GM ShadowLord's PFS #5–19: The Horn of Aroden (Inactive)

Game Master The Rising Phoenix

Open.

DOT

.

Ready...

A rapid summons has you speeding to Silverhall, in Brevoy at the behest of Lady Gloriana Morilla, the faction leader for Taldor. A week ago a messenger delivered a hand written note from Lady Morilla, which read as follows:

"Noble Pathfinders,

Eagerly anticipating news of your success,
Lady Gloriana Morilla"

You are rapidly shuttled into the audience chamber of a well-appointed noble's home. A fire burns merrily in the large hearth of the audience chamber, casting warm light over the long wooden table and high-backed chairs. A pair of guards opens the engraved wooden doors, and a regal woman enters, her hair tied into a tight bun. The guards stay by her side as she scans the room and then takes a seat at the head of the table.

"You must be Lady Morilla’s Pathfinders. I am Dame Sarrona Lebeda, and I am well aware of your desire for the Horn of Aroden. I am sympathetic to the cause of the crusade, and am curious to learn whether the Horn’s magic can be returned; however, the horn has already been pledged to King Noleski Surtova as a fitting part of the dowry for my daughter’s hand in marriage, and such promises cannot be overturned lightly. Nonetheless, I am willing to find a replacement gift in exchange for one kindness on your part: bring my son back home."

"As of late, my son Lander has been neglecting his duties in favor of playing the part of an adventurer. His swordplay admittedly shows promise, but wielding a weapon is only one facet of being a proper lord. Worse, the style and legacy that he has become obsessed with is that of Baron Aldori, which many houses perceive as a sign that we are not as committed to a unified Brevoy as we may appear. The truancy of a second child may not seem much of a threat, but with his older sister spending her days in the capitol negotiating the web of Surtova politics, the increase of bandit activity and wolf attacks in our lands, and Lander neglecting his responsibilities within our holdings, I am concerned that he is as much a liability to our family as an asset. You are adventurous types yourselves, and understand the hazards and difficulties of the lifestyle. Perhaps you could find Lander and convince him that the way of the sword is not the life he romantically envisions?"

Indra had been about to perform in a show before getting the missive from Lady Morilla and would normally never have canceled a contract, it just wasn't right to leave an obligation unfulfilled. That being the case this was of potentially far greater importance to everyone than her performance and so she regrettably withdrew from the production with greatest apologies and was forgiven under the circumstance provided she make it up when she returned, something she was more than willing to do. Her obligations met as best as they could be for the time Indra found a coach going in the right direction and made her way to the Lady's residence as quickly as she could.

When she was ushered into the manor and to the audience Indra examined the building as she went in curiosity, it was always interesting to her how those of a higher cast than herself lived. Not to say she wasn't of a higher cast, despite being born into a merchant cast Indra had jumped casts twice, once to the entertainers and later, after her powers manifested, she was changed to the religious caste of her society. When the lady took her seat Indra remained standing, it wasn't proper to sit until the host gave permission and she wasn't going to presume, she was of an arguably lower caste after all. Once the permission was given she took a seat and listened to what the Lady wanted of her and the others who had arrived.

AS the story was told Indra found herself frowning at the actions of Lander, it wasn't seemly to disrespect ones family in such a way, he should have respect for his mother's request, if he had none of this would be happening in the first place. Much as it surprised her though she'd begun to become accustomed to the way the world was away from her home country, chaotic and often lacking in discipline, especially among the upper crust. When the description of the Lady's predicament was over Indra spoke, her Vudrani accent thick but understandable, "The first question that comes to mind is where can we find your son?"

The Lady's summons finds Gaeldrung with blood all over his knuckles. He drops the barely conscious accolyte of Gorum to the sandy floor of the sacred testing ring and motions for another priest to take his place while he read.
He was on his way the next morning.
As he and his new team are lead into the hall he observes those around. Not a bad bunch, though some felt a bit untested. He himself was untested not long ago, so he doesn't begrudge then this. He only hopes he won't have to purge any of them for cowardice.
His high crowned helm and polished armour glisten in the light of the meeting hall as the situation is explained. A prodigal needed returning. He had to admire the boy's efforts. A mother's call was a difficult thing to ignore. However, he was ignoring a battle taking place in his own realm in favour of battles abroad. This was unacceptable.
...and the manner of adventures he travels with. he tacks onto the end of Indra's question. In truth, you should tell us all you know about him. To do less may cause delays in the boy's acquisition.

A massive man stands at the back of the group. Everything about him strikes a jarring contrast to this place and these people. Even Indra's exotically-Vudrani features seem to fit into this environment next to this man's near-feral appearance.

Rustic leathers, dragon-skin armor, tribal fetishes, and simple weapons—including the carved spear he leans on—mark him as a mwangi jungle tribesman. His massive size and ashy skin further place him as one of the highland bekyar tribes, though the iconic dreadlocks are notably shaved off, leaving a bald scalp. Out of a thick-featured, blunt, and scarred face stares one dark eye, the other covered in a crude red leather patch.

He listens through their hostesses introduction, then gives a single nod to Indra's question before asking his own. "And when we find this second son," he says in a deep bass, with the strange cadence that his jungle brethren give Taldan, "if he does not choose to come. Do we bring him, anyway?"

Ma'Huuk sounds like Eko from LOST, if that helps. :)

Of the group, Ma'Huuk is the only one who might beat Gaeldrung in a contest to see who can make children cry by simply entering the room. And Gaeldrung is impressed.

He entered the room quietly, taking note of both the richness of his surroundings and for the time being, his companions in this mission. Slowly with much care he adjusted the outer wrappings of his Turban and listened frowning at certain parts of the ladies story, stone faced at others.

He wasnt particularly a tall man, especially compared to the two very large men in the room, whom he cautiously eyed and measured. His dark hair was kept nearly hidden under the turban and his short dark but well kept beard glistened slightly. It was obvious he took great care in appearing well kept.

I would inquire, not being from your lands myself, about this Baron Aldori as well, what about the man draws your sons attention? Knowing what draws him torwards the man perhaps could also provide the answer on how to pull him from his influence.

He said finally, his hand resting atop the hilt of a longsword, an oddity perhaps on the obvious Keleshite.

After receiving his summons, Goran left the Sarenite temple after completing his morning's prayers and chores. After a quick talk with the High Priestess, he proceeded with haste to the palace. Upon entering, he was glad to see diversification amongst his colleagues.

A life of grandiose adventure and glory is a siren's call to many young men and women. He should, however, heed his call to duty to his family and country first. Is there anything you can tell us that might help us persuade him to come back to the fold? Or perhaps we could pass on a message that would bear some weight your son? Any detail at all would be useful, Milady.

"Lander has taken to associating with a blacksmith named Marek Bogdan. Marek is a retired soldier and a practitioner of the Aldori style, and Lander says he’s a fine instructor, but my son spends too many hours at the Three Tongs smithy practicing his swordplay when he should be overseeing our cottars and building alliances. He was headed to the Three Tongs when last I saw him, two days ago."

She sighs and shakes her head slowly, sadness evident in her eyes. "My son is a proud and headstrong individual. Each time one of the household retrieves him, he becomes increasingly resistant to persuasion. I am hoping that he might be more willing to listen to capable strangers."

"if he does not choose to come. Do we bring him, anyway?"

She considers the barbarian's question. "Perhaps you can find a way to bring him home that will not involve violence, no? Telling him that his mother sent you to get him may send him in the opposite direction. He is a bit headstrong that one. It may be easier for you to find another one." She pauses, finished. Reluctantly she adds. "But yes, I want him home at all costs."

"Baron Aldori is much more than a man in Brevoy—he’s a symbol, specifically one that represents an independent Rostland. Many of Aldori’s followers fought against Choral the Conqueror several hundred years ago, and many still work to split the two halves of our country apart. Although the Lebeda family supports the Surtovas’ rule over a unified Brevoy, there are those who doubt our commitment. Considering that the Lebeda family gave succor and support to Rostlandic rebels in the past… it is certainly in our best interest to maintain our distance."

Is there anything you can tell us that might help us persuade him to come back to the fold? Or perhaps we could pass on a message that would bear some weight your son? Any detail at all would be useful, Milady.

She looks up to the ceiling and considers the question. "As I mentioned he is a proud one. Perhaps you can compliment something like heroic tradition or leadership skills or something relevant to the situation in that matter? You will need to use your best judgement here I suppose. I fear force will be the least likely to work however." she notes as she shoots the barbarian a quick glance.

Gaeldrung crosses his arms as he contemplates the complexity of this mission. It would be a welcome challenge. Violence was usually the second option for Gorumites, trailing threats by a hair.
You say violence directly against the lad is unlikely to succeed. What if we showed him the dangers of this life. Show him a real monster and let him get knocked around a bit. Enough to shatter that Aldori swagger. Then we sweep in and save his scrawny a## and convince him that all this heroics isn't really his thing?

Bregan listens quietly in the corner of the room, reddish blonde hair and scruff frame hazel eyes that have learned to look beneath the veneer others see, the hard way. The inquisitor and barbarion would be good to have in a fight, simply for the fact they would draw others eyes from him, allowing him to dance in and out worry their opponent from the rear. For even the mighty aurock can be brought down by the much smaller wolf when the it becomes hamstrung, and unable to move to defend itself.
The beautiful Indra, and the Keleshite bard, well they had access to the arcane and time would tell where their true power would lie. While Goran with his ever present smile, was a stalwart alley to have in a fight, granted Bregan no longer looked as he did when they were last together.

"Gaeldrung has a point, for sometimes the best way to learn is to walk the shoes of that you wish to know, or perhaps were to ignorant to appreciate." he says with a wry smile.

Sorry all left home at 3:30am and got home at 8:30 this evening, been a busy day. I can keep up by phone with what's going on just was going to take to long to update

That might not be the worst idea at all, after all who wants to eat bad food, live in abstract terror moment to moment, arrange his adventure to perhaps involve a sewer somewhere... perhaps fufill his need to do something and at the same time leave him with such distaste in his mouth he no longer wants to.

He mused aloud idly adjusting parts of his clothing.

Or maybe one of my large friends here can go and convince this blacksmith to desist in training your son or show your son perhaps his instructions arent to par?

He further mused.

Dame Sarrona Lebeda watches the back and forth between the Pathfinders. "Do what you see best, I trust in your judgement. One more parting comment, you asked for any information that may help. Lander is the younger of my two two children. He is good looking, and has caught the eyes of several noble scions in Silverhall. Lander also has always been fascinated by stories of bravery and derring-do. When he was a child, he spent hours questioning soldiers, guards, and mercenaries about their campaigns and fights against monsters. His collection of Brevic military histories is second to none in Silverhall."

Ma’Huuk stands quietly—somewhat awkwardly—listening to the discussion.

Know (Local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19[/ooc]

"This Marek. He is a skilled maker of weapons at his smithy, no?"

knowledge local: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

He knew he really should have studied more about well all areas of the lands outside Qadira, There had been way too many things to try and memorize. He frowned at his lack of knowledge in this particular area. It was easy enough to see his frown. He did offer the matron of this particular... clan?tribe?sect? a slight bow.

How do they call themselves I wonder? The people here.

He wondered to himself. When it appeared no one else had any questions he spoke up.

We will do our best to guide your son back to your home good lady, Healthy and hopefully sated in terms of his ...longings for adventure.

He offered having nothing else to add really.

Ma'Huuk gives another mute nod at the Kellish man's words, and—realizing they've not really had a chance to get to know one another—introduces himself to his team.

"I am Ma'Huuk." He shrugs and gives a grim smile, "I usually let my spear speak for me, but I will do what I can to help convince this young man to return home."

Gaeldrung didn't make a habit if learning the local's names, so the reference means nothing to him.
As will I. My name is Gaeldrung, Priest of Gorum.

aid: 1d20 ⇒ 19aid on Ma'huuk's roll

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Indra considered the suggestions and finally spoke up once more, "I think that perhaps the best solution is to find a way to show him that he must learn to balance his duties to hearth and home with his desire for adventure." She shook her head gently and said, "It's of no moment just now, we can discuss the approach later, for now it seems this blacksmith may be the first person to go speak with."

Indra rose and stretched in a lithe and graceful movement before making a graceful spin that turned to a curtsy and said to the other pathfinders, "I am Indra Gahanartakee and I believe we should get started," she smiled then and continued, "unless anyone has any other questions to ask."

diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

In the short time he has been in town Bregan has learned little to add the Ma'huuk's comment about the smith. Turning to Dame Lebeda, he bows in thanks for her time and to bid farewell as the other mention leaving.

"I am Bregan Lastflower, pleasure to make your acquaintances. Thank you for your time mi'lady, we shall bring your son home, and with luck he'll even believe it was his idea." He add with a wink.

She nods as you depart, "Please do just that Pathfinder."

Leaving the noble's home, you head into town. A few questions lead you to the Three Tongs smithy. Racks of weapons and metalwork line the walls of the Three Tongs smithy, and the forge is visible through a wide door. A pair of crossed Aldori dueling swords hangs on the wall opposite the front door. The antlers of several deer and elk decorate the walls. A staircase wraps around the eastern wall, leading upstairs.

The sound of hammer on anvil continues from the back of the smithy. After few moments the hammering stops, and a man steps out. He is a bald Taldan man approaching middle age. His skin has been rendered leathery by years of working the forge, and his black beard and eyebrows are patchy from occasional sparks. He smiles, a genuinely welcoming smile. "Welcome to my shop, travelers. How may I help you?"

Gaeldrung steps forward. Greetings. I am Gaeldrung. I have a bit of a mending job, if you don't mind. You see this dent here just won't come out with my repair tools. Got it by an animated chair that nearly took out a few friends and I a while back. You think you can have a look?
Totally not making that up, by the way. True story.

back with the team before they found the smithy

I am Several Orestes faithful blade of the dawnflower, humble historian and noted ministril back home in Khoka, along the Pashman river back in Qadira. I am new to the pathfinders, but joined to follow along and perhaps find my brother. It is very good to meet you Ma'Huuk.

And you as well Madam Indra.

He added as they made their way to their next destination.

At the smithy

Not the tale of the haunted chair again... We have heard of your very fine wares and would like to browse them...Also I am told you are perhaps the man to seek if one is new to the area and looking for adventure.

He did his best to make the question sound nonchelant as he looked about at perhaps some of the man's wares.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

On the way to the smithy.
Indra nodded in response to Several's introduction, "Likewise. So, where are all of you from anyway. I'm from Vudra myself."

At the smithy.
Indra nodded in greeting to the blacksmith but said nothing at first. The mention of a chair caught her attention though and she said in a disbelieving tone, "A chair?"

Gaeldrung looks to her and nods in complete seriousness. An Animated chair. I have yet to meet a more worthy opponent. Outside the church, of course.

Good you about day, sir. My name is Goran. My friends and I were wondering if we might have a few moments of your time. We just want to speak to a student of yours, Lander. The lad is neglecting his duties as a lord. Not that we are putting any of the blame on you...we are not. But he seems a bit too...enthusiastic in his pursuit of martial prowess. I understand that he has come a fair ways in his studying under your tutelage. It is just that he needs to redirect his focus back to the more mundane and to him boring side of his duties. I am sure you understand about duty, my good man.

Gaeldrung rolls his eyes when the smith isn't looking. Wasn't it just like clerics to show their whole hand straight away. He wasn't even sure this man liked the nobility!

Ah, the chair battle. So many good memories!

The smith looks at Gaeldrung questioningly, "A chair you say? Hmmm. I have to be honest, that's a new one! Ha!" He laughs as if Gaeldrung is joking. When he doesn't reciprocate the laughter he stops awkwardly and looks to the bard. He makes his way to Gaeldrung and says "Wait, you're serious then. A chair? Ok let me have a look at it."

He is tilting his head at the dented armor when Goran spoke. He stops looking at the armor and stands up and slowly takes note of the full group for the first time. He crosses his arms on his chest and nods very slowly "Ah... So. His mother has sent you out to fetch him again, has she now? Come. Let's go upstairs and talk in private, I'd hate to talk about the lad where other ears can catch word of their Lord."

He motions for you to follow him and leads up you to a large private room with a half dozen chairs. He smirks and points to one in particular, "That one is for you half orc, it's a feisty one."

A growl escapes Gaeldrung's throat, but he plays nice and takes the offered chair anyway.

perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

Bregan follows the others upstairs, watching to see if any are taking more than casual note of their passing. Taking one of the proffered chairs, leaving Gaeldrung's 'fiesty' one a wide berth while sharing a smile with their host; he states.

"Thank you for your discretion, I take it then this is a recurring process between mother and son? How many times have they been around this same circle?"

Ma’Huuk follows the group upstairs, frowning in confusion at the discussion of aggressive chairs. Upstairs, he doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean his spear in a corner and his own heavy frame against a wall.

”And this Lander. Why does he reject his mother’s wishes?”

Goran heads upstairs with the rest of the party.

The prying ears...are they of concern to you?

He followed along pausing as the blacksmith claimed the chair was particularly fierce and he had to smile. He moved and sat near the half-orc, from the low growl that had left his throat he wanted to be close enough to perhaps calm the fellow if he got... exciteable.

Indra nodded in agreement and followed the blacksmith upstairs. When the man offered Gaeldrung the "Feisty Chair" Indra couldn't help but laugh lightly. She took a seat near Gaeldrung and said, "Since you're the expert on chairs I think I'll sit next to you, just in case my chair becomes uppity."

Gaeldrung side-eyes the psychic sooo hard.
Let's get to work... he rumbles. A list of appropriate challenges scrolls through his head for each offender of his honor. If this were a temple we would be engaged in holy combat already.

Marek offers each of a glass of mare’s milk or liquor while you settle in. Looking around the room is cramped with the full party in it. The upstairs room is cramped and sootsmudged but comfortable, with the sturdy wooden chairs set out around a small table and a quilt-covered bed built into a corner. A stuffed eagle clutching a pair of tongs perches above the door to the staircase.

Marek finishes dispensing drinks and nods to Goran. "Taking precautions helps reduce the concern when speaking of our Lords and Ladies, don't you think?"

"I last saw Lander two days ago. He was headed out of town on the southwestern road. Over the past month or so, he’s been trying to put his training to good use — slaying monstrous vermin in the outskirts of town, that sort of thing. With the recent attacks by bandits, Lander was convinced that he could stop them himself and live up to Baron Aldori’s legacy."

Turning to the barbarian he adds, "He's a strong willed boy who wishes to prove himself."

Ma'Huuk nods at the last statement. "This I understand," he says in a respectful tone, "A man must have the freedom to show himself and the world what he is."

He eyes the smith, "His mother would have us bring him back. What would you have us do for this Lander?"

Bregan nods as the smithy talks about things the young man had been doing, things he'd done his self when trying to prove his martial prowess. "Can you elaborate on the bandits any? A vague reference to them and the southwest road helps some but rumor about such and such woods or crossing is more helpful... how likely is that the young lord could have gotten himself into trouble with these bandits?"

With mention of his mother, Marek frowns. It only last a second though before his toothy grin returns. "Look. I have no problem with her; Lander has only the nicest things to say about his mother. In my heart, I’m a Rostlander through and through, so all her work to bring Silverhall closer to those Northerners just rubs me the wrong way—I hope Lander won’t make the same mistakes when he’s grown."

"Although Lander has improved quite a bit in the months I’ve been teaching him, he is still likely no match for any bandits. Though it’s unlikely he’d even find them—he doesn’t have much of a head on his shoulders for the wilderness, and is far more likely lost somewhere. If he’s lucky, he’s lost out in the countryside somewhere, playing the hero. If he’s unlucky, he’s encountered some of the nastier critters that live in the back country. I’m worried for his safety."

Turning to Bregan Marek frowns once more. He shakes his head and turns way to get another glass of milk for himself. While he walks away with his back to you he says, "Forget about the bandits, I'd be more concerned with the many dangerous creatures that live in the woods and fields nearby. They are likely the bigger problem here."

Ma'Huuk pushes off the wall—eliciting a groan from the wood—and stands to his full height. "Then we must move quickly," He retrieves the spear from the wall. "Our boss will not be happy if we bring back only a corpse."

He moves to the door, ready to leave with the others.

Gaeldrung stands and nods his appreciation. I agree. It wouldn't do to bring back a corpse.

"Noted, I'm ready if the rest of you are." Bregan replies simply with a nod.

"I also agree, a corpse would be bad. I also think our host is correct, creatures are a greater threat to him than bandits. The former would eat him or worse, the latter would ransom him for money or something." She looked at the blacksmith intently then and asked, "What kind of creatures would Lander be likely to encounter out there?"

He was about to voice the same questions as Indra, about the creatures, He was out of his element here, he was used to the desert environs of his homeland in Qadira. He wasnt as sure that bandits were not as big a threat, after all creatures acted as their nature dictated... men choose to be wicked, but that was a philosophical debate for another time.

When all the questions have been asked or answered, as I have nothing else for the conversation at the moment
You have been most helpful, I will speak highly of your goods where ever I go.

He offered in parting to the man. . .

After learning from Marek that Lander left Silverhall in pursuit of the bandits, you take the southwestern road out of town in the hope of picking up Lander’s trail. After a full day of traveling you spot no sign of Lander anywhere. On the second day you continue on the road and pass several folk traveling who you question, but no one mentions seeing a man matching your description and so you continue on. Around the 50 mile mark from Silverhall you stop to take a brief rest.

perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
survival: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (7) + 0 = 7

Look my friends there! Someone's Handkerchief if im not mistaken those colors look like house Lebada's... I wonder why it it tied to that tree?

He asked his sharp eyes spotting the strangely tied Handkercheif and nothing more. He pointed it out to the others as he pondered its purpose.

You skipped over my question. Intentional or not?