had parchment and ink and quills in supply, the Cog would have forced them to account for things better! Then again maybe not – that was more the way of Verik and less the way of the Cog. Thinking about the Cog and the madness of his last visage saddened Borodin, so he forced himself to focus on other aspects of his office, waiting for the afternoon to draw on. The leather-bound ledger on his fine desk. The dragonscale-bound “other” ledger not on his desk. The first and only letter of Halorouth Callmanov to him inside that other ledger. The intricately carved mahogany box hidden in his desk that is always kept closed, with a very unusual pair of spectacles inside. All functions and useful reminders of his office, that of Founder and Spymaster of Newhaven.
Truth to tell, Borodin had never had much contact with former Spymaster Callmanov. An inquiry here or there on what he had known in the ‘othertime’ which did not go against Magister Tel’ran’s expressed warnings. An interest in his Mivonese heritage, including his time as a lowly boy thief and how he survived. A seemingly casual conversation here or there when invited to some public function of the Founders, but never lingering for too long with him. Borodin recalls the one time not long after his arrival though, when he had been at the Castle on business looking for Berrin Myrdal and found Verik coming his way instead with an entourage, the two men having come to a bit of a rift over that foolishness with the Vaultmen and the Desnans; Borodin quickly used his skills of stealth and vanishing powers to evade the Banker in the Founder’s Hall and make it clear to the outside without being seen. That is, not seen except by Hal who had clearly observed the whole affair from an upstairs balcony! Yet he merely smiled and gave Borodin a sly salute before walking on, never bringing up the matter afterwards to Verik or Akiros or any of the rest.
He knows now the Spymaster had been keeping eyes and ears on him far more than he realized, evaluating him. It was thus no happenstance in the deep winter of this year that he had been summoned privately by First Founder Jemini Lebeda, informed of Hal’s sudden departure and the man’s detailed confidence in him to replace him as Spymaster, something Jemini firmly supported. How could he say no when he had decided those years ago to do everything within his power to avert the catastrophe he had lived in his other existence? So he accepted Jemini’s offer and became the third Spymaster of Newhaven. Certainly that would serve to make for a different future here. Borodin just hoped he would fare a bit better than his predecessors.
That sobering thought was echoed by Hal himself in the letter to Borodin upon his first day as the new Spymaster, left cleverly for Borodin to find the first day in his new office. Halorouth Callmanov truly had given him the “keys to the spying kingdom” as it were, including the full disclosure of his rather ingenious code that he used to track informants and operations in plain sight – it was all there for anyone to read, but passed for boring prose and made absolutely no sense without the cypher kept in another book – only cypher and script used together would reveal the extent of his network. The meticulous nature of his work was astounding, far more than the Founders could ever have a real grasp of. As to the man’s sickly pallor and potential reason for his demise in the position…well not even Borodin or Jemini knew for certain. But the letter spoke of personal warnings to Borodin, to never become attached to material objects in a quest for wealth, power or information. Especially objects that defied understanding. Hal had left the odd spectacles to Borodin as a warning to him, of things that were best left alone. Of the folly of man who think themselves masters of their world and smarter than the ancients who came before them, lacking understanding or humility until it was too late. It was a useful and poignant lesson. Tandlara Errisen in a perpetual sleep for tampering with great and fell powers. Halorouth Callmanov sickly and wasting away, perhaps cursed for his dealings with Numerian objects. Borodin wryly thinks to himself that attempted poisonings by the Pitaxians or assassination attempts by Alexey Surtova’s hired cutthroats are almost welcome and routine efforts by comparison.
Borodin wriggles his toes and moves to stand up from his chair. Well, he has his many pairs of boots and doesn’t need a new Numerian or Cyclops pair, that’s for certain. Fine women are occasional and pleasant distractions, but he has no time for any lingering engagements at this point in his life and occupation. He relishes his feasts of course – anyone growing up poor in Mivon and then eating swamp-soup in the Cog’s Resistance can’t be blamed for sampling the many delicacies offered here – but he keeps his drink to a disguised minimum. Borodin Loginov only has one true passion these days, one that keeps his ambitions sharp and focused. One that he will soon be late for if the lengthening afternoon sun from his window is any judge. He moves through his office in his usual routines to close and trap various parts of it, whispering words of passing a moment before opening the door to the hallway beyond. The door is closed and locked with a single key that he always keeps upon his person.
The day is bright and warm as he leaves the Founder’s Castle into the heart of the city, heading east along the boulevard that takes him past the ‘Sphere and Rose’ theater. As the last work bells sound he stops briefly to greet a rather attractive group of lithe maidens near the theatre – dancers by their grace and step – followed by a brief stop at a kiosk near the east wall which serves up a tasty bit of skewered lamb that is always well-tended to and reasonably priced. Passing through the ‘Festgate’ he can already hear the Caydenites starting up their raucous affairs in their Heroes’ Hall, Gladcoins and Talking Heads leading the other taverns and the more exotic lures of the Nymph’s Fruit open for business early. As entertaining as that would be Borodin has business at the Aldori Fighting School, which dominates the center of the eastern district. Guards upon the grounds of the Aldori school and the adjacent War Academy of Newhaven all salute or greet him with a proper amount of respect as is custom. He trained many of the men after all, and it is widely known Borodin Loginov has tremendous skill in Aldori forms of the blade. He passes into the school and briefly checks in with the quartermaster on duty to see how training fares in the various rooms and dueling arenas. He greets a few students with some words of encouragement and then continues deeper into the complex.
Borodin makes mental note of the times when Akiros Ismort offers instruction here with his more rigid version of the Aldori long-blade style, knowing he is predictably not here this day with his people. Nor is Berrin here with officers of the First or Second Armies, as the halls would be far more occupied and filled with palatable confusion by amateurs. A quiet evening at the academy, just the way he likes it. He moves into a small side instruction room that rarely sees use and closes the door behind him, taking a few moments to ensure he is not being followed before moving to release a catch cleverly hidden in a nearby wall sconce. An opening in the opposite wall reveals a secret door that he quickly moves through into a small stairway leading downward. Steady magical light from beyond illuminates his way.
The lower room beyond the stairs is both wide and long but with a low ceiling, all crafted in stone. Four men await Borodin with blades displayed, shirtless and bearing sashes of grey hue, all of which greet him by familiarity of his first name. Yet they are all students of his. Far beyond the purely physical forms of the Aldori blade styles, Borodin has chosen these men for their other qualities that mark them part of something greater. Mannix. Yarin. Rondeaux. Avarius. The society of magus that he has fostered over the past two years, seeking out each man and offering them their place in the order only after careful evaluation. To be of the Society one does not only need Aldori skill with the blade, must not merely show aptitude in the special fusion of arcane and steel that marks a magus, but must prove a true desire to seek and spread knowledge to better the lives of the people. They must be compassionate, resourceful, loyal to the cause and to each other. Most would find four a paltry number, but Borodin Loginov knows otherwise. It is a good number so far, and over time the numbers will grow. After all, the Order was a full forty or so when he became a full member of its ranks in the othertime. He strips off his shirt and places the multi-hued grey sash around his belt as the others have already done.
”Shall we begin then?” The other men nod eagerly and wait for Borodin to take his place in the circle, ready to begin the physical forms and the disciplined incantations that focus their minds to the Society and its purpose. Very soon now, he believes. Though he does not know for certain from his recollection of the histories, it is in 4713 that the stubborn but principled man known as Yarin meets the enigmatic and passion-fueled man known as Kor in the area of Restov, resulting in a famous draw of a duel that begins their friendship and ultimately the founding of the “Kor-Yarin Society” as he once knew it. Borodin has not been able to find the whereabouts of young Kor yet, but he knows he must ready Yarin for traveling to Restov soon. If the timelines are to be believed that is – Elsir has already shown him that their arrival over two years ago have made many similarities between the timelines moot, the choices between interfering and not interfering no longer easy to fathom. Despite cautions from Elsir Tel’ran on the matter, Borodin feels that particular floor rug has been beaten with the beating stick to where no dirt settles out anymore. He cannot live this second charmed life in fear. He must do what needs doing to build the foundations that will someday preserve Newhaven and all the River Kingdoms. He is the wild card in the deck, even if the game is stacked against them.
Desnus - Sarenith 5-6/4712
The summer grows hot in 4712, but despite the heat there is little deterrence to the continued growth and influence of Newhaven. Much of the expansion has stopped for the time being, though some new farmlands continue to be developed in both Moorvale and the southern reaches by the Candlemere. New lumber camps and mines in the Narlmarches are founded to continue new growth, with some of the finest woods and ores yet coming out of the camps to Sanctuary, just in time for an ambitious set of new projects.
Though it has been anticipated for some time, the approval by Elsir Tel'ran to expand the Harborage House into a full sized Pathfinder Lodge was given...or at least it was Elsir himself that gave the order. For a time in late spring a massive labor force and nearly all the craftsmen of stone, wood, metal, glass and other trades poured their energies into the Harborage House, aided by the Magister and his small group of arcane apprentices. When it was completed by the summer solstice, the lodge truly rivals any in the region in terms of elegance and size. Whether or not Elsir would be able to bend the politics of the Pathfinders to his will remains another question entirely.
Dragonswatch saw its own growth - a full ceremony by General Myrdal and other Founders to dedicate the full activation of Newhaven's Second Army and Second Mounted to service, with the war academy under Warmaster Greyhelm already putting forth quality officers to staff and lead its companies. Army engineers ensure Dragonswatch will be the anchor of Newhaven's eastern flank with a series of stone walls erected to give the town a commanding presence of the Far Kamelands. In more local news the rise of the town's own brewery gains some notoriety with something called 'Firebreath' - a quick-aged distilled liquor that isn't exactly high-end but is popular with the soldiers and caravan guards. Owners of the new brewery hope to one day have finer versions of whiskey to their credit, but Firebreath and cheap ale have to do for the time being.
Back in Sanctuary's eastern district, new common inns spring up across from Tavern Row, adding to the entertainment ward of the Heroes' Hall Shrine, Gladcoin's Tavern, Talking Heads Tavern, the Nymph's Fruit and several other lesser taverns and gaming dens. Despite the fact that many Galtans work in the ward, the number of incidents warned of by Verik and Akiros prove to be few - in no small part due to the watchful eyes of the Caydenite faithful to keep festivities merry. Nearby, the Newhaven War Academy grounds now have its new smithy with quality supplies of iron from the mines in the Stagsreach, keeping the military ward constantly busy with purpose.
As the summer solstice week-long festival approached, Verik was able to complete the Park of Lanterns with the magical-globe lanterns and lamps he and his chief architect had always envisioned - a source of beauty and relaxation for the citizenry down by the water's edge. Yet his triumph was soured by the rise of a group called the "Freewatch Guild" that rivaled services traditionally dominated by the Vaultmen. Rivalries and disagreements between the Vaultmen and Freewatch Guild become very vocal in the summer months, with its arguments spilling over into the All-Faiths Conclave between the Banker and his Caydenite and Milanian counterparts. Fortunately the Vaultmen had already proven their reputation for quality and professionalism even if they are costly for hire, whereas the Freewatchmen are uneven and lacking in discipline. It matters little in any event, for Newhaven is booming and there is now plenty of room for both sides to make ample coin in the constant trade and growth opportunities.
The most significant development of the summer occurs during the summer solstice festival itself. A sizable group of over two-hundred Sarenrae faithful arrive in Newhaven from the far-off lands to answer Jemini's inspired call for a northern presence of the Dawnflower. They bring with them an impressive amount of wealth and followers to build a new healing house and asylum, for many are devoted to the ways of healing and are much less militant than rumors suggested. Jemini readily accepts their offer, making plans for a new southern district to be cleared and prepared for the grand enterprise. After hearing of her desire to ressurect Doctor Atago and his brave sacrifice to her at the Dragonshead, they vow to have him revived if his spirit still desires it so.
The Sarenrae High Priestess takes her place in the All-Faiths Conclave, and soon a synergy of cooperation occurs between Sarenrae, Irori, Iomedae, Abadar and Shelyn - the desire to build a grand cathedral that the 'approved' faiths of Newhaven all would share and contribute to, its purpose to unite the bonds of fellowship and mark Newhaven as a virtuous and accepting land above all others. The costs to construct are staggering, yet the Sarenrae coffers are deep and the opportunity for a truly beautiful work of architectural art brings the priestesses of Shelyn to match their offer, echoed then by Verik from the Bank of Abadar. Not to be outdone, even the Cayden Cailean and Milani factions agree to it, with an even rarer appearance by the Desnans to agree with the proposal. Work now begins to transform the new grounds beyond the south wall for unprecedented construction, with the Sarenrae followers forming orderly encampments there to trade and acclimate to their new northern home.
2nd. Arodus 4712 - Late afternoon the day after First Brewing; A Public Scandal.
The first thing to come into focus was a steady ring resounding in Berrin's ears, a constant, high-pitched whine that usually followed after a solid hit on the helmet or a similar loud bang close to the ears. Muffled sounds are somewhere on the edge of Berrin's sound range as he furrows his brow at being disturbed from his sleep. Trying to open his eyes is a battle he's all-to-willing to loose as he works his mouth and frees his too-large-for-his-mouth tongue from the roof of his mouth as he tries to make reality out of his sleep drunk mind.
'Why am I so thirsty? When did I last drink anything? Why in the heavens is someone trying to wake me now!? What time is it?'
Those thoughts and more race through Berrin's mind as he ponders the familiarity of the muffled sounds at the edge of his hearing, growing louder and louder in his consciousness. Trying to tell the voice to go away results in a weak "Uuughmmm..." coming from the Boyars mouth, trying to shift his position to a more comfortable one results in feeling like the world just kicked him off a cliff and the feeling of falling makes every nerve stand on edge as he fumbles around to grab hold of something to save his life. The sharp intake of breath is knocked out of him as he lands flat on his back, his eyes flying open and the familiar, muffled sound coming into focus along with a steady thudding in his skull.
"BERRIN MYRDAL YOU LOUT! YOU GET OFF YOUR ARSE RIGHT THIS INSTANCE! DO YOU HEAR ME YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SCOUNDREL! YOU WAKE UP RIGHT THIS INSTANCE! HOW DARE YOU, YOU SON OF A DRUNKEN DEGENERATE!"
Berrin's eyes snap open with a muffled "Mum?" on his lips and he quickly finds a seated position which he immediately regrets and instead opts for the fetus position as the world tilts sideways and his brain threatens to leave out of his ears, the ground is cool and wet, welcoming, but the steady thudding grows louder and more distinct followed by the sounds of rushing water in the background. The quick glance he got of his surroundings tell him that the lights ate too bright and there are some people standing around.
"Get up!" The berating continues despite Berrin's best efforts to will it to go away.
"G´way.." he groans, managing the words a little better this time.
"I will not go away Berrin Myrdal! You get up this instance! What is the meaning of this!"
Putting one hand under him self Berrin slowly pushes himself to a seated position with his head hanging down and shielding his eyes with the other. 'I'm getting to old for this.' He thinks to himself as he tries to piece together what had led him to be here and where here was.
"What!?" Keeping his eyes closed against the brightness Berrin raises his head toward the source of the voice and manages a near-complete sentence with a thin-lipped smile.
"Whadya whant." It couldn't possibly be his mother, could it?
"I want a son that's not an embarrassment, a thief and a liar! I want to live out my years in peace knowing I left something good behind me other than a litter of thieves and scoundrels that cause nothing but heartache and headache, worry and sorrow. Is you father here too? Did he put you up to this!? Answer me, or by Gorum boy, you'll get a licking!"
'Oh, s#~@.' That sounded like his mum alright.
Sighing Berrin hangs his head again and rubs his temple, groaning, he opens his eyes, accepting the pain the light causes them. 'It will fade'
Taking in his surroundings Berrin sees he is lying on grass, green and cool, surrounded by sparse trees and a red-gravel walkway winds among flower beds, next to him is a square stone table with stone benches at two sides which must be where he was resting before he fell to the ground, with amazing powers of deduction Berrin concludes that he must be in the park in the main district, he must have gotten lost on his way home from First Brewing. 'Teaches me not to mix Dragonsbreath with Bokkens.' Looking up at a figure outlined in the sun he can only confirm that his mother has, indeed, arrived in Sanctuary.
Standing at near six feet, brawny and tanned, her grey hair tied in a knot behind her head, dressed in high leather boots her dress cut up to the thighs, wearing pants underneath it and a leather breastplate over it, a sword at her side and a shield on her back, her heavy hands in fists at her hips and her ever-present frown on her face.
"Hi mum." Berrin manages with a weak smile. "Did I ever tell you you would be much prettier if you smiled a bit more?"
A nervous laugh draws both Berrin's and his mothers eye to the figure standing behind her, Guardsman Corlsboch, uniformed and fidgeting, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, managing a muttered 'sorry' he raises his hands and takes a nervous step back.
"Of course I only had to ask the watch where to find you. Of course that letter of yours was too good to be true. Of course you're just like your father, a drunken no-good liar who's only good in life is to run out on any iota of responsibility you get handed in life!" Her anger seems to rise, if anything, as she takes a step forward with a raised finger. "I should have known! And where'd you get that money you sent!? Who'd you steal it off!? And this wife of yours!? A fiction as well!? I swear, Berrin Myrdal, you'll be the death of me if I don't beat you to death first!"
"Now, now ma'm." Corlsboch steps in, seeing that a crowd has gathered to witness the woman assaulting the Captain-General of Newhaven he raises his hand to try and calm the woman. "There's no call to be attacking the general like that." he says, glancing around nervously, it would be just his luck if this got out of hand.
Stopping in his tracks as the woman's glare is directed at him he's quick to reply to the generals "Stand down, guardsman." with a "Yes, sir, Captain-General, sir.", unable to hide the relief in his voice as he steps back earning a quizzical look from the old lady 'Who looks like she'd take me thrice over in a fight'.
Waving Guardsman Corlsboch over Berrin uses him to help himself stand. "No, no mum. It's all true." he manages as he waits for the disorientation to subside. "Aylene know where I am? Good." he asks the guardsman, earning a nod from him.
"Come, mother. It's time you met the missus."
Walking stiffly away, one hand on Guardsman Corlsboch's shoulder, Boyar Berrin Myrdal, Captain-General of Newhaven, makes his way, dirty and disheveled, through the park, past the foundry and the town hall, through the castle gates with his disbelieving mother in tow to introduce her to his wife and soon to be mother of his child, thankful with the knowledge that at least she would let him go back to sleep.
Erastus - Arodus 4712
The summer months are good for the kingdom of Newhaven, crops are plentiful, the mines and quarries work is productive and the sawmills keep supplying quality wood throughout the season. The roads and cities are kept safe by the various companies of Vaultmen, the Freewatch Guild and Newhavens own Guardsmen under Akiros Ismort resulting in a steady flow of goods and supplies and providing the stability that merchants and tradesmen desire the most in such dangerous lands.
I lieu with it's discussions and planning the council claims and retrofits a Watchtower from the cyclpeedean ruins on Harpy Isle and, along with fortifying the easter district of sanctuary, dedicate the required resources for architects, builders and various tradesmen and artisans required to lay the foundations and plan out the southern district by the shore of lake Candlemere and, slowly over the high summer months, a hospital is raised, staffed mostly by the devout of Sarenrae though many skilled healers, and those interested in learning the art, are quick to offer their aid in making the hospital a welcoming place for any in need.
The sector stacked out by the devout of Sarenrae takes on a more permanent shape as houses with large open, second story balcony gardens, domed roofs, colored, glass windows depicting various things, religious and not, and arched doorways, something of a clash between Osirian and Brevic architecture in a struggle to blend style with functionality, arise to fill up the lot with it's own square and well at it's center.
The tale of Boyar Myrdal's reunion with his mother after First Brewing spreads through the kingdom and beyond, causing some to frown and others to laugh, but the Boyar's wife, now about 8 months pregnant, is often seen in her company and as best any can tell an intimate relationship is quickly formed between the Boyars wife and mother. The mother quickly becomes known for her hard tongue and tasty bred buns as she founds a bakery in Sanctuary to peddle on it's streets. She, herself draws many a customer as a curiosity item and people want to see if the Boyars mother is really peddling bred buns on the streets of her now-noble son's city. But her business is quick to rise and before long she has several employees peddling for her and any attempt to make investments in her industry is coldly refused by her stating that she accepts alms from no-one.
Drawing near the end of summer, with the wind growing cooler and autumn on the horizon, the Cathedral of All-faiths is completed and a grand ceremony presided over by Jemini Lebeda is held, with the funds given by the faiths represented in Newhaven making the costs for Newhaven itself minuscule, and the building is both large and grand, taking up space rivaling the castle itself it is a towering masterpiece of architecture and artistry combined. Five towers of white marble rising a hundred feet in the air stand around a huge, open-aired circular dome of colored glass supported by marble columns ending in archways connecting from tower to tower. The area is all opened air gardens of flowering plants and flowing springs with paths of red gravel running through them, shrines to all faiths represented in Newhaven are scattered throughout the grounds among the foliage, each shrine as well wrought as the next. Standing in the center of it all, right under the domes middle, is a circular amphitheater with six rows of benches facing a circular stone table at it's center surrounded by twelve stone chairs, the Conclave of All-faiths council area, all open aired and open to the public. The only areas closed off are the towers themselves which house the clergy with plenty of space to welcome travelers of faith to Sanctuary.
No expense is spared in the ceremony itself as all faiths pitch in their own rituals to help commemorate the day in a feast that spans from Fireday to Sunday. Starting on Fireday with a procession from the southern gates, led by Jemini Lebeda among the leader of each represented faith, walk to the Cathedral and a ritual of consecration is performed, each one adding his own blessing to ritual. The Erastilians make the grounds fertile, causing all the plants to bloom at the same moment and promising that the grounds will bloom again each spring and follow the seasons in a most natural manner, the Desnites offer a warding against evil and it's ilk, the Caydenites turn one spring by their shrine into an everflowing wine spring, Sarenites offer wards against undead. Archery contests, firesword dancing, the releasing of Swallowtail's and the ale rolled out by both Erastilians and Caydenites after the ceremony all serve to mark the occasion in a three day festival of games and laughter ending in a joint ceremony held at the cathedral on Sunday.
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Verik Jarrow, Banker of Abadar and High Cleric of Newhaven, stands at near-exhaustion near a hastily-prepared tent that is to be his home for the night, searching through saddlebags on his horse Giles. He knows his fatigue is not just from the battle and the wounds he endured, but from the mental anguish that threatens to break the tenuous ordering of his disciplined mind – plus it does not help that he wears his full suit of plate-and-chain in full battle order. There are still matters to attend to however. Matters that must be dealt with before he can rest. Finding the extra case of crossbow bolts tied to one of the saddlebags he withdraws four bolts along with some twine, and then wearily walks over to a “table” fashioned from two wooden planks propped up on sacks of meal for the horses. Four golden coins freshly minted with the Newhaven seal are extracted from a belt pouch and placed on the table, as are the crossbow bolts and his holy symbol of gold and silver keys. With precision he begins to affix one coin to each bolt along the shaft, tying each off with twine. Verik does not have four golden bolts with him, so he has to improvise.
A series of cheers and shouts goes up from the hill nearby, and Verik looks up briefly to squint in the light of the late sun to see what the commotion is about. Berrin and Nikolai have the soldiers enthusiastically hauling the half-burned carcasses of the trolls up the hillside with horses and carts, apparently to impale the beasts on large log spikes other soldiers are preparing for them. Crude and barbaric… is all he can think, though at least they are also preparing large bonfires up there for when the grisly celebrations are concluded. Verik demanded that much of Berrin, so that no chance of a raising or animation can be had by the Winter Queen. Not that Nikolai would miss the chance to dice the monsters up with Dragonsbreath anyway, but it couldn’t be left to chance. Aylene was most assuredly up there, and probably Akiros, Borodin, Jemini and the rest. Well, perhaps not Jemini, as she was more inclined to visit the wounded triage grounds laid out on the far side of the army encampments.
The sun was getting low on the horizon now, so Verik forces himself back to the task at hand. He finishes the tying of the coins in quick succession and gazes to where he must go next. A rustle and slight cough reminds him that he is not alone – both Romett and Davies of his Keysworn Guards stand nearby, both having survived the battle with only minor wounds. Keysworn Ellard is with First Vaultman Viktor Akarius and the rest of the surviving Vaultmen, while First Keysworn Bertram Dakkone is with all of the Clerks at the healing and triage tents, though badly injured in the leg from the prior night’s raid. Solid and dependable Bertram. A spear through the calf but still he does his utmost duty to protect all my Clerks…but not all my Clerks are there now, are they? A searing flash of several emotions erupt through his mind but Verik forces them back, locking them away in a vaulted section of his mind for the time being. Keys and locks, locks and portals, portals and vaults…I will master my mind and deal with my grief in the proper time, but now I must even the Scales. Do not hesitate!
”Let’s go.” Verik doesn’t trust his voice not to crack, so keeps his commands curt and walks off towards where the Vaultmen should be gathered. The Gudrin River glitters almost like fire as the late afternoon sun takes on the hues associated with the beginnings of sunset, forcing the Banker to quicken his pace ahead of his Keysworn. Ahead and to his right are clustered the healing tents with the supply wagons beyond them, but he cannot divert from his purpose now. As much as he wishes for Bertram Dakkone to accompany him the guardian is better where he is. Besides, coming face to face with Anya and Dannil and the other Clerks is something too difficult to bear, so he presses on past the healing tents several hundred paces away and continues westwards. Towards the guarded clusters of the enemy captives.
Romett signals his Banker that someone is approaching them from the tents, taking an angle that will intersect with them before they get to the captives. Verik turns and recognizes the young man as his protégé, Thomas Quiss. He puts up a gauntleted hand and tries to wave him off.
”Return to the others, Thomas. I have business that cannot wait.”
”I know that Revered Banker!” Thomas quickens his step and puts himself in front of Verik’s path, forcing him to stop. ”I know what you are to do…I mean I want to come with you and bear witness. Please.”
Verik stops short of scolding his Acting Junior Banker, regarding the man intently for purpose. It was not what he had thought he was going to say. Does Thomas realize what it will be… The Banker locks away his thoughts once again and simply says, ”You do not need to do this, Thomas. It is not like reading an account on parchment, or even like the occasional affair in Sanctuary from a distance. It will stay with you.”
”I…I need to witness this. If I am to be Banker after all, I cannot hide from this.”
Verik looks at the Thomas’ hands and sees they are stained with blood from tending the hurt and dying, but also sees he has wounds of his own. A dent in the wood and one of the flanges in his mace shows he used it last night, even if he did not draw blood. He was there. He knows. He is right, I cannot shelter him…but what lesson am I teaching him? Verik nods ever so slightly to Thomas and says, ”Very well, attend and bear witness so that you may attest to it when I write it later. But you are to stay back and not get directly involved.”
With that the four men continue to head west. Soon they come to where a group of soldiers have constructed a hasty series of stock pens and patrol their perimeters, surrounded by a larger ring of men with skill in bow or crossbow, ready to kill any captives who attempt to leave their pens. Many of the captives are kobolds who cower and huddle in clusters in the centers of the pens allotted to them – bound in rows with rope but showing no signs of resistance. One pen holds captive lizardmen, each tightly bound with rope with as many appearing wounded as not, though the number of soldiers guarding those monsters is doubled. A final pen holds just a few oddly assorted creatures – some blue-tinged and the size of kobolds but clearly not kobolds, others ruddy in color and considered goblins, and even a few that Verik remembers as “boggards” from his brief encounter with one years ago. He eyes the pens of captives for a long moment, but then sees his own men on the far side of the circle and moves off in their direction. As he approaches he sees the faces of Keysworn Ellard and his First Vaultman, Viktor Akarius, as well as the surviving Vaultman who fought with him in the brief and chaotic battle before the bridge earlier. Many of the Vaultmen he knows by name in passing, but others he does not recognize. The total number of men he sees gathered stand at well under a score, including the men he brought with him.
”Is this all that survived whole, Viktor?”
The First Vaultman nods seriously, though his demeanor was always matter-of-fact business and not prone to humor. ”Yes Banker Jarrow, though another eight or nine are at the tents and may survive the night. Fourteen are confirmed dead by my eyes – what with the attack on us last night and today’s battle, the Vaultmen have been hard-pressed.”
Fourteen to add to the two...do their deaths add to the scales any less? Verik fights back anger into another locked vault in his mind, determined to avoid blind reaction that would grip less-disciplined men. Outwardly he only nods to Akarius and answers, ”Understood. Take the men and bring forth four of the lizardmen captives before we lose the light…I do not care if they bear wounds, but seek out those that show clear signs of drawing blood.”
With his usual salute, Viktor Akarius turns and barks orders to the other Vaultmen to do just that and stalks off to the pens. Keysworn Ellard, Romett and Davies stamp down an area in the grass with their boots, even as Verik places the four bolts in his right hand and clutches the keys of the holy symbol in his left, kneeling in his armor, uttering prayers to the Master and the Lawgiver. Thomas gives his own prayers to Abadar, but stands several paces away from Verik as he was instructed. Eventually a stirring amongst the soldiers and their captives in the pens signals activity; four lizardmen warriors with their hands and tails tightly bound are herded to the cleared space, with three Valutmen to each captive and a detachment of soldiers with bows accompanying them. The four lizardmen are forced down to their knees in a row facing the Banker. Behind them from the direction of the captive pens, the sounds of hissing and screeching are countered by yells and curse-laden threats from human soldiers to keep quiet.
The Banker of Abadar finishes his prayers and stands to face the captives. He steps forward to the leftmost lizardman being held to his knees by two Vaultmen from the shoulders, a third Vaultman ensuring the tail cannot move and sweep the others. Davies and Romett heft spears and flank the captive to either side, while Ellard stands behind Verik to assist, holding the coin-tied bolts for him. Viktor stands with blade drawn on the far right side of the row. The lizardmen look at their human captors with a mixture of hatred and fear, but for a moment all is quiet. Shadows from human and lizardman lengthen across the grass as the sunset is now fully underway, the skies taking on distinctive hues of orange and yellow.
The Scales must be balanced. The value has been set. I must not hesitate, must not waver. Their lives must be given value…
Verik takes one of the coined bolts from Ellard and pushes it tip-first into the ground before the leftmost captive before speaking, placing his left hand upon the haft of his warhammer at its customary place on the left side of his belt. He takes a long breath, steadying himself, pushing all thought and memory out of his mind. He is a construct in the Lawgiver’s image. Dispassionate. Unwavering. Cold. It is only then that he opens his eyes to look at the lizardman, and speaks.
”Monster. Under the purifying Light of Abadar and the unflinching gaze of his herald the Lawbringer, I, Banker Jarrow of Sanctuary and Newhaven, do hold you guilty of atrocities against my own people and my home. I therefore Judge you in the field as unredeemable and beyond mercy, condemning you to death by slaughter. May your soul be speedily send to the plane of Woe that best suits your nature. So it is Judged.”
With that, Verik draws up the warhammer from his belt high, grasping the haft with his other hand before bringing it down in a powerful stroke that hits the top of the beast’s head just slightly forward and left from center. The blow cracks open its skull with an audible cracking sound immediately followed by a sickening squish of a burst melon; the force of the impact sends bits of brain and bone fragments outwards, with blood streaming forth from the impact point as well as through nose and mouth, spraying across Verik’s arm and breastplate. The corpse now shudders violently as the Vaultmen let go and sends it pitching forward to the ground, blood now pooling out into the grass.
Behind him Thomas lets out a muffled ”Ummphhh!” as he tries to keep his composure, but Verik does not turn or acknowledge his Junior Banker. He steps to his right to stand in front of the second captive, his face impassive, but inside his mind reels from what he has just done and fights furiously to contain it. Part of him wants to fall to his knees and wretch whatever is in his stomach, to cry out to his god and repent for his brutal savagery. He wants to weep and huddle in the grass until darkness takes him and makes all sight go away forever. The ordered controls and locks constructed in his mind nearly break and throw him to chaos, but he somehow manages to hold on to the discipline he has placed his faith in all these years. Yet, he has three more to go. Each moment of breath now seems like an eternity of struggle. He cannot continue with perfect emotionless inevitability. He is not like Taisper. He is weak. Too weak to carry through resolve to what must be done, as Morai-Thrune had mocked him for. As Nikolai surely thinks of him still. His hands begin to uncontrollably shake as he now stands before the second condemned prisoner, reaching his right hand out to Ellard for the second bolt. How can he go on?
Somewhere in the desperation of it, Verik seizes upon the block of memories that may unhinge him completely if let open like a floodgate. He unlocks the vault in his mind to the memories of Casil and Sulda and lets each one wash over him, fueling his purpose with anger and grief. My brave brave lads! You had so much promise and deserved so much more…came from nothing…expected so little and set to task everything asked of you with so much desire to please and prove. I told you to stand and fight and Taisper trained you to fight and you did your duty to the last! Everything I had asked to shape you boys into the finest Clerks the Master would see and you are taken from ME? By these wretched filthy…THEY WILL PAY IN BLOOD!
Verik lets the emotions wash over him, fueling him, using the deep anger he feels to sustain him. His hands no longer shake by the time he pushes the second coined bolt into the ground, his left hand hefting the now-stained warhammer with blood and gristle. The second beast starts to let out some cursed combination of hissing and yowling as it tries to struggle against the men who hold him in place. Verik pays the beast no mind, but pushes the vaulted gate of his rage to a near-close, keeping the memories of the Twins to just a trickle as he begins. ”Monster. Under the purifying Light of Abadar and the unflinching gaze of his herald the Lawbringer, I, Banker Jarrow of Sanctuary and Newhaven, do hold you guilty of atrocities against my own people and my home. I therefore Judge you in the field as unredeemable and beyond mercy, condemning you to death…HOLD HIM DOWN DAMN IT!”
The second lizardman struggles so violently now that the three Vaultmen can barely contain him, with Keysworn Romett having drawn blood with his spear on one side to keep the beast from lurching sideways and rolling. Vaultmen from the first execution rush over to jump on his tail and push him all the way down to the ground – a combination of boots and knees push along its back to pin it. It will have to do. Verik finishes his Judgment with an irritated rush and then swings the warhammer with two hands once again, striking the beast’s head on the ground as he would a rock at the quarry. The sound is horrendous though the gore splatters less, being so low to the ground to begin with. The hissing yowls trail off to a death-rattle. Now they can all hear similar cries and screeching coming up from the captive pens behind them, with soldiers shouting and cursing and giving orders to be ready to fire arrows should one break free.
Moving to the third captive, Verik opens the sluice in his mind to allow the emotions forth once again. Sulda wanted to be the forger, and I would encouraged him to craftsmanship as his specialty if I had been given time…but Casil might have been the better dweomercrafter, better able to discern the formulas. Both boys were so intuitive though, I think they both could have managed it…but I’ll never know now will I? I’ll never know what they would have risen to achieve, what they would have striven for with our opportunities here... Anger and grief in just the proper measure moves through Verik’s blood as he begins the ritual of execution. This beast does not struggle like the last and dully looks up at his executioner, as Verik can see it was the most battle-wounded of the four chosen. Lizardmen yowls and screeches still echo out from the prisoner pens behind them. It does not matter. He does not care. He utters the pronouncement of Judgment and grips his warhammer tightly, now eager for the hammer-blow. The Judgment is spoken. Verik hefts and swings.
But it doesn’t go as planned. At the last instant the lizardman jerks and lurches sideways into one of the spear points, causing Verik’s blow to be a glancing one that mostly shatters its eye socket. The Vaultmen try to hold it still for another strike but the partial impalement from Davies’ spear keeps it from being pushed down, with the men struggling to coordinate. It is turning into a mess as the creature cries out in both pain and defiance, calling to the others in the prisoner pens. It is intolerable to Verik. So he switches the warhammer to his right hand and draws forth the beautifully crafted elvish longsword with his dominant left hand, and without hesitation plunges the blade into the creature’s chest and then cuts sideways with it.
The elvish blade cuts through easily, but the sound is that of a knife flaying the scales from a fish; blood spills forth in much greater volume than the others, with a spatter hitting Verik along his chin and side of his helm. A Vaultmen nearly yelps with alarm as he thought he’d be run through with the sword along with the lizardman, but otherwise keeps his composure and says nothing to his Banker. The body is pitched forward like the others, and the Banker deliberately moves to his fourth and final execution, the largest lizardman warrior of the group.
Casil was picking up his numbers and writing so well…he always gave his best but I think he realized he had an aptitude in something he never believed he could before. Quiet and somewhat shy but always watching, always thoughtful. Who would have thought a half-Kellid bastard barbarian could be so promising? Nearly none but me…I came here to prove something new could be managed here, that all who hold true devotion to the Master are welcome and valuable. Casil and Sulda showed that potential just as much as Anya…but now they’re gone and I will never have the chance...
Verik stands in front of the fourth and final captive, holding bloodied longsword and hammer in each hand. Vaultmen in as many numbers as possible move to hold the lizardman warrior to his doom, clearly intent on not letting another mishap occur. Verik hesitates as he realizes he has to drop or sheathe one of his weapons in order to take the last coined bolt from Keysword Ellard behind him, but in that moment the lizardman begins to do something unexpected. He begins to laugh at his executioner.
It is a throaty, gurgling and hissing laugh, but clearly laughter nonetheless. Vaultmen look at each other in surprise. Verik stops cold and looks now directly into the eyes of the beast, eyes who stare back at him intently. A warrior’s last defiance. Contemptuous. Bold. Mocking. Daring him. Something perhaps that Nikolai or even Berrin would do if faced with the finality of death in captivity. The laughter grows louder, filling the air. Other captive lizardmen behind them take up the sound and cheer their fellow on. Verik knows his voice will be drowned out in the cacophony. Again it is something intolerable, and the mocking laugh touches something deep inside Verik about his own past insecurities and doubts. The sluice of emotion opens up wide in him.
Without warning Verik changes grip with his longsword and slashes across the neck of the lizardman, missing the Vaultmen’s hands that hold him at the neck and shoulder by mere inches. The laughter changes to a gurgle as blood gushes forth from the wound, mixed with the sound of air escaping from a windpipe. His eyes go wide with surprise and shock, and Verik leans forward to hold that gaze while giving him a knowing smile of his own, answering mockery with mockery. In that moment Verik almost loses control of himself as he desires to slash him again with sword or reach back for the crossbow bolt and drive it into the monster’s heart. He craves it, wants it, yearns to do it. Yet something holds him back. Perhaps a fleeting thought that Alexius Morai-Thrune would relish his thirst for revenge. Perhaps an image of Jemini looking at him with disappointment and sadness. Perhaps something else, but in any event Verik just manages to close that gate in his mind, and instead utters the pronouncement of Judgment dispassionately as the creature’s life-blood spills out in front of him, its eyes growing dull and unfocused.
The Judgment is completed and the lizardman warrior falls forward to the ground like the rest. The Banker momentarily sets his warhammer down, and belatedly takes the final coined bolt to place it in the ground in front of him before picking his weapon back up again. Somewhere behind him, Verik can hear Thomas finally losing his composure and nosily vomiting. A couple of hardened Vaultmen smirk and start to snicker at the soft stomach of the Junior Banker, but Viktor Akarius silences them with a barked order; Verik turns to Keysworn Ellard and instructs the man to tend to Thomas before walking a few paces away from the gruesome scene of execution, his back to all of them.
Was this justice, or vengeance? Can I even tell the difference? Even now a part of Verik wants to extract payment of ten-to-one for each of the beasts that killed his boys. No, he wants to kill all of them, eradicate them utterly from existence so that they can never harm another human again. Yet, that is not the way to balance the Scales. It is also not his decision to make. He sifts through those thoughts and feelings a bit longer and then firmly closes the vaults in his mind, only to be opened later when he has time to process them back in Sanctuary.
”So it is Judged,” says the Banker with a tone of true weariness in his voice. He turns back to his men, to Viktor and the Vaultmen and his Keysworn that await his orders. ”Viktor, have a pyre prepared here immediately so that we can send these corpses to the wind. Romett, assist Ellard with the Junior Banker and get him back to the healing tents, and inform Bertram of events here…out of earshot from the Clerks if you please. Davies, you’re our finest rider, so find out when the next dispatches are to go out to Sanctuary and accompany them. I want you to escort Senior Clerk Eben and the kobold known as Jabber here as soon as is possible.”
Vaultmen and Keysworn salute to the Banker and proceed on their assignments, leaving Verik alone with his thoughts for a few moments more. He looks down at the bloodied weapons he holds, one in each hand. Warhammer and longsword. Each feels suited to him somehow, which is odd to Verik considering how he has never been comfortable with finding a suitable weapon over the years, from morningstar to club to mace, and now hammer and sword. Both different but united in purpose. A sudden thought occurs to him. Like my twin lads, different but together. Each with their fine qualities, one not better than the other. The Twins. That is what I shall call them. I shall honor Casil and Sulda’s memory in as many ways as I can, and I shall start with these here that I carry. The final lesson of a Banker with his flock. May Abadar bless what I try to do here in the name of civilization, and grant me the understanding to balance out my many weaknesses.
As the night lengthens on, Verik can see the fires across the encampments of the victors on both sides of the river. His own Vaultmen cheer as the pyre is lit and the first of the lizardfolk corpses are thrown onto it. Other cheers go up as well in the distance, drawing his attention away from the small pyre and back up to the hill on the far side, where many larger pyres are furiously burning away the rest of the trolls and fallen monsters dragged up from the fields and the river. I called them crude and barbaric, but who am I to say what is proper anymore? The small pyre roars with eager acceptance of the second corpse, even as more soldiers nearby attend to witness it and gloat over their victory. Verik turns back full attention to his pyre, and watches the rest of the executed lizardfolk corpses burn.
Verik’s eyes snap open once again, his eyes ruddy and bloodshot. He almost had a tantalizing morsel of sleep that time, but once again the unearthly melody changed pitch and volume in a mockingly discordant way. This time it was the addition of high-toned chimes that was out of key with the harp and flute sounds that drifted through the room. He sits upright with his fists clenched. ”STOP THIS MADNESS!” is all he can sputter loudly, part of his mind still in a fog from exhaustion. If anything, the so-called “melody” seems to add in more chimes now as well as a faint percussion sound akin to a brass gong. ”AAARRRRRRRGGGGGTTHfffthtggggg…!” is all that can he can muster as he buries one of his fine goose down pillows in his face and ears. The song continues. Verik starts punching the pillow repeatedly in a fit of rage-filled frustration. It is no use. He throws the finely quilted and embroidered blankets aside and gets out of bed, snatching a white covering robe to place over his nightshirt.
Five nights now. Five nights without any degree of decent sleep whatsoever. He is being mocked relentlessly. It is utterly intolerable, but there is nothing to be done about it. He is helpless to mitigate the effects of the week-long curse he and his Bank have been placed under. The Master knows he has tried – consecration rituals, blessings, wardings from chaos, summonings to “attack” the music, nothing. Nothing at all. No locks or doors or vaults or portal-wards keep the music from descending into his innermost sanctums and private bedchambers. No research he has performed to-date reveals any counter to what has been inflicted upon him. Verik nearly stumbles out his own door from his private chambers into the hallway beyond and slams the door behind him. The hallway outside is empty, though the shrill tinkling music permeates all through here in the same intensity. At least there’s that much, though Thomas thinks he has outwitted me by ‘arranging’ his monthly visit to Olegsgrav for his Bank’s progression there…the sniveling coward…no no no that’s just fatigue talking…
Normally on a night like this Thomas Quiss would be out here pacing the hall, as well as most of his other Senior Clerks. Eben was most likely on the other side of the Bank with Vaultmaster Lago, probably enjoying his stock of wines while waiting for dawn. Anya Amitel was off with the rest of the Clerks in the Initiates’ Manor – he had sanctioned it after all so he couldn’t bitterly complain about her. He was alone in the Clerk’s quarters. A small comfort perhaps that after the onslaughts of this year’s Winter Solstice and Vernal Equinox weeks which affected the entire Bank, the “offering” from the Initiates granted their manor house peace during the Summer Solstice. Back then it was not only the music but butterflies. Hundreds – no thousands – of butterflies of varying colors and sizes infiltrating every part of the Bank and getting into everything, some with seeming sentience that would wait by doorways for them to open. The Initiates got the idea to “offer” the butterflies all of their roses from the garden greenhouses at the height of the Vernal Equinox, and the next day the butterflies were gone. Well, most of them anyway, as some continued to pursue Verik throughout the confines of his own Bank. Verik admonished his Initiates for the transgression of giving something away of value without payment, but fixed the transgression by paying for the value of all roses offered to the bank’s coffers out of his own personal holdings. In addition to the butterflies, the sleep-depriving music stopped for the Initiates Manor only.
That compromise seems to be holding now in the Autumn, so nearly all the Clerks were moved into temporary quarters there. All but Verik, who was “told” that should he try the same tactic he would ruin it for all. He dared not try to test that, for he knows what the state of the Bank will be in with everyone suffering from exhaustion earlier in the year. He has tried to catch a nap in the daytime, only to find the music returns to him and him alone. How did they manage it? Miserable rotten no-good Desnans!
Verik leaves the living quarters of the clergy wing’s upper level and stomps down the stairs to the lower level – there is no sense reading or working on his dweomercraft or anything else in the state that he is in. Instead, he moves through the library and scriptorium of the clergy wing’s lower floor and heads into the main worship hall. Here in the grand vaulted hall of Abadar with its balconies and rows of pews for the faithful, the haunting discordant music is even more pronounced, echoing off of the high wooden beams, stained glass and stone. He cannot even pray here in the heart of his Bank with any slight hope of peace. ”PHAH!” Verik stamps his bare foot on the ground and then hops up and down twice as he stubs his toe, adding to the misery. With fists clenched he marches out of the hall through the side doors into the garden courtyard beyond. Being the fall it is cold, though snows are still some weeks away from falling. The Banker could cast an endurance of the elements upon himself easily to ward off the chill, but on this night he simply doesn’t care. The pathway is damp with dew as he marches barefoot to where the fountain is. Naturally, the music here is as loud and piercing as it was in his quarters.
Verik finally unleashes his wrath to the starry sky above him, fists raised into the air. ”WHY MUST YOU GO ON LIKE THIS! HAVEN’T YOU HAD ENOUGH PLEASURE AT MY EXPENSE?”
If anything, the music seems to grow even louder with more chimes and gongs and a newly added whistle sound like wind rushing underneath a door. The sheer mockery of it sets his temper to new heights – his mind is now fully alert from both the anger and the cold. ”I…I will NOT be made a FOOL of in my own home! I will FIND you and HUNT you down and…and and then you’ll be SORRY! That much I promise to you!”
Verik does not expect an answer to his threat, but on this morning before dawn he receives a reply in the form of a ghostly, echoing trio of harmonic voices that whisper musically in the air around him. ”You are a fool, Verik Jarrow, and your threats to us are why we persist in teaching you lessons of humility”
”Wha…what? What did you say? You good-for-nothing vagabonds…” Verik snarls and taps his chest violently several times with his own finger. ”It is YOU who threaten ME! You persist in this madness! This is the fourth…no fifth time that you have accosted me and my people! Do you expect for me to simply accept your invasion of my…our privacy?”
The trio of harmonic musical voices laughs and answers, ”We do not expect anything from you, except perhaps to learn the lessons we teach you someday. We are very patient.”
”Phah! You only set yourselves as my enemy!”
”We are not your enemy. If you were, you would know it from your very dreams turned against you.”
”I only did what I did because you violated the Law! And attacked my people!”
”You blinded one of ours, Verik Jarrow, and had our faithful restrained and beaten.”
”I…I restored his sight the very next dawn and you KNOW that! Your people were not “beaten” but some resisted arrest and…and…and any injuries were healed that day in the jails! You make it sound as if we tortured your kind and that is utterly untrue!”
”The restraining and confining of our kind IS torture, Banker of Abadar. It is an affront to us.”
Verik pauses in his tirade, briefly considering if he has fundamentally wronged them in the incident to have the Law obeyed. ”I…may have been overzealous in my reaction, Desnan priest.” Priest? Priestess? Priestesses? Do I speak to one or many right now? He shakes off his pointless thought and continues. ”I…I apologize for the injury as you see it. Yet your people accosted mine just prior to that, and once more you were breaking Newhaven Law. That is an affront to me and my people, or did you not realize that we Abadarans take laws as seriously as you do your freedom?”
There is a momentary pause before the trio of voices answers him. ”We do not agree that the grievances are equal, Banker Jarrow, but marvel that you are able to provide us even this small measure of a sincere apology. Go on…”
Verik bristles as the mocking insult, but even he realizes this may be his once chance to reach an accord and stop the torment to his psyche. He starts pacing back and forth by the fountain and wringing his hands in both thought and to keep them warm. ”Listen to me, Children of the Starsong,” he begins earnestly with the hope that he remembered one of their god’s chosen names correctly. ”The Religious Declaration, Registration and Taxation Proclamation Laws are in effect for reasons both proper and practical, so that the Realm knows what faiths practice within its borders and how they may be measured in terms of impact to its citizens. It should certainly be seen as reasonable even to you that the declaration of your faith’s intent to worship here should be known and understood…”
Laughter from the harmonic voices grow louder with every passing word until Verik stops in frustration. ”We are the wanderers and the travelers of The Great Dreamer, Banker of the Gold-Fisted. We go where and when we will, guided and nurtured by our goddess, given fortune and understanding as we need it. We will not be hedged in or limited in our purpose. What you propose in your “laws” is sheer folly to us.”
”The Law is clear! I have clear reasons for doing so…have you not heard from your “friends” in the Conclave of the threat by the cultists of The Angry Hag upon us? Not once, but twice!”
”We are not like those of Gyronna, and would resist them as surely as you. Do you say we are one and the same?”
The last words of the chorus are louder and tinged with an edge that Verik’s ear discerns as outrage. He puts up his hand in protest. ”No no, no I do not mean to imply that you are…of course I wouldn’t suggest that! Yet you must comply with the Law if you wish to wander in our lands.”
”We will not.
”Why? The others do! Your “friends” of Cayden Cailean and Milani do this despite our many differences in the Conclave! They paid your registration taxes even!”
Amusing laughter echoes around Verik. ”You are a fool. They write your precious lists but mock you in what they offer. Do you think they give you a true accounting of them? Do you honestly believe the Everbloom faithful would ever give you their true names and numbers? Do you think the servants of The Drunken Hero would waste their time on giving you accurate tallies of their own? Surely you must realize the depths of your own folly…”
Verik curses and stamps his foot. Of course they were right. He knew it, as the lists submitted to the Office of the High Cleric were inaccurate and nearly illegible…and in the Caydenites case were filled with names that clearly could not be real, most of them with rude words as surnames or ill-conceived pun combinations that only a Caydenite would find clever. Always the mockery with these chaotic vagabonds and ner-do-wells. He knew it, and even once tried to get Halorouth to verify the rolls but was denied by a vote of the Founders’ Council. So he grudgingly accepted the lists anyway beyond an open admonishment in the Conclave meetings. They did pay their taxes after all, for themselves as well on behalf of the Desnans. Should he be angry at them for the insulting of his laws, or for the fact that he accepts the fiction in order to keep some semblance of peace? That thought just made him angrier.
”I realize nothing!”
”That much is clear to us…”
Tired oaf! ”You dirty skulking…you violate the Law even now, wherever you hide! I am well within my right to uncover your hiding place and arrest you for unlawful use of divine magic as a threat to the stability of…”
”We are not within your borders, Abadaran. Our words can travel to you from across Avistan and are not limited by the meaningless borders of men. So can our dreams. How do your trivial laws account for that we wonder?”
The prospects of such power reels in Verik’s tired mind. He knows of Sendings and other divination magic both divine and arcane, but the very fact that they can perform their “curse” to this degree and with such precision pulls his arguments up short. He lets out a long, heavy breath that can be seen in the chill air, and sits down heavily upon a nearby stone bench by the fountain. ”I…will not betray my vows or principles Desnans. I will not be corrupted by your feckless and disorderly acts. You have my oath on that.”
”Nor shall we be corrupted by yours, Abadaran. You have our solemn promise on that.”
”Then I suppose we are at an impasse.”
”I suppose we are.”
Verik clenches his jaw and nods to no one in particular, slapping his hands on his knees for effect. He stands up and shrugs his shoulders, resigned now to his fate. As he begins to walk off however, the harmonious trio of voices speaks once again.
”This has been a most enlightening conversation, Verik Jarrow. In the interests of peace and cooperation between our people and yours, in this land where you have strived to make it bountiful and pleasant for all, we will relax our remembrance of your transgressions against us - from the full week to only one night in each of the seasonal festivals. We expect you will remember our generosity and exercise restraint in the future.”
Verik looks up with almost an expression of desperate joy. ”A contract, then? A binding agreement?”
”We have no need of such things. An understanding.”
The lack of something substantial to refer to grates against his nerves, but he accepts anyway. After all, what choice does he really have? ”Very well. I accept the terms for now. I…look forward to better dealings with your kind in the future so that we may fully resolve this at some point. Anything else you wish to discuss?”
”No. You may go now.”
The disrespectful dismissal fills Verik with ire, but even he is not fool enough to unhinge the benefits of their tenuous bargain. Already he can feel that the music which haunts him has lessened. He curtly nods and walks back towards the doors of the main hall of the Bank, eager for warmth and sleep.
As the Banker of Abadar opens the doors to his hall, he fails to notice a small swarm of blue and silver winged butterflies descend from the starry night sky and swoop in from behind, landing with delicate stealth onto the back of his robes as he enters. The fluttering butterflies are perfectly still until he reaches the inner confines of his bed chambers.
”GAHHH!”
That evening Jemini lays down on her bed and smiles. A small shine of wetness glosses over her eyes and she absentmindedly brushes it away. The visit to the Scales had turned out far more meaningful and moving than she had imagined only hours beforehand. "Kimreka..." she whispers.
On the next occasion when Jemini crossed the market she happened upon a fresh produce stand, with fruits, vegetables and tubers grouped and piled in generous amounts. One of the bright yellow lemons draw her attention, she picks it up and smiles, her mouth curled slightly at the thought of the sourness. The bright yellow midday sun... she thinks to herself, ah... but this... this is the warmth and nurture of the sun that brings warmth to the day after a long night. The deep warm color of the oranges she surveys now is accompanied by a rich citric scent. It's easy to see what they would prefer these over the noon lemons. hmmmm... these are at their peak now... as sweet and rich as they are likely to get - tomorrow already they'll start diminishing. And there are probably too many to sell all today. "I'll take them all."
A crate with a good three dozen oranges rests on Jemini's shoulder as she makes her way through the rest of the market - it looks a bit random, but over time Jemini's feet take her close to the ward inhabited by the kobolds. After two alleys off the main road things quickly quieten down; most people avoid the proximity of the Scales if they can help it (other than children at least, who seem to love the muck in spite of what their mothers may tell them).
Looking around left and right to make sure nobody is obviously around, Jemini speaks up clearly: "Eyes! I think you might be around, if you are, can you make sure this gift will find its way to the Sootscale tribe?" Jemini places the crate on the ground, "Thank you, Eyes," she adds as she moves on. By the time she reaches the corner she barely hears two taps, and when she looks back she sees an empty alley - nobody around, and no crate.
"Borodin, welcome!" Jemini beckons the man to have a seat opposite her. Other than Jemini's voice the room was quiet, unnaturally so. Jemini had tasked Verik with ensuring that it would be so.
Jemini smiled, her eyes held the warmth they usually held, but Borodin could sense that a lot was on her mind; this was no idle chit chat. His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately as Jemini continued. "Before you get too comfortable -" Borodin shot almost straight up from the seat, but Jemini's suppressed laugh and pointing hand begged him to sit down again, properly this time, "...comfortable... in your new position as the head of intelligence, I'd like for you to be aware of a special assignment."
"No doubt you are aware that your new position as spymaster is not an idle one. You've not been chosen haphazardly, nor for that matter for your obvious qualifications. You are - as Elsir might put it - a unique living artifact. Something, or rather someone, that should not be now as it were. But here you are, and by Elsir's estimates you are here to stay. Welcome again I might add."
"While getting up to speed with the files and knowledge left by your predecessor, Halorouth, you'll become quite well acquainted with yourself. You'll see that Little Borodin is doing rather well; I felt it was important to ensure that we know what is happening in his life and that he and his family have little to overly worry about. Of course, we cannot be sure that if by some accident Little Borodin dies or loses an arm or something - that you, Borodin, don't suffer as a consequence as well. That is why the position of Spymaster includes responsibilities of ensuring that Little Borodin is doing well. You may want to become your own friendly uncle, though I'll leave that up to you - and you probably should not get too close with yourself."
"Alas, that concludes the easy-going part of this meeting. There is more to your position as spymaster. More than even the previous spymaster had to deal with. I hope you're ready for it, as this will be quite the responsibility and literally nobody here exists - other than you - that can shoulder that burden."
"Elsir sometimes describes the... hmmm... the time you come from as The Darkest Timeline. It is impressive to hear him say it, you can hear the capital letters, perhaps an inflection of his elven tongue. I've spent a fair bit of time with both Verik and Elsir in discussion on what The Darkest Timeline means, and I've come to the conclusion that Taisper, or The Cog as you know him, formed a crucial part in the resolution of The Darkest Timeline. Your position as spymaster is in part carried by your familiarity with The Cog. Taisper is... well... I guess you know: both a genius and a very troubled man."
"I believe that Taisper may form an important part of any timeline. Not necessarily as The Cog, but as one of the key figures around which destiny folds itself when it tells the story of the Stolen Lands. Taisper now is like an egg: an uncertainty with promise to give birth to a wonderful creature of great importance, or if found in the wrong conditions, cracked and bringing forth a foul-smelling abomination."
"I find it telling that even in The Darkest Timeline Taisper, The Cog, remained a powerful force against Choral; albeit twisted beyond recognition. I hope to ensure that he can become a force of good that will help us triumph over the coming of Choral the Conqueror. And for that I need a mother hen that can ensure a warm and nurturing environment for the egg to hatch healthily. And that, Borodin, that is where you come in."
Abruptly Jemini stands up, her smile warm and her eyes looking at Borodin with hope. She taps him strongly on the shoulder to wake him up from the confusion of thoughts in his mind. As she leaves the room he hears her speak, but cannot distinguish if she says "Good luck" or "Cluck cluck".
Borodin, eyes wide, takes a deep breath.
Rova - 9/4712
As late summer turns to fall in the year 4712, the Realm of Newhaven appears to be on very firm footing in the land. Its standing armies now near just a couple companies short of two full banners (two-thousand soldiers), with garrisons and watchtowers in key areas of the Realm. It has two full-fledged cities in Olegsgrav and Sanctuary, with two additional large towns in Dragonswatch and White Hart, and a wide range of farmstead communities, thorps and hamlets. The upcoming harvest season has just started, and the expected bountiful harvests will impact availability of food for the entire region in all directions. Farming areas known inside the Realm as the Far Kamelands, Near Tuskdowns, Far Tuskdowns and even Moorvale live up to the promise of rich and fertile soil found in little amounts elsewhere this far in the North. Traffic on the Tuskwater Lake and into the rivers known as the Shrike, Gudrin, Skunk and Little Sellen have never been seen before, with caravan roads and trails joining the cities and lands together - even up in such places as the Stagsreach and the Narlmarches. Only the far end of the Candlemere and deeper west near Hooktongue Slough are the wilds to be truly feared.
In the capital city of Sanctuary, the majesty and grandeur of the young city has been solidified with paved streets across its main district - a project heavily endorsed by the Bank of Abadar for some time now. Due to the high volume of traffic upon the Tuskwater from trade and ferrying goods to the Tuskdowns a second new pier was added in the southern district, creating a new port-of-entry for its fledgling foreign quarter just beyond the main walls. Adjacent to the Harborage House and People's Library the Magister's Tower is finally completed, giving a commanding view over the lake and much of the city up to the castle.
In Olegsgrav the continuance of instability from across the Brevian borderlands encourages a strong barracks house to be built, both as a sign of law and order to those that seek legitimate commerce there, and as a place to house one of the Newhaven Mounted Companies should the need arise.
In White Hart the rise of "Hart Cider" and "Hartsmead" has spread throughout the realm, with increased demand for production by its inhabitants to get the non-ale products to market. Along with the excellent Bokken's Ale from Olegsgrav, the average but plentiful Havener's ale from Sanctuary and the hard-bitten Firebreath liquor from Dragonswatch, Newhaven has something for nearly all kinds and tastes.
Like Olegsgrav in the preceding months, Dragonswatch becomes the source of intellectual and archeological curiosity as a massive ruins is uncovered in the nearby hills. What seems to be a fortress structure for Taldan soldiers is unearthed - but what is even more interesting is that the relics depicted a dire battle with a dragonic beast - either a true dragon or a linnorm by the size of the bones found. Remnants of great ballistae are unearthed at the site, and some sages suggest the Far Kamelands were perhaps once all forested but destroyed in the conflict. Obviously this sparks debate from the learned of the area, but it gives Dragonswatch a new notoriety aside from military stronghold and haven of soldiers and mercenaries.
@ Jemini
”Thank you Jemini.”
Borodin is taken aback during this impromptu meeting. This is quite possibly the most she’s ever said to me. Literally!
At the mention of being comfortable he replies ”As long as I have a good pair of boots, I’ll be comfortable enough.”
Before the hard part of the meeting begins he interjects his thoughts concerning his younger self. ”I have spent much time pondering my unique position here. And Elsir has warned me about the dangers of trying to alter timelines. If his opinion on the matter holds true, my mother will die at her appointed time, and my father will follow shortly thereafter. I’ll become a street rat, and eventually be indoctrinated into my order. While I wish my childhood was more of one, I am not sure if I should meddle with that part of my life. I could inadvertently do more damage than if I leave myself to my own devices. On the other hand, if we keep Nikolai from turning into the Dragonlord, then I might cease to exist in this timeline anyway. Its unsettling any way you look at.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to keep a distant watchful eye on my younger self, but I don’t think I will take an active role in my affairs.”
”My thoughts on Taisper mirror those of my own circumstances as well. Sometimes I wonder if by “defeating” the Dragonlord and coming back here, we haven’t changed time and somehow, made room for another evil power to take his place.” I hope this is not Taisper. There were times, in the future, when he was The Cog, that I doubted his sanity.”
“I truly believe that we have nudged our futures away from what I know as the past. But, if Taisper starts a turn for the worse, we may have to “deal” with him. So yes, I agree. I will do my best to keep the current Taisper as he is. Although I think Verik will play a large part in this.”
Jemini stands and makes her way out. Borodin looks down with a smirk, producing an orange seemingly out of nowhere. ”Cluck, cluck indeed…..Kimreka.’