(Hanging on the tavern wall)
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
...Does your heart yearn for glory?
Do you want to earn treasure by the chestful?
Do you have the grit to bring the forces of
chaos and evil to its knees?...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
By decree of the esteemed Baroness Myrtle Hellbane,
Those strong of arm, keen of mind, and stout of heart shall take the eastward Thruway to the village Sowell's Orchard, where you will join others on a trek to Dawnslight Keep in the eastern borderlands. Awaiting you there are generous bounties to be claimed, lands and title to be earned, gold and glory enough to go around!
The dwarf came through the town gates just before sundown, with his hood up. He paid the toll in silver to the gate guards without complaint, much to their surprise. But keen to finish their day they waved him through without much inspection, and the dwarf pulled his cloak tighter around him.
A little extra silver and the gate guards don't care who it is. Good for me the're not looking for dwarves specifically. The count's wanted notices must not have arrived yet. Good for me, whatever the reason.
He looked around the street, trying to get his bearings. He gave a long sniff, and looked around carefully. Then he turned and headed down the street that smelled the foulest.
Ah, Broaklesh, cesspit of cities. The worst neighbourhood is the one best to hide in; nobody from there will turn me in. But if I'm going to lay low I'll need to conserve my money. Already spent half of it getting in this damn town. Maybe I can find work as a legbreaker or something. Or a mercenary contract for out east by the coast, where nobody's heard of me.
He trudges down the street, passing a short side street that connects to the main market square. As he approaches he can hear the yammering of the town crier, but as he passes some of the crier's words catch his ear.
"...heart yearn for glory? Do you want you have the grit to bring..."
The dwarf stiffens.
Treasure?
He turns around and heads back to the market square to hear what the crier is saying.
"...where you will join others on a trek to Dawnslight Keep in the eastern borderlands.
Dunganagar eyes the crier.
"Just how generous are these bounties?"
The crier turns looking for the voice, and spots Dunganagar.
"Ah! You have the look of a warrior!" Calls out the crier. Here! Take this handbill."
The crier pushes a scrap of paper into Dunganagar's hand, and then continues his trade.
can deal with the thief and recover his property! Inquiries should..."
But Dungangar is not listening. He is reading the handbill over and over.
Baroness Hellbane? Well, at least she's not one of the nobles that is looking for me... and if this expedition has the backing of a noble, well, there's going to be real money involved. Not that I plan to ever trust a noble again, but if the gold is on the table... It's a better chance than I've had in a while.
I guess I'm leaving at first light. Better find a place to locker for the night.
The dwarf turns and heads towards the filthy street, periodically looking at the handbill again and again. Eventually he tucks it into his pocket and turns down the street.
'Definitely leaving this out of the saga! Brandt set his pack down carefully and groaned as his shoulders told him how heavy it had been. Hands on hips he flexed his spine backwards in an arch, trying to bring some life back to his body.
Taking a folded parchment from his pouch he once again studied the proclamation. 'Glory? Oh yes!' He nodded happily. 'Mysterious beauties, treachery and battles. A good start.'
He glanced around the small village, one hand absently checking the lightness of his coin pouch. 'And some of that treasure would be nice as well I suppose.'
Picking up his his backpack the tall young man looked around for anybody who looked like they were here on this quest?
Picking up his his backpack the tall young man looked around for anybody who looked like they were here on this quest?
Pinto cleared his throat and spit out some dark, nasty stuff on the ground, "Looks like a heavy pack there, buddy?"
He hefted his much smaller pack and laughed, "You sure you got everything?"
tag?
A small, wiry-haired dog, no taller than a couple of feet approached the tall young man, wagging his tail. "Watch out for Peaches; he's a mean son-of-b&!#~." The dog did not look mean at all.
Pinto asked, "Where are you headed? If you're going towards east towards Sowell's Orchard, I could use the company. Peaches don't talk much."
The dog turned to the hairy man and growled.
tag?
Picking up his his backpack the tall young man looked around for anybody who looked like they were here on this quest?Pinto cleared his throat and spit out some dark, nasty stuff on the ground, "Looks like a heavy pack there, buddy?"
He hefted his much smaller pack and laughed, "You sure you got everything?"
Brandt grinned ruefully. "Just about. Couldn't fit the washtub in. So I decided to rough it."
A small, wiry-haired dog, no taller than a couple of feet approached the tall young man, wagging his tail. "Watch out for Peaches; he's a mean son-of-b&@~%." The dog did not look mean at all.
Holding out his hand Brandt let the dog sniff it in introduction before scratching behind his ears. "Good to meet you too Peaches. Look after me won't you."
Pinto asked, "Where are you headed? If you're going towards east towards Sowell's Orchard, I could use the company. Peaches don't talk much."The dog turned to the hairy man and growled.
He nodded agreeably. "That I am. Glad of some company too. I better warn you, you'll probably be looking back on those long silences with fondness soon. Talkings one thing I do a lot of."
Her path had lead her west along the Stormclaw Mountains. After the fight with the trio of goblins playing at being bandits, she traveled another three days and just as the trapper had promised, found a small village named Misty Crossing. The village was split in two by the creek that ran through it and on towards some river that Eina did not know. The lands here were strange, flat and with only small dips and rises. She could see the horizon miles off and she saw the village long before she reached it. To the east, the peaks of the Stormclaws were small for all the grand majesty they held when they were close.
There was nothing for it. She and Little Thunderhead needed food and fall was upon them. Winter would not be far behind. With a bracing breath, Eina entered a village of the Outlanders.
===
Spring was fast becoming summer. The heat was more than Eina was used to, having grown up in the highlands of the Stormclaws where the clouds and rain kept summers cool. The cooking fire in the hearth of the tavern's common room burned low and calls went out for more ale and wine to quench the thirst of the tavern's patrons. Eina paid the noise and heat little mind. She was too busy trying to figure out what the notice with fanciful writing and inks of at least three different colors said.
She'd spent nine months traveling from town to town. Misty Crossing had been smaller than her tribe's village had been before the goblin raid, but Tarlot, the next town was much larger. That hadn't prepared her for Sweetwaters or Broaklesh, both of which dwarfed even the largest of the tribal villages she'd visited. Surely it wasn't healthy to pack so many into such a small space. After Broaklesh, Sunter was, not disappointing. Perhaps unimpressive? It looked to be the size of Tarlot, and the smell of the sea would have been nicer without the pungent aroma of fish and sewage that pervaded the town.
In any case, She'd had many chances to practice the common tongue and had become quite adept at it, but she'd never learned to read its runes. They might as well have been some arcane language used by black and vile sorcerers for all she could tell.
"Pardon, but what does that paper say," she asked, pulling on the sleeve of a passing mercenary. The man, so startled at her boldness looked down in surprise before replying.
"Ken't ye read, lass? It be sayin' t'ead t'Sowell's Orchard if ye be lookin' fer gold an' glory fer rightin' wrongs 'n' such. Bunch o' crock that is. Ain't no money in servin' dem nobleborn," he answers before turning and heading on his way.
Eina wasn't so sure. She'd seen a few young men and women come back to their home villages with fortunes in gold and silver over the fall and winter. She might be able to find a group she could be a part of, even maybe finally find a home. The bittersweet thought brought a wry smile to her lips as she sipped her drink.
And even if there wasn't a chance to do either of those things, there were always bounties on goblins, she thought with a wicked smile and a dangerous glint in her eyes.
===
The fight at the bridge had been interesting. The man, once he had been found, had lunged at the woman. She had deftly knocked the daylights from him, and then tied him up to hand over to the patrols that sometimes passed this way. Eina had insisted on paying her toll, though.
In hindsight, that might not have been a good idea.
She was certain that she'd be sore in the morning. She had taken a beating and had been thoroughly trounced, but a good sense of humor and a willingness to go again had earned her passage. She hoped to meet the woman again sometime when they could talk for longer. She had seemed more like her kin in the Stormclaws than an Outlander. Still, she'd left bruises that would take some of the spring in her step when she awoke tomorrow.
She slowed and stopped as she crested the last rise before the village of Sowell's Orchard and saw two men, travelers from the looks of them. Was that the notice she saw in Sunter? It had the same design, and it looked the same to her. Maybe they'd be working together?
<<C'mon, Thud. I'll buy you some apples later,>> she promised the stubborn yak as she tugged on his lead. He resisted for a moment, but decided that following was less of a hassle than not. Apples were on the line after all!
===
A young woman walks up to where both Brandt and Pinto were standing, her hair is raven black and her eyes are a steely blue, like the color of the sky before a storm. She's dressed in clothing made for cooler climes and made ragged by travel. Her pale skin is pink where the sun had beat down upon it and several wooden fetishes hang from her belt, ties for her cloak and skirt, and from the large, hairy yak's packsaddle. The largest is of a hawk with wings outstretched and feathers stylized like lightning bolts that hangs from her neck. In one hand is the lead for the great beast and in the others is a staff a little longer than she is, intricately carved with patterns and raven motifs. The work on it is somewhat amateurish, but there's marked improvements from the crudest carvings to the apparently more recent and more skillfully made carvings.
"Greetings, fellow travelers. May fair winds guide you," she says formally in a melodic voice, "I am Eina of the Storm Raven tribe. May I know your names?"
The tall blond northman blinks in some surprise, his eyes are a grey/blue and study Eina and her companions with interest. "Introductions! I knew I was forgetting something."
Placing a fist over his heart he bows slightly in the northern fashion. "Brandt son of Holgar at your service Lady Eina. History keeper and story teller to my people. Here to witness new heroes in the making, and new lands being conquered."
His grin shows he know how windy he sounds and his eyes are laughing as he turns to the man and dog he was just talking to. "This noble hound is Peaches, famous for his courage and deeds. But I didn't catch your name Sir?"
Brandt is tall and solidly built, with thick blond hair bushed back and skin tanned from being out doors most of his life. His greyish-blue eyes look at everything with enthusiastic interest, especially things he's never seen before.
Brandt has just turned 20, but has been working hard since his teens as most northmen do, the axe slung on his back has seen service.
His grin shows he know how windy he sounds and his eyes are laughing as he turns to the man and dog he was just talking to. "This noble hound is Peaches, famous for his courage and deeds. But I didn't catch your name Sir?"
Pinto turned around and looked behind him, "Lass, you mean me? I'm no Sir."
After spitting another gob of dark stuff on the ground he continued, "The name's Pinto. Pinto Donasetti."
He nodded towards the newcomer, "Good to meet you too, lass."
Dark hair, heavy eyebrows, and a thick beard framed Pinto’s face. A nasty burn scar marred an otherwise handsome face. A drab brown tunic, leather pants, and boots completed a tanned body that had been outdoors for too long.
A big man, anyway he was looked at, Pinto filled out his clothes but there didn't seem to be any fat on his ample body.
He asked the young woman, "Where you headed to, lass?"
The dwarf trudges into the village as if he doesn't notice it is even there, clearly just passing through and not interested in stopping. But he spots the well, and the water trough by the inn that is meant for horses, and stops.
He walks over to the trough, and he pulls back his hood and sticks his head right in!
"Brblrlrblblblrbl!"
He pulls his head back out with a jerk. A whip of water flies back from the end of his shaggy hair. Water sprays all around as he shakes it off and then wipes his face with the sleeve of his cloak.
"Ah! Much better!"
With the hood of the cloak back and the travel dust washed away, the dwarf's face is visible. He has ginger hair and a square, pugilistic face. His hair is knotted into warrior's braids and his skin is marked with numerous tribal scars and tattoos. His beard is bushy and unkempt, but definitely full. Over his shoulder he totes an enormous double-bitted axe.
He spots the group conversing in the middle of the street. He trudges over.
"Hey, you lot. Is this Sowell's Orchard?"
"A fearsome wolf indeed," Eina laughs as Peaches is introduced.
"The same place as you two, if I must guess. I'm heading for Sowell's Orchard to answer Baroness Myrtle Hellbane's call to arms," she answers after Pinto asks where she heading, "and indeed, well met to both of you. I have not had much chance to meet and speak with those who keep the lore in these lands. I would regret not taking advantage of this chance to speak with you, Brandt, son of Holgar."
The yak behind her gives a snort and bumps her in the back with his massive head, causing her to stumble a few steps before she turned to give him a glare.
"And this is Little Thunderhead, a more stubborn beast you will not find. Thud suits him well enough, though Boulder or Mountain may have been better. He is as impossible to move when he is not of a mind to," she introduces the yak who continues to follow along at a pace that suits him.
The yak snorts at the dwarf's arrival, but does little else.
The young woman, though, is much better mannered.
"Greetings and may fair winds guide you. I am Eina of the Storm Ravens. I do not know if this is Sowell's Orchard, but this is certainly the road to it," she says politely in a melodic voice. "May I have your name, warrior?"
"Greetings and may fair winds guide you. I am Eina of the Storm Ravens. I do not know if this is Sowell's Orchard, but this is certainly the road to it," she says politely in a melodic voice. "May I have your name, warrior?"
Pinto snorts much like the yak, "The lass has the right of it. This ain't Sowell's Orchard but we be headin' there."
He shrugged, "Safety in numbers and all that."
His hand unconsciously goes to his waist and rests easily next to handaxe and skinning knife, "I hear there may be some dog-people tribe to watch out for on the way..."
A finer day these lands had not seen in many a year. The sky was a soft blue and half covered in white fluffy clouds that appeared thick enough for a dragon to sleep atop. A firm breeze mitigated the seasonal heat of late summer, cooling the brow sweat and creating a gentle whisper among the leaves all around. Dandelion seeds drifted through the air aimlessly, coaxing the road weary travelers into thoughts of similar carefree wanderings, but such flights of fancy were not to be. If the news held true there was gold to be made, lands and title to be earned... if only they had the grit and will to carve out their own slice of it. With thick woods flanking the thruway on either side of them, they continued onward toward their hopes and dreams.
"Sowell's Orchard? No, it's a little further up the road. Can't miss it. Look for the walls." The helpful farmhand waved goodbye to the strange group of warriors and snapped the reins of his cart, setting his mule off down a forested pathway and out of sight.
Walls? It seemed an odd descriptor for something previously described as a small village, likely a farming community if the village's name was at all accurate. After having filled their waterskins at the roadside well, the five would-be travelling companions wasted little time in getting back on the road, one foot in front of another, eager to get this leg of their journey behind them.
As the farmhand described it was not long before a settlement came into view, ringed by a wall of vertical tapered spear-top logs. An open gate was guarded by a modest group of four guards, armed and armored just as modestly as an outland village could be expected to be. Wearing scuffed hand-me-down boiled leather jerkins and holding spears that were probably from the days of the war, they stood sentinel with warm smiles on their faces.
"Hail, travelers!" one of the young guardsmen called out. His tone was genuinely kind, nearly as sweet as the aroma of apple blossoms and fresh cider that hung in the vicinity. The was little doubt - this had to be Sowell's Orchard.
The guards looked like good lads, ones that likely doubled as farmhands or laborers when not taking their turn on guard duty. They waved you through the gate without hesitation, without charge. Background noises that were typical of village life - wood chopping, geese and chicken banter, children at play, the clang clang clang of hammer to anvil - set the backdrop for a quaint setting that was hard not to be enamored with. Men and women carried baskets filled with apples of various colors, unloading a wagon near a humble marketplace with half a dozen stalls.
The largest structure - and clearly the most busy if the ambient laughter and music were any indication - was a two story inn, called The Sword and Cider by the name carved and painted into a swaying wooden sign hanging from a post several feet from the doors. A large wrap-around porch was occupied by a fair number of commoners, resting from the day's labors in rocking chairs and nursing a mug of something refreshing. Next to the inn stood a less-permanent structure; it was little more than a desk flanked by two squat poles from which the Baroness' emblem hung. A bent black pitchfork over a blood-red field was her heraldry, created to remind the realm that she had earned her title in battle against otherworldly forces that would break most men.
Her banners flitted calmly in the breeze, giving the empty booth a sense of forlorn in the fading sunlight. After the nearby apple wagon was emptied the only remaining workers not on their way home or sharing drinks in the Sword and Cider were a small group of men hoisting logs to repair a section of wall opposite the gate where the travelers entered, the side facing east, the side facing the notorious borderlands.
These particular guards are young men, strong of arm likely more as a result of hard labor than from arms and armor training. As is the case in any place, in any time, the young do the lion's share of the fighting for their people. These young men appear to be willing and able to wield their spears, and might even have a smattering of experience dealing with the threats of these lands.
They do not look like hardened soldiers, but they would likely be valuable allies in most melee conflicts.
There is something odd about this place. You can count on one hand the number of places you've been to in your life where the people around you were comfortable enough with what you are that you were able to forget about it yourself. These townsfolk are not giving you the suspicious sidelong glances or hateful stares that you receive in most other places.
"It seems many winds meet this day," Eina says as a newcomer comes. She smiles at him, pauses long enough to give him a proper greeting.
"Well met, fellow traveller. I am Eina of the Storm Ravens. If it is not too rude, may I ask what kind of being are you," she asks in a voice that was like a songbird's, or the tinkling of wind chimes. There's no malice or disgust in her voice, just simple curiosity.
Eina gives the guards a warm smile and hello, glad to see that her garb wasn't as offputting as it had been in Sweetwaters. She hurries over to one of the stalls to buy a dozen apples shortly after entering the village. She gives on to Little Thunderhead as she catches back up, the yak happy enough with the gift to continue while munching on the sweet, juicy fruit.
Curiosity gets the better of her when Erodin mentions a stiff drink.
"I am not familiar with that phrase. Would you mind telling me what you mean?"
"Hello! Are ya here ta fight for the Baroness? Wouldn't mind some company. Name's Erodin Stark."
Dunganagar eyes the odd-looking creature as it approaches.
What the hell is that? Hell is right! Some kind of devil! But on his shield... I think that's a symbol of good. Must be a half-breed left over from the Hellwar. Half the children from the western lands are like that, so I hear.
"Okay, Stark, maybe. Maybe we are."
"Or to be more specific, I fight for gold. The Baroness just happens the be the one handing it out at the moment."
"I'm not sure I like the looks of ye, but I ain't afraid o' no devil. So ye can walk wi' us, but any deviltry outta you and you'll feel the edge of this axe. Got it?"
Dunganagar glares at the tiefling with his meanest glare until he agrees to the dwarf's terms.
Dunganagar gives the guards a barely polite nod as he enters the village. He looks around the dusty square, and notes the empty kiosk.
"Looks like the Baroness ain't in. So I could do wi' a wee bit o' a wet. Tavern it is."
"Lass, if ye want to find out what a 'stiff drink' is, follow me," Dunganagar says as he grins and winks.
Eina shrugs and finds a place to tie Little Thunderhead up and follows the dwarf in.
I still don't know how a drink can be stiff. How would you drink it if it was stiff? Would it be like that "gelatin surprise" that one innkeeper's wife feed me? That was disgusting!
Her thoughts were enough to carry into the inn.
Eina shrugs and finds a place to tie Little Thunderhead up and follows the dwarf in.
Pinto tried to shoo away Peaches but the dog just growled at him and followed them inside the tavern.
Pinto heard the talk around him; it seemed people were here for gold and fame. The old man was beyond such desires. he's had a little of both in his life and didn't make him any happier.
Now, he was just looking to tame a wild frontier. He was always an outdoors man and would gladly lend his know-how so young families could make their way in the world.
He neared the girl who was confused about the language, "C'mere lass. I'll help you choose a stiff drink. What do people drink where you're from anyway?"
"Mead, whiskey whenever we could trade for it, Thunderwater, and White Lightning," she answers, "we also had something that we called Cloud's Dew, but the Outlanders thought it was something called Applejack."
Her voice trails off as she turns to see a strange man with pointed ears. An elf? Yes, an elf, that's what they are called.
"I believe that you and we are already here," she says with a chuckle. "It appears that some of us have mighty thirsts that can only be slain by 'stiff drinks' and seek to do glorious combat with them, bust something tells me that's not what you had in mind."
The locals raised their mugs to the travelers as they entered the inn, a friendly bunch if ever there were. Before the group had a moment to reciprocate, the newcomers' eyes were drawn to a peculiar site in the center of the barroom floor - a set of three stocks, one of which was occupied by an unfortunate looking scoundrel. His hunched-over form was somewhat limp from exhaustion and his face had remnants of vegetable matter and what looked to be a small chicken bone stuck in his greasy hair. The man didn't even bother to look up when this new crop of adventurers arrived.
The hearth's fire was left unlit to keep the room from sweltering, while several well-placed lanterns hung around the pub and dining room to provide for lighting. The inn was far from full; about half of the tables and bar stools remained open, though the raucous laughter of the hard-working hard-drinking villagers seemed to fill the room with activity.
The place had the smell of new wood, indicating recent construction or something similar. Accompanying this scent was that of fresh bread and roasting meats, wafting out from the kitchen behind the barkeepers. A pair of musicians - one who beat a small drum while the other skillfully played a decorative bone flute - sat upon stools in the dining room's corner, raised upon a small stage where their music carried over the crowd.
Two women wearing tabards sporting the Baroness' colors sat at a table with a bald middle-aged man bearing the appearance of importance and wealth. His hair and mustaches were finely groomed and his clothes were clearly made by the delicate, skilled hands of a tailor. A warrior he did not appear to be, though the same could not be said for the women who dined with him. Their arms were firm and rippled, each with a sheathed sword at their belt, each with an air of confidence befitting one who knows how to use said sword.
-----------
Menu:
-Bread loaf....................................2 cp
-Bread with butter and honey............5 cp
-Turnip & marrow dumpling stew......5 cp
-Coney meat pie.............................1 sp
-Whole chicken w/veggies and bread...4 sp
-Mug of ale.......5 cp
-Mug of red.......5 cp
-Local cider ale..1 sp
-Dwarf spirits.....4 sp
-Common room floor.....no charge
-Private room, with key........1 gp
Brandt has been fairly quiet as the party walks, something that the party will find is unusual for him. He's enjoying the day, and the company.
"Indeed we are Sir. I think you're right, signing on as a group will be much more impressive than a showing up as a straggle of odds and ends."
He eyes the Tiefling curiously, having heard of the Hellblooded but never having met one until now. "Brandt Holgarson is my name. Good to meet you Sir?" Holding out a hand to shake.
'And now an Elf! Answering this call is clearly a wonderful idea.' He thought happily. Raising an hand in greeting. "That we are. Well glory for some and gold for others." He grins cheerfully. Introducing himself again. "Brandt Holgarson at your service. Historian and tale teller by trade."
Once inside the inn Brandt sets his back down with a relieved groan. "I'm going to have to check you." He addresses it firmly. "I'm sure my little sister wouldn't have really added rocks to it just to prank me?" He gives the rest of the party a concerned look. "Would she?"
After looking around the room with interest and studying the menu carefully. "The chicken and veggies sounds good to me. What will everyone have to drink? First rounds on me."
Eina laughs at Brandt's implication that his little sister had pulled a prank on him.
"If I was your little sister, I would not have put rocks in your pack," she says, smiling beatifically at the northman. She pauses just long enough for it to seem like that was all she was going to say before grinning widely and adding, "I would have put dirt and worms in it, maybe some frogs or toads or even a harmless little snake. Anything to make your journey a little more lively."
Looking at the menu, and seeing that it was not written in the runes of her people, her smile falls and she begins to wring her hands on the table.
"I... I do not know anything on the menu. I do not know what a 'veggie' is either. Are veggies like greens," she asks looking up and hoping that no one will bother to point out the menu and just tell her what was on it.
After looking around the room with interest and studying the menu carefully. "The chicken and veggies sounds good to me. What will everyone have to drink? First rounds on me."
"On the contrary - first round is on me, good adventurers!"
The voice belonged to an elderly halfling gentleman, the only halfling in town seen thus far. He was entering the Sword and Cider with a woman at his side, twice his height and probably a third his age. She was devil-blooded - long elegant horns and drawn back almond-shaped eyes of crimson red gave her face an exotic sort of sensuality, along with a scaled tail that flitted to and fro almost flirtatiously - she was a sight to be hold, beautiful by almost any standard."Sowell's the name! And my wife, Vitavi."
The patriarch extended his tiny hand to the newcomers one by one, offering a firm handshake with a smile. Vitavi curtsied as she was introduced.
Moments later a teenage girl was at the table side laden with six mugs of hard cider ale which she handed out one by one.
"Eina of the Storm Ravens," she says when Sowell and his wife come to be introduced, "I am honored that the elder of this tri–" she stops herself from saying tribe just a little late, but she recovers quickly, "I mean, village, would introduce himself to me. I have seen few as beautiful as your wife. She must be the envy of every man for miles."
She accepts the cider ale with a smile when it comes and orders what Brandt was having, assuming that it couldn't be worse than the fish stew she'd been served in Sunter.
Food and drink taken care of, she turns her attention to Taecess.
"Historian is your word for lorekeeper, yes? Why would he not answer this call? Lorekeepers are the ones who preserve the knowledge of the people. How to hunt, how to make clothes, how to raise beasts, and how to fight. What better way is there to know that you have learned something than by doing it," she asks before taking a pull of her drink, her eyes on the elf, and her eyebrows arched as she waited for his answer.
Taecuss shakes his hand warmly. "Taecuss dyn Bru. Pleasure to meet you. A historian, you say? It seems an odd occupation to be answering this call, unless you mean to record our historic exploits!"
"You have in one." Brandt nods. "I have learned the histories and sagas of my people. Then I saw the Baronesses notice and realized that this could be the beginning of a new tale to tell through the ages. Naturally I set off to see it for myself."
Brandt shakes Sowell's hand and bows politely to he and his wife. Accepting the mug of hard cider and raising it in a toast. "To gold, glory and good people!"
Eina stands to clink her mug against Brandt's.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Okay, ain't sure what deviltry is, but pretty sure I can't do it. You've got a deal. Nice axe by the way, she's a beaut."
Dunganagar is taken aback. How can he not know what 'deviltry' means? Is he mocking me?
"Deviltry... you know... the stuff devils get up to. Treachery and wickedness an' all that. I won't stand for it! Jus' so we're clear."
Eragar seems not to be arguing, so Dunganagar nods and leaves it at that, turning back to keep marching.
"Yeah, she's a beaut," his hand goes back to the axe. "Killed an ogre wi' it when I was a babe." He thinks for a moment, and smiles. "I canna' actually recall doin' that, but that's wha' they say. They found me wi' it on the moors."
Dunganagar looks the halfling over when he offers to buy the first round.
Is he looking to buy our friendship with a drink? Or does he have bad news and wants to soften it a bit before giving it to us?
"I'm not one to pass up a drink when someone else's buyin'. Cider ale, eh? Well, in a place called 'Sowell's Orchard,' I suppose you would push the apples. Heh." He shakes Sowell's hand, and bows to his wife Vitaxi.
"So I suppose it's your orchard then? Or are you the mayor or somethin'?" he asks. "Or p'raps you're a sponsor of this," he pulls out the handbill advertising the call for adventurers "In wi' this Baroness Hellbane?"
"I believe that you and we are already here," she says with a chuckle. "It appears that some of us have mighty thirsts that can only be slain by 'stiff drinks' and seek to do glorious combat with them, bust something tells me that's not what you had in mind."
Pinto shook his head, "No, not interested in glorious combat. I'll leave that for the Lords and Ladies to be."
He thought for a moment, "I guess I'm here because I have no where better to be and... my particular skills can be very useful in the frontier. You know, just helpin' the good folk."
He asked, "How about you? What brought you here?"
---------
Pinto looks at the newcomer and their loud dwarf traveling companion, "I guess the dwarf is buying cider ale."
Pinto looks at the newcomer and their loud dwarf traveling companion, "I guess the dwarf is buying cider ale."
"Hah! Me? Not likely. Weren't you listening? The halfling over there ordered a round of ciders for everyone. If you don't want yours though, I can make room for it! Heh."
Brandt shakes Sowell's hand and bows politely to he and his wife. Accepting the mug of hard cider and raising it in a toast. "To gold, glory and good people!"
"Yes, yes indeed! We could all use a bit more of both!"
"So I suppose it's your orchard then? Or are you the mayor or somethin'?" he asks. "Or p'raps you're a sponsor of this," he pulls out the handbill advertising the call for adventurers "In wi' this Baroness Hellbane?"
"It started as my orchard but it grew to this fine village in the last couple of generations, as the war drew to an end. Lots of people, good hard working folk, had their homes taken or worse in those days. Many had a choice: stay put and deal with killers and rapers, or head east toward a bit of unknown. Those who arrived helped make this village what it is today."
"As to your paper there, we are merely your host for your jumping off point. The sponsor's representatives are sitting right over there --."
He motions toward the table with the mustached bald man and his two women warriors.
"Yes, Master Sowell. We've come a long way in response to this call, and we are all strangers here. Can you tell us what prompted the Baroness to issue this call? Do you have any tales to prepare us for what we face? Or even where we should start?"
"I'm sure they -" he again nods toward the other table, "can tell you more, but from what I gather the Baroness endeavors to be a force for goodness in these lands, and for that I applaud and support her. The keep is a few day's march east of here on the old thruway. The Baroness sent a force there a few weeks ago to retake the keep, and a rider came back to inform us of their success. The keep was infested by grumpkins, nasty little buggers, and they lost some good men clearing them out. A second group of her soldiers guards a pass a day's march up the road where the road is the only viable route through the crags. They're to protect us from the evils that trickle through from time to time, as the Baroness now sees the value this village has to her initiatives."
"You're the third group of adventurers to pass through here. The first were Torian elves, four of them. Haughtiest lot I've seen in an age! The second group left two days ago guarding a supply wagon headed for the keep. A trio of human brothers they were, warriors all."
"Head over to that table to get the official take. Cortland is his name."
The man called Cortland turned to look as his name was mentioned, then gave a half-smile of courtesy, then made a beckoning motion with his hand. He smoothed his mustaches before continuing,
"You are here to answer the call of our Baroness? Excellent. You'll do well if appearances mean anything."
He stands and takes a shallow bow, and with an open palm he gestures toward the open table near his where sufficient seating is available to accommodate the large group. The women soldiers remained silent though their eyes scrutinized the adventurers, ready to deal with any possible threat.
"Let us discuss terms, shall we? For the time being you are acting as representatives of the Baroness herself. Your behavior should reflect this. As an incentive to work as hard as you please for now there will be no levy upon any treasures you acquire. Be aware that in the future a tax will likely be collected upon such treasures to ensure the keep's upkeep is well-funded."
"As to promises of gold - all treasures taken from the bodies and dwellings of wicked humanoids and wild monsters are yours for the taking. The keep will have posted bounties on the known troublemakers, such as the local goblins - both grumpkins and greenskins. Proof of demise will be requisite to receiving compensation, and each bounty shall iterate its specific proof required. Rewards for foes defeated with no posted bounty may be negotiated with the paymaster or captain of the keep."
"As to lands and title - I will be recording your names here in my ledger before you depart. As you are among the first to answer the call your names will be given highest in priority to receive parcels of land and title once sufficient land has been cleared of the evils that taint them. Family names, Knighthoods, and even Lordship are on the table, granted for the most valorous of deeds."
"Here is a badge and a writ of official business for each of you, he pulls out six furled scrolls and six bronze and silver brooches bearing the bent pitchfork insignia, "signed with my seal with the authority of Baroness Hellbane herself, granting you the rights and duties of officers of her law while within the borderlands region. Outside the keep's walls, you are the law, with the exception of officers operating from within the keep."
"Let it be known that this writ's validity is temporary and may be withdrawn if your behavior is judged to be ill-suited to this endeavor."
"Do you have any questions?"
Dunganagar goes over to the other table and gives Cortland the eye. He examines the scroll, and the silver medallion. He flips the medallion onto its back, and then bites it.
Hm. Real silver. Well, that's one silver piece I earned for nothin'! Well, nothin except marchin' for three days.
He sees Cortland with his quill, waiting to record his name on the ledger.
"It's Dunganagar. Me name's Dunganagar." Dunganagar nods assuringly.
Dunganagar sees Cortland write out his name. Will this ledger be sent anywhere? Could it get back to...
"No, wait! It's uh... my name is... uh... Bob! That's it! Bob. Aye. That's me name. Bob. Uh-huh."
Dunganagar nods enthusiastically. Cortland frowns. He dips the quill in the inkewll again.
You could get a lordship out of this. You really want to be called 'Lord Bob?'
"No, wait!" Dunganagar blurts, just as Cortland is about to strike 'Dunganagar' off the ledger. "No, Dunganagar will do. Aye. 'Bob' is, uh... the short form of Dunganagar. But, ah... might as well use the full name, eh? Heh heh. But it's the other Dunganagar. Aye, that's it. The one that never got into any trouble, and is not wanted by any particular midlands nobles. Which was all a big misunderstanding anyway, which would matter if I was that Dunganagar. But I'm not."
He takes a sip from his mug of cider as he looks around the room innocently, slowly returning to his table.
"This cider's not bad, really."
Once sitting back down with the others, he grins conspiratorially.
"Heh. Fooled that guy!" he whispers to the others. "These nobles are so gullible."
"As to lands and title - I will be recording your names here in my ledger before you depart. As you are among the first to answer the call your names will be given highest in priority to receive parcels of land and title once sufficient land has been cleared of the evils that taint them. Family names, Knighthoods, and even Lordship are on the table, granted for the most valorous of deeds."
Pinto scoffed at the promise of riches and glory; what could an old man want or need?
He took the brooch and tried it on for size, "Yeah, I have a question. Are there families yet out there looking to settle the land or is it too wild yet?"
He added, "Any enemies who may not care about these brooches? Meaning is this putting a target on our backs?"
"... And if you cannot remember your name or how to spell it, you can just make a mark with an 'X.'" Tae pauses a beat and then adds "That's just two lines, like this." He makes a sign of an X with his forearms.
"Och, I can remember me name just fine, thank you! Dunganagar. It means 'child o' the hills.' It's certainly not 'Mister X!'"
Dunganagar, rubs his chin.
"Though actually..." Dunganagar mumbles to himself, "'Mister X' would actually be kind of a cool codename. Wonder if it's taken?"
"...is this putting a target on our backs?"
Duganagar frowns. "Fronts, I think. Ye'd have to be a loon to wear it on your back. What if somebody nicked it? Ye'd nair know until ye took yer shirt off."
"Not to be too morbid, but is there a standard for proof established yet? A left or right ear? Or do you want the whole head or body?"
Cortland raised an eyebrow to the elf, then somewhat impatiently repeated part of his recent spiel,
"As I said, proof of demise will be requisite to receiving compensation for bounties, and each bounty shall iterate its specific proof required. A left ear would be a typical example."
Addressing the dwarf's flailing attempts to relabel himself, Cortland offered, "My good man, here before you is an opportunity to leave your past behind you. Unless you have active warrants inside the Baroness' lands, you need not fear provision of your true name. Furthermore it may be grounds for forfeiture of the terms owed to you if such contracts are agreed to in bad faith, under false pretenses."
He took the brooch and tried it on for size, "Yeah, I have a question. Are there families yet out there looking to settle the land or is it too wild yet?"
He added, "Any enemies who may not care about these brooches? Meaning is this putting a target on our backs?"
"At this time we are not aware of anyone other than the agents of our Lady Baroness acting to tame or settle the lands east of the crags. I imagine many lords and ladies are waiting for better men and women to do their dirty work for them. But rest assured, said men and women will receive priority over any seeking to claim lands in the borderlands.
As to the badges, their usage is left entirely up to you. I have little reason to believe that the wicked things you will encounter have the foggiest notion as to what those brooches represent, yet. They are given so that friends may identify you, or for you to identify yourself to others. You should know they are enchanted and will melt away if they are removed from their owner without their consent. I will activate the enchantment after this meeting, after you agree to the terms discussed."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Erodin immediately pins the brooch to his cloak, then unfurls the scroll and begins reading.
To whom it may concern,
By decree of the Baroness Myrtle Hellbane, the bearer of this writ is a person of high standing and honor, and is to be afforded the rights due an officer of the law within the confines of the eastern borderlands, defined as the lands roughly twelve miles in all directions centered upon Dawnslight Keep.
This writ is non-transferable. Attempts to make false use of this document is punishable by up to and including death.