Kappasc the Inquisitor
A fair hand is appreciated in 'The City at the Center of the World", and none more so than a representative of Abadar himself. While at least peripherally in service to the church, you have tracked down a few lawbreaking individuals. Most recently, word of an entire Andoran company being demoted has reached your ears, as well as the circumstances surrounding it.
This event was detailed in a sealed letter discreetly delivered to you by church courier one morning, the sober faced lad simply giving you a nod upon its receipt and left.
It turns out that they had intercepted a slaver ship that had been bound for Absalom. The part of most interest was what happened to the slaves as well as the slavers. Upon learning that they were to be arrested, the slavers murdered every single man, woman, and child that they had aboard to be sold. Forty-seven of them to be exact. In return, the members of the platoon fed the slavers to the sea, making them food for the sharks.
What is not commonly known however, is that this ship was part of the "Black Bones" company. This part was neatly covered up somehow, likely by a local clerk, perhaps, or simply omitted, as it likely carries no local significance in Andoran, and with some paperwork, shorter may have been better.
In Absalom, you are well aware of the term "Black Bones". Those words are often used in the phrase "Black bones, black masks, of which none shall see, but He". You have heard the phrase before, but finding the exact instance eludes you at the moment.
The letter goes on to request that you look into this company, and any others immediately associated with it.
Hmm, Black Bones...that sounds familiar, I think I defended them on occasion during my times as a Lawyer in Absolom...perhaps I can find some measure of redemption by bringing them to justice, now... Kappasc thinks to himself in recollection...He then travels to the bank and requests his old records, seeing if he can find any contact information on any old records.
Unable to find any information on the Black Bones other than the cases that he worked on all those years ago, Kappasc walks the the streets of Absolom trying to track down one of his old clients.
Realizing that this mission may be bigger than his normal task, Kappasc decides to stop by the temple, to call upon a favor.
Arriving at the Temple just before the evening's ritual Money Counting, Kappasc searches for an old...associate, Brother Silas. Kappasc moves swiftly through the Temple's halls, his footsteps nimbly navigating the cobbled road, his posture remains rigid, ensuring his chainshirt makes no more noise then the wind that passes through. He finds Silas in the study, pulling him aside, he requests to talk to him in one of the "Client rooms," which were notorious for their anti-divination wards and sound proofing to protect the confidentiality of the Temple's clients.
"Brother Silas", Kappasc begins through a wincing, half-hearted smirk, "I've come to collect on a favor. I'm sure you remember that Rovagug mess that I cleaned up for free when your team failed to prosecute the Cult Leader, and the rest got off with insignificant sentences."
"Something big is happening, and I need the Hand of Abadar to help me in the hunt for justice. I'm a reasonable person, you provide the Hand, and I'll have no reason to call in on your debt for services provided, with compounded interest of course."
Brother Silas, like many of the church of Abadar, fit the mold of one dedicated to the god of cities, wealth, merchants, and law. His clothing, a officious-looking robe, was most certainly of a quality that was a step above the rest. Immaculately groomed, a pair of spectacles rested on the end of his nose, which he pushed up absently, regarding Kap, as he said his piece, wincing at the reminder. Above all though, he was a member of the Church, and even in a request, there were aspects of business, and a businessman never lets himself be caught off guard for too long.
Silas composed himself quickly, straightening non-existent wrinkles in his robe, and looked back to Kap. "It is within my capabilities to do some things, Brother Kappasc. What might you need the Hand to extend?"
Noticing Silas's willingness to cooperate, Kappasc relaxed his posture. Kappasc pulled back his hood, and allowed an honest smile to bridge his face from cheek to cheek.
"I...apologize, Brother Silas, if I came off as gruff. My hunts bring me far from the Brotherhood, and I forget what it is like to deal with helpful allies. I'm not here to bring discredit to your firm, I only seek your assistance. I need better tools for my pursuit. The crossbow I've been using is clunky, old, and cumbersome. I pride myself on my ability to slip between the shadows, delivering the message of justice, but reloading this crossbow slows me down. I've heard the Church has come into a cache of Heavy Crossbows augmented so that they can be reloaded with the flick of switch. One such crossbow would be of great aid to me, should Abadar wills it prudent."
While Silas is mostly unfamiliar with the demands of martial combat beyond the perfunctory classes taught to those hailing from a slightly higher standing than the commoners, it takes no longer than a moment for him to recall the inventory of which that Kappasc speaks, and smiles slightly, giving a single nod in understanding. "Your source is behind, Kappasc", he smiles. "That particular seizure under the law happened a month back. However, you are correct in that it is still around, though for not too much longer. Those that can handle that particular weapon are few, and it has taken this long to find a buyer who was willing to purchase the lot."
Brother Silas pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he thinks. "Provided you are willing to serve as an escort, I can arrange it so that your payment will be one of those weapons", he says, confidently meeting Kap's eyes. "Have we an agreement, Brother Kappasc?" Punctuating his statement, Brother Silas offers his hand to seal the deal.
Kappasc grasps Silas's hand firmly, giving one quick shake with a rough flick of his arm. Of course, Kappasc affirmed. It is always a pleasure doing business with the Church. "May justice serve you, Brother."
"May the world profit from your presence", Brother Silas replies, shaking Kap's hand once, then releasing it and departing the room to start working on the request.
dot
Zathe Dakamon -- Young Paladin
Ever since that night, at least once a week, Zathe's dreams have a regular feature. It has been on the same day each time, that the Sunrise has been prominent in his dreams. When he looks to the east, there is something comforting about that sunrise. It carries the feeling of a new, better day beginning, another day of opportunity. To the west, the clouds are darkening, promising a heavy storm, a day spent inside while the rain and wind lashes at the walls and roof. Despite the distance traveled, the storm seems to be blowing in the same direction, but he remains ahead of it.
While undoubtedly the nightmares of that night come with some frequency during the week, dreams of his parents' house burning in flames, dreams of those he tries to save dying in his arms. In the presence of the light of that sunrise, they don't hold as much power as they normally would. Those times, Zathe rests easily and wakes refreshed in the morning, instead of waking several times throughout the night as a result of bad dreams..
His passage east has brought him in contact with several small communities, where his skill at healing has been greatly helpful, easing pain, and serving as a helpful hand. Zathe's skill with words and calming tense atmospheres usually endears him to them quite quickly, with them offering in return a place to sleep or a ride to the next town if they were headed in that direction. With spring coming, the roads are starting to see more and more traffic, and a sword arm is often appreciated as a bandit deterrent.
Thus far, his travels and aiding of communities have brought him across the River Iseld towards Remesiana, In the company of an older merchant by the name of "Kannat", whom Zathe made the acquaintance of in his travels. By the state of his armor, and his bearing, he invited you to ride along with him. During the course of the travel, you learn that he is coming from Longacre, and this part of his journey is the most dangerous, on account of the money that he is carrying, hidden away in his wagon. A weathered man, dark of hair and beard, he does have a sharp eye, and despite the money that he says that he is carrying, he appears no more than a country farmer.
"One of the tricks you pick up in years of traveling", he grins and says in a voice that is starting to show its age, though it is still is strong. "People tend to not pay much attention to you when you look like you're not worth bothering."
"Indeed... something I will have to consider carefully"
Zathe glances at the shining scale mail, with the insignia of the Dakamon house upon it, gleaming in all its glory in the sunshine, and looks sheepish. "I must confess... travelling is something I have done little of- in fact this is my first time out of the Capital. You seek to avoid attention? Mayhap there are bandits on the road? Forgive me... I should not pry. I am merely curious- why dost thou carry so much wealth with you?"
"While I do farm", the merchant explained, "I make a fair amount o'money by making this run t'th'major cities, and getting a hold o'some harder t'get items, and selling them on m'way back home." Smiling, the merchant taps the side of his head. "Like a steel trap, 'tis. S'metimes, I've go' th'lads that wants t'make his way to th'city f'r help, but not this time." With a squint, the merchant looks at the road ahead, easily visible more or less since you are in gently rolling grasslands, wild grasses growing in patchy spots, tall enough to reach to his waist. "We might'n make th'next stop b'fore dark.. Usually, I'd hasten t'make m'next stop, but if'n y're a capable hand, we c'n stop at nightfall an' camp."
Between conversations, Zathe patrols the merchant's caravan/wagon vigorously. His sense of duty wants to at least repay the kindness and companionship the merchant is extending towards him. "I suggest a warm fire and a soft bed may be worth pushing on for Kannat", he replies, "but Erastil shall protect us and shelter us whether we make camp in the wilderess or in the next town; I defer the decision to you Sir. If it helps your decision, know that I am a classically trained warrior and am no novice with a blade."
The merchant chuckles, nodding with his opinion. "Aye. Might be a little tired f'r th'travel, but s'always better t'sleep unner a roof if y'can."
The town is reached five long hours later-- a small place by the name of "Hillsway", and by then the both of them are yawning, or at least fighting the urge to yawn. Midnight is most certainly close, and after stowing everything properly, the only spaces to be had are on the floor of the common room, closer to the door. However, you are not exposed, and it is a fair sight warmer than it would have been outside.
Fighting the urge to sleep, Zathe first prays softly to Erastil for granting him company on the road, for sparing him from certain death in Egorian and for keeping his family safe. Then Zathe checks his possessions are secure, and attempts to fall asleep.
Lindley Dearborne -- Deadeye's Faithful
"Leaving home is never easy, even if it may be time. There are so many uncertainties, and often those uncertainties are enough to drag you down, make you forget yourself, make you lose your way.. You will not forget, because you know the path you walk, you have an ideal to follow, and you know who you are. If ever you feel yourself losing your way, or doubting yourself, remember that we have not forgotten you. You are never alone."
Those were the words that the old paladin of Erastil had spoken to her the day that she had decided to leave. Her family, practical people that they were, understood. The night before had been at times both solemn and joyous as her family gave her small gifts, determined to send her off with fond memories, while reconciling the knowledge that their girl was leaving. They turned out to see her off in the morning, and watched as she disappeared around the bend of the road, a prayer in their hearts and on their lips...
...And the weeks passed...
Her path was towards no specific destination, but she encountered no trouble that a healthy dose of common sense could not avoid or prevent. Her services to the communities that she passed through were rewarded with food or a place to stay, or both, an extra hand being considered most helpful in this, the turning of the seasons. Winter had decided to relinquish it's grip on the land, and while the cold rains still fell, some of the chill was leaving the air, promising warmer times to come.
The Arthrosh River and Oregent lay behind her, which put her near the center of Andoran, at least in the manner of the lay of the land, and in time, she would reach the coast. At least, that was where heading directly south would bring her. It seemed that if the road she was on was any indication, she would be headed more southeast than true south, but it was not as if she had any particular destination in mind.
Midday was fast approaching when the sound of hoofbeats coming from a ways behind broke the sounds of nature, along with the shouted hail of "Halloooo!" as the mounted person drew closer. The rider slowed once he drew abreast of her sedate pace, and greeted her with a removal of his hat, and a nod of his head.
"Well met, fair traveler." The smile that accompanied that was good natured, the young man at a guess somewhere near her age, dressed for travel in comfortable clothes, his jacket hanging from the pommel of his saddle. The chestnut mare he rode was most certainly capable, the animal's breathing calming now that it was not being hastened. She was of good stock, and looked well treated. Judging by the quality of the tack, this fellow was in government business, or close to it, a leather satchel slung across his shoulders and resting on the hip away from her. "While a road can be traveled alone, I've found that often, pleasant company often allows the time to pass quicker.. That is, if you're amenable. I'm Adavel."
Lindley returns the polite tip of the hat. "Good day to you, Adavel. I am Lindley. I welcome a companion on this lonely road. Where are you traveling to?"
"I am headed towards Stonewell, then further southeast to Mountain's End and Augustana." he replied, replacing his hat and sitting easily in the saddle. "Have you traveled far?"
"I have traveled many miles. My journey began several months ago near the northern border."
"Ah, so you have not really heard any of the major news going on, I'm guessing?" The trees hung overhead, and as he ducked one low-hanging branch, Adavel reached up and broke off a tiny twig, twiddling it in his fingers.
"No" Lindley said with sudden interest. "What is this major news you speak of?"
Adavel smiled. "Hmm... give me a second." Closing his eyes and gathering his thoughts, he began, sounding a little like he was reciting from a list. "Beginning with the most sensational, just recently a platoon of the Andoran army had their rank removed and their commanding officer court-martialed for 'improper action' against individuals identified as slavers-- they left no survivors... Up north, a recent garrison detachment was recently successful in repelling and eliminating a band of orcs threatening a town.. With the weather breaking, many are preparing for the reinvigoration of trade routes, and bandit activity is taking an upswing-- nothing new there. Duke Elicourt is again planning his annual Spring festival, with much a-twitter from the nobles--"
At that, Adavel rolled his eyes, grinning and explaining. "The festival is well enough, but the twittering.. most certainly not as much. Several weddings for nobles that we are nowhere near, the usual call for adventurers in various locations, the usual activity between factions at or near the Cheliax border, and oh! A band of adventurers recently returned from rescuing childen stolen away to some ruins near Falcon's Hollow, though the tales that have made their way down speak of dire fights against kobolds." A tiny smile belied a tip of his hat. "Of course, some of this information is a little old. Still, as a courier, I hear much."
Lindley was disappointed by the idle, big-city gossip Adavel considered "major news". Still, she decided to make the effort to continue the conversation along the most interesting of the stories. "Tell me more about the rescue of missing children. When did they go missing?"
"T'was said that they were taken from the edge of the town, near a month back, but by the time the adventurers intervened, five had disappeared; taken underground into some nearby ruins and beyond. I'm sure it need not be said if they were not retrieved, they'd not be seen again until the afterlife.." Adavel looked solemnly serious, nodding as if he was the one who had come to that conclusion.
"Indeed. I am thankful someone was able to rescue them."
"It's said that the adventurers that rescued the children stayed for the town's celebration, but headed out the next day", he said with a shrug, spreading his hands to illustrate the surprise of their departure. "I s'pose they were not the types to bask in the glory.."
"Few true heroes are."
"Yeah, I s'pose." Adavel looked a bit disappointed. "All the events that would make for great stories, one never hears about." Sighing a bit theatrically, he looked over to Lindley. "Do you have any good stories?"
Lindley chuckled "None that would interest an important courier like yourself. My tales are of simple folk who lead simple lives. Perhaps one day I will have adventures worthy of reaching your ears, but I'm afraid that day has not yet come."
"Oh, um.. that's fine." A bit daunted by the fact that this woman is not the chatterboxes that he is used to, Adavel lapses into a silence that is comfortable for Lindley, but perhaps not so much for him.
Agramir Franklin -- Independent in the Andoran Army
The day after your discharge finds you in Claes, near the Miska Shelf, where your platoon was ordered to wait while the necessary official dispatch was sent from Almas. Your platoon leader was ordered to return to Almas for a formal court martial, while the rest of your platoon was officially put on "Administrative Leave". Over talking before lights-out, some of the members decided to take advantage of that and return home for a span, some of the others seem somewhat at a loss for what to do.
This morning, you all stood at attention in front of the inn while the dispatch departed back for Almas, your platoon leader in tow, giving those assembled a proud nod and salute. There is obviously no rancor in him at the results of his actions, and has told you all as much. The morning dawned bright and clear, some of the townspeople watching curiously at the proceedings. As you were officially put on leave the moment you received those missives, this display is informal in name, with only seven of your sixteen members showing, the others having departed for their respective homes with the sunrise.
Once the dispatch of the courier and his two escorts along with your platoon leader in tow leaves town, a general consensus of "parade attention" is relaxed, and Fallon, a stocky man of twenty-six years sighs, shaking his head. "We all knew that this was going to happen, but damn if it ain't a shame to see it." He casts one more look in the direction of the departed men, and turns to you. "Well, Grim, what're you going t'do? I've got orders t'go regroup with 'nother platoon, s'mewhere near the edge of th'shelf. I'm not lookin' forward t'that ride." He removes his leather helm, running a hand through his short black hair, his expression one of resigned distaste.
"I've got orders sending me west," Agramir responds. "How about we knock back a cool one at that tavern down the street before we go?"
Fallon raises both eyebrows at hearing the direction of your orders. "West towards the border?" He cringes slightly. "That don't sound too pleasant.. Who's ire did you draw in command?" Fallon grinned, and chuckled slightly. "S'much as I would like to help boost the image of us Andorans as a rowdy, fightin' bunch even early in th'morn, I hafta pass on it." Soberly, he offers his hand. "What say we have that drink when y'get back?"
"You don't wanna know," Agramir says grimly with a pained expression behind his eyes. He clasps hands with Fallon, then proceeds to check the buckles and straps holding his gear to his saddle, mounts up, and heads west away from the rising sun.
Fairly well-versed in the goings-on of his home country, and aided by his years of service with the Andoran army, Agramir's journey does not take him too long at all, since the first two places to investigate would be the areas around the two major cities closest to the Andoran border with Cheliax, Augustana and Alvis. As he knows from experience, the proximity of those two cities to the Cheliax border, as well as the Arthfell forest and Aspo Bay makes those settlements arrayed around those two cities would likely have the most accurate knowledge, if not the cities themselves.
Astride Stromrunner, his steed, he makes excellent time, each day seeing his arrival in a small village or community, though the closer he gets to the border, the cooler his reception. He is by no means shunned, but his bearing marks him as military. Since he is traveling alone, most take him for a soldier on leave, and treat him as such. Not until he was a couple days out of Augustana did he start to hear more recent information about any significant activity, pointing him closer to Alvis and the Arthfell forest.
Winter was breaking, and with the onset of Spring, travelers were preparing for travel, some of the merchants heading out at the first sign of winter's end and changing weather to begin their trade routes anew. Four days out of the week, Agramir alone in his travels, but passes at least one person on the others.
Somewhere in between Agustana and Alvis, closer to the Arthfell forest than the coast, Agramir had stopped in an inn at a town named Greybough for the night. In this instance, it seemed that rumor had already run ahead of him, for no sooner does he sit and order his dinner, than the same pretty serving girl returns with a mug of ale on the house.
When she is asked, she simply smiled. "For the men of Andoran, Da always gives the first one away."
Agramir thanks the serving girl for his ale and asks her what the inn's speciality for dinner is. "That sounds delicious, I'll try some of that." During the meal, when she comes by to see if he wants a second ale, he asks here about local news, how does she like the town, as well as general small talk and a little bit of flirting.
The dinner that he is served is a very thick excellent vegetable stew with a couple slices of bread, and a skewer of beef. Not bad at all. He is one of perhaps five or so people in the inn this night, perhaps two of the five travelers like him. As such, the ambience is at low murmur in the warm room.
Ernesto Blanco -- Traveling Glory
The start of a change in Ernesto's life was when he was contracted as a servant to the local temple, and things were well enough. Through them, he found education, he found use, he found a measure of himself. While things were not excellent, they were also never bad for long.
The next significant change came when the local temple hosted a traveling priest of Abadar, who stayed for several days. Hale in the manner of those who are prone to frequent exercise and plenty of sunshine, it was not until a few days before he was expected to leave that preparations became obvious enough for him to notice. Equipment was being prepared, but who they were for was a mystery until the day before his departure, the traveling priest approached him and spoke.
"Prepare yourself to travel", he said simply.
The next day, Ernesto was woken by the head priest of the temple, and it was explained to him that yes, Abadar is fond of order, and no, they were not getting rid of him, the traveling priest just had made a rather good argument that Ernesto might better benefit from an education on the road. Just as two balanced against each other, so it would also be beneficial for him to travel the breadth of Abadar's domains in order to better balance himself. He was allowed to spend time with his family before he left, and then they were off.
The traveling priest was an arbiter, he learned, though the man rarely spoke save when to explain and lecture, something that was done for an hour every night, instructing Ernesto on the various points of law, and why they were important. In the villages they passed through, the priest settled disputes and accounts, some merchants hiring him for his aid and opinion. Yet, while Ernesto was being instructed, when they were in towns there was free time to be had to himself, to do with as he wished. The Arbiter was a man of discipline and order, as to be expected of a priest of Abadar.
Quite some time was spent on the road, as the two of them traveled from town to town, following the path of the coast as it wound. A month and a fortnight found them in the city of Halmyris, and several weeks later brought them to Remesiana. A city at the juncture of the River Iseld, and Bay of Solva, Remesiana is as bustling as one would expect a port city to be, full of color. In the lecture taking place on their day of arrival, the Arbiter explained that there were not many settlements east of here, as the inhabitants of the Sirmium Plain bent themselves more towards their herds than the gods. They were going to take a caravan east.
Along the way, Ernesto worked hard at his lessons and observed the Arbiter in his work, trying to learn the practical application of the Arbiter's maxims. There was much good and obvious benefit to the itinerant priest's work. On more than one occasion his mere presence was enough to force a resolution or compromise between antagonists. But, under the respect, even admiration Ernesto felt for the older man, a vague unease gnawed.
To help speed up travel, the Arbiter purchased a mule for Ernesto to ride and to carry provisions. The mule turned out to be a stolid, plodding animal and Ernesto's tall frame looked comical when perched on the mule's back. After the first week, Ernesto grew to like riding. With that came envy for Ara's fine black mare. The Arbiter looked so noble on that horse and it's gait seemed so smooth and easy.
When his lessons and chores were done, Ernesto would walk through the margins of the small villages and poorer quarters of the larger towns. Here were people like his own family, not like the merchants and well-to-do tradesmen with whom the Arbiter spent so much of his day. In these places order and right might be recognized, even honored, but were sometimes mere survival was justice enough. In the dirty streets, Ernesto discovered small kindnesses like helping lift a cart so a wheel could be refitted or carrying an old woman's bag were often appreciated much more than the effort deserved.
The ocean coast was a constant marvel to Ernesto. Born only a few miles from the coast, he, like his family, like most of his town, had never made the trip to the shore. The waves, shining crests and shadowed troughs, made a mosaic which seemed ever fresh and fascinating.
There was a small chuckle from nearby Ernesto, an aged man carrying a bucket and several fishing poles, looking like he was heading towards the end of one of the piers. "Ah, she's beautiful, isn't she, young'un? The sea, I mean."
"Yes, uncle, she is." Ernesto quickly adopts the old man's characterization of the ocean as female. "I've never seen anything like her."
He holds out his hand for the man's bucket. "I am Ernesto Blanco. May I carry that for you?"
Ernesto recieved an appraising look from the old salt, before he handed him the bucket, giving him an appreciative nod. "Not too many willing to help without the promise of reward, these days", he said as he resumed his walk to the end of the pier. "At a guess..", the man looked at his crossbow and staff. "You're not from around here. What's your name, son?"
"Ernesto, uncle." the young man takes the bucket and matches pace with the fisherman. "I'm from a small town in Cheliax. But now I am the servant of a travelling Arbiter."
"Hm.. sounds pretty educational.. I bet you get to see interesting things." The old man looks at Ernesto for confirmation. "I'm Hillard, but you can call me 'Hal'--" he shrugged casually. "--everyone else does." Reaching the end of the pier, Hal stopped, setting down his poles, and selecting one. Along the edge of the pier, Ernesto can notice odd rings set into the wood, that serve no discernable purpose for ships.
"You fish much?" The bucket was taken from Ernesto, and sat near the old man, who reached into the bucket and dug around before pulling out a worm and setting it on the hook.
"Some. My village was near a stream and river. There wasn't often time, especially after they sent me to the temple, but we would go sometimes. There were some big catfish in the river. Big as a man." Ernesto thinks back on those few carefree afternoons. "I wasn't very good at it."
The oldster chuckles, a skilled flick of his wrist sending the line out, and he sets the pole in one of the odd rings, fitting it nicely. "Yeah, those beasts will get so very large.. Reminds me of a story about a fish so big, it got named, and eventually worshipped as a local god--" Grinning, Hal gestures to one of the poles. "I see yer armed an'all, but if you've got nothing that you want to see or do in the city, feel free to pick up a rod and fish for a while. I wouldn't mind the company."
"Thank you. I will," Ernesto picks up a rod, baits the hook, and casts. The line floats out, then drops sharply into the water. "So aside from fishing. What else do people do around here, Hal?"
"It's a port city", Hal said in easy response, smiling . "You've got all sorts coming here for business, for pleasure, to hide.. If you know where to look-- or how to look, you could find nearly everything y'miss from home, and a good bit more."
There was a snort that Ernesto could tell accompanied a slightly mocking expression.
"That's probably what you'll hear if you ask. There are no small amount of inns and taverns here, and with the ports, you get a lot of performers passing through." Chuckling warmly, Hal pulled his line in and cast it out again. "Why, some of the things I've seen.." He shook his head, but the smile was distant. "Ahem-- Various performers of all stripes, and many a pasttime that could be thought up by mortal mind and beyond, if you believe the rumors. I also hear boasting of some pretty talented chefs, if you've the coin for such things. All manner of shiny baubles to charm a lady fair, or ladies to charm, though I would describe few as 'fair' if you intend to look with your purse and not your charm."
A shrewd eye glanced at Ernesto. "I doubt you're the type to look for the things that fall into the grey areas and beyond. If y'go looking, and you get lost, ask a guard.. They'll set you straight. If you can't find a guard, then you've wandered too far for most civil folk."
Ernesto looked at the sun and started reeling in his line. "I've got to get back. The arbiter will be expecting me. Thanks, Hal, for the fishing and for the advice."
"Not a problem young sir", Hal said with an easy smile. "I'm happy to have had some company." The oldster continues fishing as Ernesto gets up and leaves, heading back to the inn.
dotting.
Kappasc -- Digging Up Bones
One day passes, then another. On the morning of the second day, a knock comes comes at your door and another page is handed to Kappasc by a silent courier. Once it is in his hands, the page departs quietly.
I have arranged everything. In three days, a ship named "The Gilded Scale" will be departing Absalom for the military city of Escadar, on the isle of Erran. They will be taking the lot we discussed, and you are to be an instructor in their usage. Rest assured that this is not a permanent position, but something had to be done to adequately account for the significant cost of what you requested, despite my influence. To mitigate it completely would not have been a fair accounting, and you and I both know that.
The final choice is still yours, however. If this is not to your satisfaction, all you need do is not show.
Not one to sit idly by while there is work to be done, Kappasc resumes his hunt for information about the Black Bones. Quickly making his way through the back alleys of Absalom to the last known address of one of the clients he helped back before he came to know Abadar.
The Coins... Just nort of the docks, this is the common neighborhood for foreign traders and seamen. In this kind of neighborhood, one does not travel casually, and any wealth one may have is best kept close and out of sight. This early in the morning, there is less to worry about, but as many have discovered, simply because the sun is shining, the danger is not lessened. The street is dirt, packed hard by the innumerable footsteps of the masses that travel through. Kap is aware of the danger of this place. Of all the city, the only place where more murders occur is in the Puddles, and even here, a disagreement is very likely to end in bloodshed.
The day is cloudy, but rain has not fallen yet, and as always, a sea breeze blows in from the docks, carrying the scents of the harbor and sea beyond. At this time in the morning, most of the tenants are out to their jobs, barring the few that worked nights, and the majority of them are dead to the world, sleeping off fatigue or recreation.
Quiet steps and careful positioning ensure that Kap is virtually unnoticed once he reaches the last listed location of a former client, and his sharp eyes notice nothing amiss. The building is weathered, not maintained as well as it perhaps should be, but it stands, proof of solid construction beginning its decline. Some buildings in this area have multiple stories, but not all. This single story building is not that large, standing close to its neighbor on three sides, perhaps just enough for two rooms and a kitchen.
Unfortunately, the door to the small house is locked, its owner possibly gone for the day. The one window to in the building is on an upper story, and it is difficult to see, but it would not be surprising to have it boarded, or at least locked as well.
As much as Kappasc wanted to break down the door, he had no reason to suspect this man of any crime that would justify such flexibility in the law. The man had left his door locked, so Kappasc would respect the sanctity of security, for so long as the man was entitled to it. As his resolve disappeared, Kappasc decided to try one last thing: he knocked on the door.
No answer comes, and there is no sound of movement in the house that you can tell. Nothing so unusual about that, as the clients were hands on a ship, so it is entirely possible that the ship may be out on a voyage.
With no one home, Kappasc decides to resort to the local authorities. Authorities... 'HAH', Kappasc thinks silently to himself. 'If these City Watches had even half the understanding of what the real Law of the world was, they wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning'. With that, Kappasc draws his cloak around his head, hiding his half-smirk, and with slightly bowed gaze, makes swiftly for the local City Watch outpost.
Depending on the size of the district in question, there is usually one outpost nearby, usually at the borders of the district near the major throughfares, and at least one station inside the district, with more distributed around if the district is wealthier. In the case of the Puddles, there are four guard outposts at the 'corners' of the district, with two stations between them. Foot patrols are made in pairs or trios, and they are generally infrequent in the poorer sections.
At the outpost there is one man outside, with what sounds like three other men inside. The guard at the door pays no real attention to Kappasc until he is obviously approaching.
"'Elp you, sir?" the guard asks, a slight pause before the sir as he looked Kappasc over, wondering what kind of person he was dealing with..
"Hello", Kappasc greets the guard with a smile. "Im doing some...private investigating to bring some criminals into the grasp of justice...Have you, by chance, seen or heard anything about a criminal organization named the Black Bones?"
The guard's brow quirks as he thinks, and offers a shrug. "I've heard of 'em, but only s'enough to think that they may be one o'those names used t'scare people.. Black Rats, Nox Felis, Dark Shadows.. Sounds like th'kind o'name a gang'd have. Surely not a organization, though maybe criminal.. if they exist."
"Hmmm", Kappasc hums out loud, "perhaps there is someone here, a superior, maybe, that would know more?"
The guard thought for a moment, and nodded, turning to bang on the door to the guardhouse. "You c'n ask the sergeant, I guess", the guard says, while the sound of footsteps get closer to the door.
The door is pulled open to reveal a stockier man perhaps in his late twenties, jaw covered in a dark brown beard, his hair pulled back and tied. He had his leather armor on, and a dagger was at his belt.
The on-duty guard looks to the other man that opened the door. "Ren, this man wants t'speak to the Sergeant."
The guard in the doorway, now called "Ren", grunted and looked over at Kappasc, giving him a critical eye. "State y'name and business, please." Gruff, it was a no-nonsense tone, the guard likely wondering what he had to ask about that one of them could not answer.
Kappasc wears a might-as-well-be honest smile, tips his head to the side and offers, "My name is Kappasc, I come here a humble servant to the Law...I am merely trying to find some information on a group named 'Black Bones'. Perhaps you've heard of them?"
Without anything more than a grunt, the guardsman turned and spoke a bit louder, "Sergeant."
Another set of footsteps approached after the sound of a chair being pushed back, and a shorter man comes into view, perhaps taller than Kappasc by two or three inches, a well-groomed full beard with flecks of grey in the dark brown, his hair trimmed so short to be just stubble. The marks of his rank are on his shoulders, and every part of him is parade-ground presentable. From his bearing, it is possible that he spent a spell in the military, and went to the Guard when he retired. Dark eyes look in Kappasc's appearance, lingering long enough at his hip, before going back up to meet his eyes.
His voice was patient, when he spoke. "Ren?"
"Says he's looking for information on 'Black Bones', sir. Name's Kappasc." The taller man responded, having stepped back to give the ranking officer the doorway. The guard on duty straightens slightly, going back to keeping his attention on the immediate area.
At the mention of the name, the sergeant takes a closer look at Kappasc, his gaze intent, before nodding and gesturing him in. "As you were, men", the sergeant said as his footsteps took him towards and up the small spiral stairs in the opposite corner.
Although no stranger to patience, Kappasc struggles to maintain his composure as he explains himself to the guards once again. 'Perhaps religious fielty will appeal to these people', Kappasc thinks to himself. Dipping his head in a slight bow, Kappasc states, "I am but a humble servant of the Law, Sir, I seek only to bring Abadar's will to all corners of the city. A group known as the "black bones" has recently offended our Lord of Law and I am humbly requesting your assistance in this matter. Do you have any knowledge on the group?"
The sergeant takes a seat at his desk, offering Kappasc to take a seat in the wooden chair that sat in front of it. "I know 'em", he began without preamble. "Was some time back I came across the name, but only twice after I heard the name, until you spoke it again." Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he interlaced his fingers, and studied Kappasc. "I know of you as well", he said, but explained no further, shifting back to the original topic.
"'Black Bones' is a name I first heard when I was enlisted in Absalom's Navy, A ship had captured a pirate, turned out to be slavers.." His eyes took on the distant look of someone seeing a memory. "Damndest thing.. Report said that by the time they had them boarded, half of their human cargo had been killed and sent over the side.. Two of the pirates escaped apprehension by flinging themselves overboard. The deputy in charge said that they muttered something about 'better at sea, than turn black bones', whatever that meant." Shaking his head, the sergeant refocused on Kappasc.
"I may just be speculating, but I doubt your group is a legally recognized group."
Kappasc recognizes the authority and regards the sargeant appropriately. "Thats quite the interesting story you're weaving, Sarge...Those pirates' utterances sound like more droning drivel from the unwashed masses, though; probably afraid of their own shadow." Kappasc turns his head down and to the side, furrows his brow for a moment while nibbling on his lip. With a resigned sigh, Kappasc stands up and offers his hand to the Sargeant. "I fear you're right, I dont think I'll be finding this group through conventional means. If you can think of any information that may help me in my search for them, I would be most indebted to your kindness. If you know me, then you know I work the Law when the law doesn't work... If nothing else, I thank you for your time. Good luck, Sarge, and may the Law watch over you."
The sergeant shakes his hand in parting, rising as Kappasc does. "You're not likely to find them directly without a lot of luck.. Have you tried finding whatever product they deal in and tracking them back to the source?"
Their slaves, you mean? They seem to have a habit of dying or being killed before arriving at the purchaser.
"I don't know about that", the sergeant said with a shrug. "If that were constantly the case, I doubt business would be profitable enough to maintain, don't you think?" With a gesture, he let Kappasc precede him down the stairs.
Zathe Dakamon -- City to Caravan
In his dreams Zathe has been traveling. A fair enough thing to dream about, even as distance and time takes the hurt from memories, dulls the edges of remembered pain. The Sunrise still appears in your dreams, but not as prominently as before. Now, on those days, Zathe is finding himself walking a country road, or sometimes a hunting trail, either approaching or leaving a small village or town. There are always clouds on the horizon, though not so dark and ominous as before, simply changing weather, and not a storm.
That first leg of the trip set the tone for the remainder of his journey with Kannat, and the repair in which Zathe keep your armor and weapons, as well as the number that you carry, seems to have prevented at least a couple incidences in which the older man would have possibly been harrassed or worse. One glance at Zathe keeping his company, and they seem to lose interest. The two of them reach Remesiana in a few weeks' time, and it is there that the two of them part ways. Grateful for the help, Kannat presses some coin into your hand-- "Y've earned s'much, s'take it or leave it, but It'll not be said tha' Kannat don't square his debts!"-- and points you in the direction of a fair inn for travelers.
This city is as bustling as a port city should be, with all manner of fare and fashion, politics and people, though it is no Egorian. Despite your age, your presence alone tends to have a mediating influence, and few trouble you for long. A little less than halfway to the border, but here, in Remesiana, there are now options on how to travel. There is no shortage of want for an able hand with a sword, and with a calling such as his, they are most certainly willing to offer a bit more, should the request be made-- that much is certain.
Zathe opts to look out for opportunities on land; the idea of adventure upon the high seas appeals to him, but he dreads to think of what might happen to him if he fell overboard in his armour. Erastil has kept him safe thus far, and he resolves to seek small ways to honour his new Deity while travelling overland.
Opting to travel by land, a consultant of the church of Abadar evaluates Zathe for the merchant's consortium. After a surprising amount of no-nonsense questioning including city of origin, and extent of training, the grey haired matron compares the results of your evaluation to a list of intended direction and openings. As she goes down the list, she intermittently copies something onto the paper in a fastidiously neat hand, and then offers Zathe the sheet with an encouraging smile.
"You have a few choices", she said, motioning at the list. "It is still fairly early for the spring season to get underway, but there are a few caravans headed east anyways. Mostly those coming from further west, headed on through into Andoran, or the nearby areas on the border."
Once the paper was taken, she continued. "I'm judging by the amount of equipment you carry, you'll want to avoid the open ocean, so the first two are the best of those three choices. One is only going as far as Brastlewark, before it turns north, and another is crossing the border, headed towards the Andoran capital." She put away the inkwell and paper as she spoke, making her desk neat and tidy again. "Have a good day, Zathe."
Smiling at the Matron, Zathe decides that seeing the Andoran capital would be fascinating, to compare it and its people to Egorian.
On the page, Zathe notes that the matron was kind enough to give him names addresses, and end destinations as well. While she did not list departure dates, it may be safe to say that the caravans for which these names signify are not likely to leave in the next day or two. An "Isledelashima" is the name listed as the contact for the first registered land travel caravan going east, and the other is one "Janus Cableton". His thoughts are interrupted by the matron clearing her throat politely.
"Do you require anything else?"
A bit lost in the thought of travel, and which way to go, Zathe looks up at the matron's voice. "Pardon, ma'am, but how may I get in touch with these Gentlemen in charge of the caravan?" It was the first question that came to mind.
The Matron smiled, understanding. "First long trip for you, isn't it? The addresses that I've added to the page is the registered address for those caravan owners. Since they don't know you yet, I'd suggest you go in person and ask to speak to the caravan master. Introduce yourself." Warming a bit, she continued. "Most of the time, the guards from the caravan are contracted out of one of the guard organizations, specifically for this purpose. On occasion, they hire travelers or adventurers such as yourself for a bit of diversity and mutual benefit. You get saftey in numbers, they get a guard that may be a cut above what they get from the guilds. Everyone benefits."
Pausing, she looked him over again, calculating. "Don't worry, you should do just fine", she concluded. The pause in her speaking struck Zathe as odd.. It was like she was going to say something cautionary, but changed her mind.
Zathe briefly wondered why the matron seemed to pause in her speech but shrugged it off, smiled and thanked the Matron for her help once more, and immediately went to introduce himself to caravan master Janus Cableton.
Lindley Dearborne -- A Darkened Path
Several more times during the day, Adavel tried to engage Lindley in what he thought was "intelligent conversation", which mostly served to illustrate to her about which circles he tried to circulate in. Many of his discussions, while starting out on topics that would be interesting in passing to her, eventually strayed back towards the nobility and colored his views of the things he was attempting to talk about. Soon enough it became clear to Lindley that he was trying to feel her out to get a sense of what kind of person she is without asking outright.
Evening came as the time passed, and the setting sun touched the horizon as they were arriving at a small farming community, many of the houses spread out according to their land. With the fleeting sun, the chill returned, heralding an uncomfortable night, if they were to make camp. A small sign at a branch in the road pointed in the direction of one "Greenfield", with a distance notation that guaranteed that they would be there by nightfall, should they take it.
In the summer, as the fields grew, Lindley knew that she would have been looking over an ocean of green on either side of the road, the fences only serving as a border for that ripening tide, when the heat hung heavy and moist in the air, and the wind brought waves to its edges.
Adavel was rummaging through the satchel at his side, sorting through the small bundles of correspondence he had tied by string, and nudged his horse ahead towards the branch, beckoning Lindley after. "I've got a letter or two, and a couple messages to relay", he said with an inviting smile. "I'm on familiar terms with the inkeeper as well. Should you be willing, I can secure us lodgings."
"Your offer is most kind, but I prefer to find lodging near the stables" She leaned down to pat her horse on the neck "She is a spirited girl, and the stablehands often require my assistance."
Nodding his understanding, Adavel turned with a cheery smile, folling the road towards Greenfield. The estimates on distance were accurate, and soon enough, they are arriving at a small town, a simple farming community. A general store sits next to a blacksmith's, and beside the general store are a few more buildings, a combination of 'business' and 'residence'. The details are too difficult to casually make out in the quickly fading light, but it is a fair assumption to make that the town has the basics.
Adavel rides right up to the larger building set just off the "center" of the road, a large oak tree marking the location and spreading its strong branches wide. It is clear that the town is still planning for expansion, as the buildings are not crowded together, but more set around the tree, relative to the road. A large wooden sign with a simple tankard on it marks the inn, and Adavel gives a shrill, high-low-high whistle as he arrives. "Courier!" he announces loudly, grinning at the return to his element, or perhaps some semblance of civilization.
A stableboy runs out, and Adavel dismounts, looking at him for a moment and handing over the reins. "Channa, you've grown!" he exclaims, and the lad beams brightly, nodding. "Why, by the next time I pass, you'll be taller than me!"
Somewhat muffled by distance, Lindley can hear a couple doors opening and closing, coming from houses that were within hearing range of that impressive whistle.
"This is a traveling companion, Lindley", Adavel says, prompted by the Channa's curious looks at the armored and mounted lady.
The lad bobbed a greeting to her, hastening to lead Adavel's horse into the stable. "One momen', miss", he said as he moved. "I'll be right back."
Lindley dismounted and waited patiently.
The stableboy was back in a minute, taking the reins of Lindley's mount with a polite smile, and leading her to the stable. "I've got her, miss", he said. "You c'n go inside."
Adavel had already entered the inn once his mount was taken, and she could hear his voice talking to someone in fond greetings. Some people were already coming down the road to the inn from their houses, and she can make out a small figure running from door to door, likely one of the village children, spreading the news that a courier has arrived.
Inside the cozily lit inn common room were the type of people that Lindley was most certainly familiar with. Older and aged farmers sat with each other at tables, some having mugs in front of them, others engaged in conversation, while a pair sat out of the way, hunched over a board game, their expressions in deep thought. Here and there, younger men sat, several having a resemblance to the farmers they sat with, though most were politely listening to the discussions, rather than actively participating. There were two serving girls, and even one male server, all of them easily discerned as siblings. Dressed as she was, she got no few eyes set on her, either in assessment, or appraisal. A fireplace sat against the far wall, and a few lamps burned at spaced out intervals, the quality of their smoke letting her know that the oil they burned was likely homemade.
Adavel was sitting at the end of the small bar, juggling a conversation between three people with an expression that said that he was in his element, and enjoying every second. A question and response has the four laughing for a few seconds, before he looks up to see her and waves her over.
Lindley gritted her teeth, resolving to be polite and walk over. She made a note of the time, though, she intended to wake up well-rested at dawn, and Adavel and his companions seemed like the sort to stay up far later than was healthy.
The three men that Adavel was talking with looked at her as she walked over, one of them raising his eyebrows at her appearance, the other two giving her polite nods of greeting as Adavel gave introductions starting with the closest to her, and ending at the man behind the bar. "Lindley, this is Jak, Ollam, and Cermos, the 'seniors' of Greenfield. Gentlemen, this is Lindley, whom I have had the good fortune of travelling with this day."
"Nice to meet ya, lass", said the older man behind the bar. At a guess, he was in his forties, and had the look of a man who knew his way around a field, as well as being behind a bar. He was possessed of short brown hair, wide shoulders, and the darkened skin of a farmhand, like most in here. Adavel was really the only odd one out. "C'n I get you something to drink?"
"This one talked your ear off yet?", Jak said, likely the oldest of the group, his hair going to grey, but his brown eyes sharp with wisdom. "He tends to do it out of habit, an' often doesn't realize that some people actually like the peace and quiet."
The lot of them chuckled at the comment, Adavel coloring a bit as he realized that he had done just that over the course of the day.
Ollam was about to speak, when a sound resolved itself into wailing that was coming closer. All conversation stopped, and some rushed from their seats and headed out the door while others looked to the doorway. "What the.."
To Lindley, it sounded like a terrified child.
Lindley ran back to the doorwayand joined those who had run out to investigate.
Several of the men are outside, trying to get some sense from the wailing child, who is doing his level best to get inside the door of the inn. A bit scrawny, he looks to be no more than nine years old, and scared out of his wits, eyes wide.
"Idram Tanner", one of the men identifies. "Lad, wha's the matter?"
"Bones.. t'was bones, an' blood!"
Agramir Franklin -- Greybough
...Agramir thanks the serving girl for his ale and asks her what the inn's speciality for dinner is. "That sounds delicious, I'll try some of that." During the meal, when she comes by to see if he wants a second ale, he asks here about local news, how does she like the town, as well as general small talk and a little bit of flirting...
"Most of us're happy to see that winter is ending", she said with a genuine smile. "I don't mind a rainy day as much as the next Andoran lass, but after a while, I get tired of being inside. Greybough's my home.." A toss of her head in emphasis put wheat-colored curls over her shoulder, continuing with a slight grimace. "I'm just not one for a cold rain, though.. S'just as well I guess. Th'usual rumors been flyin' again. People disappearin' th' 'next town over'.." The way she says it, with a slight roll of her eyes, it is easy to see that this is a common rumor, and just as easily dismissed.
A bit of a teasing smile precedes her next question, fair-skinned cheeks dimpling. "Y'here t'investigate, sir?", she asked, tossing off a tiny salute that would have been a travesty had it been intended as the real thing. It looks like she is flirting a bit, as much as being under the watchful eye of her father -- the innkeeper -- will allow.
Agramir considers her question, 'word of my coming has been anticipated, I should be careful what I say.'
"I guess it's pretty obvious what I am. If there are rumors of missing people, I need to check it out." Agramir answers. "This stew is outstanding. Did you have anything to do with that," he says with a grin. What time do things wind down around here, usually?"
She grins at the offered compliment, but gives a shake of her head. "Nah, t'was my Ma that did it, an' my sister. I'll let 'em know you liked it, though. Cooking s'something I'm missing th'knack for."
At the question about time, she folds her arms under her chest and thinks, looking up and chewing on her lower lip. "Well, y'came in 'round th'middle of th'evenin', an' s'not been a mark yet.. It'll wind down--" she looks around the room with a bit of a dry look. "--not that it needs t'wind down, really, but we'll be closing th'doors 'round two marks 'til high moon."
Both of her eyebrows go up as she looked back to him, her expression the slightest bit disappointed. "Planning on leaving so soon? Oh, I'm Darinea, by th'way."
The sound of a throat clearing makes her start a bit guiltily. "S'my Da. I'll check back on y' in a bit."
"Oh, no. I'm in no hurry." Agarmir responds. "And excuse me, I'm Agramir. Pleasure to meet you...better check on your da, I'll be right here."
As Darinea heads off to pay attention to the rest of the patrons, Agramir can notice the man behind the counter watching her as she went, then turning his head to look at him, giving a narrow-eyed look before he went about his business.
A small amount of time later, she returns to retrieve his bowl and trade his mug out for another one pleasantly, noting the absence of food. "Glad you enjoyed it. Y'set up with a room yet?"
"Well, I was hoping you had a vacancy here? Are you available?"
Agramir's question prompts an interesting response from Darinea. Initially, she starts to respond evenly, her mouth opening for an easy reply before she stops, rendered momentarily speechless by his second question, smiling slightly and blushing lightly. A second later, her expression darkens, and her eyes narrow, frowning slightly as she gets a tenacious set to her jaw, putting her hands on the table to lean forward slightly.
"Look 'ere, sir", that part had come out somewhat civil, but the rest began to tread into hostile ground, coldly delivered. "While you'll have t'talk to my Da t'make any specific arrangements about y'room, If you're asking whether o'not m'company comes with it, y'going t'ave more trouble than y'reckoned for very quickly.." This girl would make a wildcat proud. "So y'may want t'explain y'second question 'fore I get the wrong idea.."
While her words were delivered semi-quietly in a heated tone, her actions had not gone unnoticed, and Agramir can easily notice that he has become the center of attention in this little inn. Darinea straightens and folds her arms again, not-quite-glaring, but certainly riled up.
"Are you available to show me a room. If your dad is the one to talk to about that, I'll have to make arrangements. No offense to you, maam, something must have been lost in dialect. But I do need a place to stay, and so far the hospitality here has been splendid."
Her mouth opens in a little "O" of surprise, as his explanation and manner eases her temper and she unfolds her arms to cover her mouth with one hand, reddening in embarrassment. "I'm sorry sir.. I thought-- well, were some that came through not a moon past, dislikable types. Asked th'same question th'same way.. expected wha' I thought y'were asking.. Oh, I didn't mean t'think tha' o'you, m'sorry. Y'want a room, let me get my Da."
That said, Darinea goes over to the older man behind the bar and beckons him over, still looking rather embarrassed, and starts to explain the misunderstanding it seems, given her hand gestures. Her father, stiffens, looks surprised, and chides her before coming around the bar. Chastened, she droops a bit as her father passes, and watches him as he heads to Agramir.
"Sorry for my girl there, sir" he begins. A spry man, likely from attending to various things around the inn, his voice is warm, very much that of a father, an apron over his homespun shirt and breeches, tied at his waist. Dark black hair is cut short on his head, and closer, it is obvious to see he shares some features with Darinea. "I'm Cay. Y'had need of a room?"
"No need to apologize, sir. It is better to be more defensive now than need be than to not be, and regret it later," Allgramir replies as he stands to shake the man's hand. "I'm Agramir. Your daughter might have guessed it, but I am on an assignment for the people. Darinea mentioned rumors of missing people. I was wondering if you might have any insight on the matter."
Cay's grip is strong enough for his occupation, probably came from lifting small kegs, moving tables, and such. "Yea, those old rumors", For him as well, his tone is derisive. "People always 'go missin' round th'break of spring.. Most of it from th'hunters an' trappers what had previously come int'town for th'winter, finally thinking it safe enough t'head out again. Some come back, some move on. Can't say as I've really heard about anyone goin' 'missing' without some good explanation."
"S'not t'say tha' some don't, f'r one reason or another, but not s'much t'make a ruckus, y'know?" One hand scratched the back of his neck. "Though, I s'pose if anyone had news, t'd be one of th'merchants passing through, o'someone that'd escaped." Chuckling slightly, Cay added, "S'a little too early for th'first, an' none o'th'second, thank Cayden."
Ernesto Blanco -- Darkened Hours
The inn, which the Arbiter had secured, went by the name of "The Even Scales", was denoted by a sign hanging outside the door by a pair of ornate scales standing even. There was also a small key in the lower left corner of the sign, simply denoted. The inn itself was a fairly large-sized building, in the close proximity of the merchants' district and the port district. As Ernesto approached, he could hear the sounds of a busy common room, and once he entered the tavern door, he coud see that the common room was fairly well packed with numerous merchant types, some accompanied by their guards, though those tended to be the foreign merchants. Some city guards were in evidence, and even a few nobles, to judge by the clothing.
The Arbiter was not so easily picked out amidst all the patrons, though Ernesto eventually found him sitting by himself at an empty table near the back. The table itself was empty, save for a mug of something that the Arbiter was drinking, and it was obvious that he had been waiting for Ernesto before ordering dinner for the evening.
Ernesto frowned at himself. The Arbiter, a fastidiously punctual man, did not like to be kept waiting. He straightened his jerkin and smoothed down his hair to appear as presentable as possible. Then he strode to the table.
"Sorry I am late, Arbiter. There was an old man at the pier who needed help carrying some buckets." Ara preferred to be addressed by title in public. It might mollify him somewhat. But the half-truth nagged at Ernesto. "He asked me to stay and fish with him a while."
Nodding in understanding, the Arbiter calmly regarded Ernesto. "I can only infer that you did stay and fish.. What did you learn?"
Ernesto thinks. Hal hadn't spoken of anything important or novel. Ahhh. "There are portions of the city into which the city guard dare not go. And there are houses of immorality in Remesiana. I think Hal was trying to warn me against them."
Though the Arbiter said nothing, Ernesto could tell he approved of his assessment. "Good. In light of our arrival, I intend to give you a break from our lessons for this evening, as well as give you the details of our caravan travel." One hand caught a serving girl's attention before he went back to talking. "I have contracted our passage east through the Plains by one Janus Cableton, a merchant preparing for spring. It departs in the morning, two days from now."
"Ah, y'company's arrived, good sir. I'm thinking y'ready for dinner, hm?" the serving girl smiled at Ernesto and the Arbiter. "What c'n I get for you to drink, young master?"
The novelty of being served dinner never wore off for Ernesto. He flashed the serving girl a wide smile. "Plain beer, miss, if you please." Away from his village water often disagreed with his stomach. He was learning to drink beer and even growing to appreciate the taste.
His order placed, Ernesto returned to the conversation with Ara. "What will we be doing until the caravan leaves then, sir?"
At Ernesto's question, the Arbiter took a swallow of what was in his mug, and gave him a measuring look. "As we will not be moving, this is an opportunity for me to give you some lessons that I normally would not be able to, since the only material I have is what I know. However..."
Smiling slightly, the Arbiter leaned forward, and made a solemn face. "..I recognize that the wont of all young men is adventure, and a new city is full of opportunities. I have been schooling you as best I know how, and you have proved able. Therefore, I am giving you the next two days off to do as you would. A 'holdiay' of sorts."
"Holiday, sir?" Ernesto is a trifle confused. He hadn't expected this. The idea expands in his mind and he finds it pleasing. Smiling he quickly adds, "Thank you, sir. Thank you indeed."
It doesn't matter what dinner is. Ernesto will enjoy it anyway.
Kappasc -- Escadar
The rolling of the ship had turned several of the recruits green as Kappasc rode the rough waves of a changing season. Perhaps it was the meat pie that he had eaten before he boarded, or the curious mixed scent of the other items being delivered to the island, but whatever it is has decided to make the world a miserable place. The seasickness that had him had made the extent of his world the edge of the railing, and the grey waves of the sea below. Some of the hardier recruits -- or perhaps those with cast-iron stomachs -- made comments about the "green Instructor Specialist".
Oi, listen up...Kappasc mutters out, Im here to teach you on the use of this lovely weapon. Kappasc grins to himself as he admires the crossbow in his hands. Its a deadly weapon that should be respected...Instruction will begin promptly tomorrow morning at sunrise...For now, I think I shall...retire.
The trip to the island of Escadar mercifully took only the day. Upon disembarking, Kappasc was greeted by an aide, who was too busy droning something that must have been rehearsed to notice that the person he was assisting was recoving from a rather strenuous bout of seasickness. Therefore, much of what he was saying simply blurred into a sound, much like a low hum, until enough time had passed to let Kappasc's balance reaffirm that the ground was not moving.
"If you would follow me, I will show you to your quarters for the duration", the aide concluded, starting in the direction of the city proper.
Escadar, well known for being Absalom's naval headquarters, had all the signs of being designed with a military mind. The pier that he stood on was solid, utilitarian, and those two words could be used to describe much of what could be seen from where Kappasc stood, not far from the gangplank that let him disembark from the deck.
Tall walls rose once past the dock and a few streets in, with vantage points overlooking the entire dock area. The gates to the city proper were well-made, sturdy, and reinforced, not only by well-chosen building materials, but numbers of nearby soldiers. Immediately inside the walls, there were open training areas, obstacle courses, and what looked to be barracks further in.
The aide led him over to one of these squat, grey buildings, and indicated a door. "These are to be your quarters for the time being, and as a.. impermanent asset, you are allowed a stipend, which may be spent on necessities and luxuries, however, you are scheduled to meet with the Quartermaster, to acquire your uniform."
Kappasc pulls out his best tunic, dressing himself in his most formal gear. Knowing this meeting is little more than formality, he still finds some happiness in the almost forced social interaction. Kappasc has spent so much time living on the fringes of society he has come to enjoy the simple trappings of "normal" life for the sense of belonging and normalcy they provide.
With a happy grin, that he is quick to stifle, maintaining military bearing, Kappasc approaches the Quartermaster's door, raps upon the wood 3 times, and waits to be asked to enter.
The Quartermaster is an older man, streaks of grey in his dark brown hair, and militarily fit, to boot. Efficient, he wastes little time in opening the door and instructing Kappasc to stand on a short stool that he had pulled out, going about taking measurements with a thin length of twine, knotted at regular intervals. So efficient was the Quartermaster, in fact, that Kappasc barely got a good look at the inside of the office.
He had time to register a desk with several books of military law stacked on it, several folders, and numerous chests and shelves aligned along the far wall of the room, and then the Quartermaster was giving him two sets of clothing, along with an orange and green armband, the colors divided at the midline. "Band on left arm. Denotes rank. Formal and regular dress, the rest of your uniforms will be done in a week. The Laundry is easy to find. Dismissed."
That said and done, the Quartermaster pulled out a small book from a pocket of his vest, and jotted some marks down with a thin stick of charcoal.
Kappasc turns around sharply and exits the room. Once departed, he examines the uniforms he was handed, scratching at the material slightly to test the quality of the fabric. Returning to his room, he dons his regular dress, making sure to adhere strictly to the dress and appearance regulations. With his uniform on, and Kappasc pleased with his appearance, he makes his way for chow.
Everything was run according to what Kappasc would expect of the military in most cases. Daily exercises were regular, and he found that his method of training to be somewhat superior to the standard training being given to most of the "grunts" as they were called. The quality of the recruits that he trained were far below his expectations. So much in fact, that the required timetable for his training was increased by a month, due to the lack of worthy candidates to replace him.
However, the time spent on the island was not a waste. Due to his position, and given rank, he was allowed in some places that a regular instructor could not go, and while some places were off-limits to those of a certain rank, much of the information that he would be interested in could be gathered from the sailors themselves.
In regards to the phrase "Black Bones", not many of the sailors had encountered anything having to do of it, but nearly all knew the stories.. Slaver ships stopped and boarded, to find it empty of suspected cargo. Other ships that were stopped, the cargo that they possessed were in terrible states. It was not until that fourth month, that a story began making the rounds of one ship that they set afire and sunk having several animated skeletons, bones as black as night, that killed several sailors before they were destroyed.
Fortuitous indeed that in that fourth month, Kappasc finally encountered a recruit that was not only willing to take up the position of an instructor, but proved to be a capable hand at learning the usage of the Heavy Crossbow, and even improving upon Kappasc's teaching methods.
Zathe Dakamon -- Caravan Captain
It took a bit of wandering for Zathe to find the address, getting looks from people, their expressions ranging the spectrum as he made his way to the location. On first impression, it seemed to be just another building in the merchant's district, an impression that was more or less borne out by its facade, a modest, wooden structure, with brick steps leading to a solid, polished dark wooden door. The sign hanging from the building has a red-painted wagon carved onto it, pulled by a team of horses.
The door swung open easily, to a well maintained anteroom, simple but effective. Lanterns hung from chains on the ceiling, while doors were interspersed evenly down the hallway. The first smell that greets his nose is the smell of parchment and ink, followed by the smell of wood polish and oil. There was persistent movement able to be heard, whether the footsteps of people traversing the hallways above, or lesser sounds like those of people moving about in the small offices. All of the doors were of a two-part design, allowing the top half to be opened independently of the bottom half, and some of them were open, a bit of a breeze blowing down the hall.
There is a desk just to the side, with a young man behind the desk, looking rather bored, or at least, he was until Zathe walked in. Sandy-haired, he dressed more like a wagoneer than a secretary, booted feet propped on the desk which he removed, sitting in a more proper position, leathers and a vest thrown over a shirt. It takes him a few seconds to gather his wits, looking up at the armed and attired Zathe, finally remembering to get his mouth moving.
"Um, afternoon.. sir." It was obvious the sir was hastily tacked on as an afterthought, more distracted with Zathe's appearance, or more specifically, the detail blazoned on his breastplate and the number of weapons he carries. "Can I be of help?"
Zathe smiled reassuringly at the clerk. "I certainly hope so. I was told by the Merchant Consortium that I could find a certain Janus Cableton here in regards to a caravan travelling east. I heard he was in need of a skilled warrior to bolster the guard on it and am seeking details. Pray tell, could you help me in my endeavour?"
The "sir" may have been tacked on belatedly, but the young man certainly does not doubt Zathe's capability. "Um.. sure, one moment." He pulls out a large drawer, and rummages, then remembers, and closes the drawer, pointing towards the closed door in the back of the reception area. "Office 1E, um, he should be in."
"Many thanks my good man. Thou art a bastion of efficiency and professionalism." Zathe paused momentarily, and gave the unconfident sounding young man a silver coin, dropping it onto his desk gently so as not to appear rude or dismissive.
Zathe then asked "Dost thou have family in this town? Perhaps I could say a prayer to Erastil to watch over them for you?"
There was a startled blink from the young man behind the desk, and he looks wary for a second before he nods, even smiling a little. "Thank you sir, I do.. That would be.. nice."
Zathe knelt upon a single knee, struggling a little to do so in his armour but managing it, and inclined his head to the ground in humility., and reverently intones "Erastil, watch over this young man and his family, and protect them from suffering. Help them to draw strength from each other, and in turn give strength to this humble community. May this family always be a safe haven for its members."
Rising with a grunt of exertion, and bowing before the clerk, Zathe walked past and knocked politely on the door he had been indicated to, and then opened it.
Opening the door admits Zathe into a hallway. Wide enough for two people to walk abreast, the wood of the hallway is aged, but well cared for. Lit lanterns are hanging from arms set into the walls at intervals, their warm light helping to brighten the hallway at midday, along with what looked to be a window at the end of the hall, just out of sight. There are a set of stairs directly at the end of the hallway, and they go both up and down. The doors in this hallway are interspersed as well, eight of them before the end of the hallway, four on either side. The ones Zathe can see immediately are split into upper and lower halves, so that the top may be opened without the bottom, if necessary. The smell of lantern oil is followed closely by that of parchment and ink, and then the smell of wood polish.
The doors are numbered alternating left and right, with "1A" on a plaque next to the door, "1B" on a plaque across the hall from it, and so on. The door Zathe was directed to was the third one down, on the left.
Knocking on the door, there is a "Hold on a minute", before the door is pulled open by a large man. He stands over Zathe only by a few inches, and is built like one of the oxen used to pull a plow. Dark brown eyes smiled down at the armed and armored Paladin, his mouth stretching in a grin, taking a second to look him over. "Well!" he booms jovially, in a voice just as large as he was. "Looks like you're here to fill one of the positions for my caravan, I'm guessing?"
"Thou art correct. Zathe Dakamon, at your service Sir Cableton; if you will have me. I was under the impression you were travelling east, towards Andoran?"
At Zathe's admission of his intent, Janus takes a closer look at him, noting the state of his armor and weapons, as well as the symbol emblazoned on the breastplate and nodded, mostly to himself. "Paladin, I'm guessing.. Erastil." A grunt came as he thought a little more.
"Alright. I'll hire you. I'm not leaving for three more days, but I want you to head over to the service section. You're looking for Taim Road, 53 Taim road. That's the address to the Guild where the guards I usually hire for my caravan are organized. They should be preparing, but if you're of the quality that your armor and weapons would suggest, I'd be a fool not to take advantage." Janus grinned before he sobered, putting on what must be his 'official' face, issuing an order. "Get over there, tell them I've hired you, and get a gauge of any rough edges they may have.. Polish what you can." Straightening, he looked at Zathe full on. "Think you can do that, Dakamon?"
"I believe I do. Thank you for taking me on Sir Cableton, I will endeavour to ensure it is not a decision you shall regret."
Saluting his new employer, Zathe could not help smiling, sure that his new employment would offer excitement and a chance to explore Avistan some more. Wanting to make an exceptional impression on Janus, he immediately set out for Taim Road and vowed to ensure he did his utmost to get the men ship-shape and ready for trouble.
Lindley Dearborne -- A Single Light
"Bones.. t'was bones, an' blood!" Idram says, trying to press through the crowd and escape from the hands holding him, straining to get into the inn. "Farmer Wilkes house!" Thrashing, he finally escapes from the hands, and runs into the inn just as fast as his legs can carry him, since his declaration has started a bit of stunned murmuring.
"Wilkes?"
"Something's happened?"
"What's happened?"
Some of the men look in the direction the child had to have run, while others go back inside to try to get more information out of young Idram. The tone of the room has changed to a rather apprehensive one, many low murmurs wondering what could have scared the child so.
Lindley looks at the men who remained outside "can you guide me to this Farmer Wilkes house? I fear something bad has happened to spook the child so."
Several of the men look at Lindley, and one gives a nod, stepping up. "Tasvor, miss. I'll take you." Somewhat gruff, he looks to be nearing the end of his forties, though the full beard he wears is still coal-black. The same can't be said for his head, which is bare. He goes into the inn, returning momentarily with a lit lantern and a stout cudgel. "This way."
Tasvor sets out down the street, continuing the same way they would have gone, had they not stopped at the inn, and if it were not for the lamp, they would have been continuing in pitch darkness. It would have been a long road to run, let alone in the dark.
There was not much to hear in the lighted dark, save for the sounds of their footsteps and the silence of the night. Tasvor was grimly set on leading the way, but amidst their sounds, Lindley can make out distant footsteps.. methodical.. Were the night not so silent, she may not have been able to make it out, but whatever it is is still beyond the lamplight, though at the rate it sounds like it is moving, not for too much longer.
"The road branches off ahead, into a long lane to Farmer Wilkes'." Tasvor says.
Lindley puts a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you." She then leans closer and whispers "you'd best be getting back to the safety of the town now, I believe I can hear something out there making its way towards us."
Tasvor looks up at her, alarmed, and looks in the direction they were going as if he could pierce the darkness any better than she could. He looks as if he was going to question her decision, but instead nods, and sets the lamp down. Looking at her lack of any large weapon, he sets the cudgel down as well, just in case. "Old Deadeye watch over you." He said, and hurried back the way they came.
"May he watch over us all" Lindley said under her breath. She kept a hand on her hunting knife and moved forward down the path warily, trusting to divine guidance to alert her of any dangers.
It was just as well that she sent Tasvor back when she did, because no sooner did she get a few steps ahead, did she get a feeling of chill and unease, like cold oil poured down her spine, from ahead. She was only halfway between the lamp and the end of its light, but there was most certainly something ahead. The footsteps continued, and they told her that there was at least more than one.
Lindley stepped back to the scant cover the lamp-post provided, and focused her perceptions on the nearest creature.
A few seconds of concentration and Lindley could make out that the unease given out by whatever they were, and as they grew more distinct, Lindley could count five of them.. whatever they were, though the sense she got from them was no stronger than the other. The footsteps had not hastened or slowed, either, they had simply continued their intent pace.
Lindley waited patiently, remaining vigilant for any attack.
As Lindley continues to remain alert, the details resolve themselves to her sense before they are revealed by light. By the time they reach the area of dim light, she knows that they are weak things, all five of them, but that does not quite cushion the sight of human skeletons coming towards her. Some had tatters of clothes on, most had none at all, and some were barely intact save for the essentials, missing a jaw here, or digits there, or even a rib or two. Unencumbered by flesh, they move eerily fast.
Lindley looked at the razor sharp hunting knife in her hand, then back at the advancing skeletons, already devoid of flesh. "Erastil guide me" she intoned - this would be a nigh impossible fight, but from the looks of the town she was the only defender available. She backed towards the wall so the skeletons would be unable to surround her, and readied her blade to strike when they got close.
Lindley was at least able to place her back to one of the fences that bordered the fields, which kept the skeletons from her back, but her first swipe at the closest skeleton was too hasty, slipping between the gap from a broken pair of ribs before she had to withdraw and defend from the grasping claws of reaching, bony arms.
Fortunate for her, that all of them could not reach her. As bony claws scrape across leather, another set misses due to the arms of another getting tangled momentarily. The third, however, manages to find flesh, one hand leaving heavy wounds over her arm-- any slower on her defense, and that would have been her face. The magic that powers these things have given them a significant amount of strength.
Lindley let out a brief shriek of pain as the skeleton's claw tore deep gashes in her arm. Another blow like that and she didn't think she'd be able to stay conscious. She fell backwards over the fence, using it to shield herself for a moment while she rolled away and scrambled back to her feet. She ran into the field, hoping to at least draw the skeletons away from the town. Somewhere that she could climb out of their reach, or at the very least fight them one-on-one, would be nice.
Agramir Franklin -- A Good Night
"S'not t'say tha' some don't, f'r one reason or another, but not s'much t'make a ruckus, y'know?" One hand scratched the back of his neck. "Though, I s'pose if anyone had news, t'd be one of th'merchants passing through, o'someone that'd escaped." Chuckling slightly, Cay added, "S'a little too early for th'first, an' none o'th'second, thank Cayden."
"Speaking of Cayden", Agramir interjects, "May I have another Ale, good sir?"
"Certainly!" Cay turns to get his daughter's attention and pointed at Agramir's mug, holding up a finger. "Darinea will get it for y'."
"Thanks again, sir." Agramir nods. "After this one, I think I may have to turn in. Three ale's just about perfect for a man on the road," he smiles.
Cay nods in understanding. "Just a bit t'getcha t'bed. I can understand. Seein' as y'servin th'People, I'll cut y'a discount, five silver'll set ya, dinner on me. Let m'daughter know when y'ready t'tuck in, an' I'll have her bring your key. Just be sure t'talk well of ol' Cay of Greybough when y'mention me." His piece said, Cay turns to go, trusting Darinea to be able to handle it from there.
Less than a minute later, she sweeps up to his table, holding his mug of ale, setting it down, expression contrite. "Your ale, sir." Saying nothing more, she starts retrieving his empty dishes, barely glancing at him.
In silence, Agramir nurses his ale, occasionally glancing at Darinea while he thinks about his mission. 'Are there any passing through merchants in the area?' When his mug nears empty, he tries to get Darinea's attention, in order to get the key to his room.
Having anticipated his need for the room, Darinea already had a key pulled off of the hook, and was holding it in the pocket of the small apron she wore over her dress. "Sir", she said respectfully, glancing at his mug to see if he was about done. "I'm guessing y'looking t'turn in?" Her manner said she was still embarrassed about her outburst earlier, and had not quite gotten over it yet.
"Yeah," he sighs. "That hit the spot." He leans closer and says under his breath. "Don't worry about earlier, m'kay. I think my words might have construed a completely different meaning. I'm sorry. I probably look like a highwayman myself with all of the road dust on me." He pats his clothes, stirring up a minor dust cloud.
"Look at me. My room, perchance, wouldn't happen to have a bath in it now would it?" He asks in his most 'innocent I am up to nothing' manner as he stands up, accepting the key.
Darinea smiled in relief at him forgiving her outburst, and gave him a small curtsey. "No need t'apologize, Sir. I'll see what I can do t'get th'stableboys t'get th'bath up to y'room." Smiling, she handed him a key that was attached to a wooden engraving that had a number carved onto it. "Y're room three, up th'stairs, an' second door on your right once y're up there. Breakfast in th'morn, an' settle up wi'my Da then, 'kay?"
"I thank you then and hope to see you in th'morn. It was a pleasure meeting you, Darinea." After Agramir takes the key from her, he gives a slight bow, and then headed upstairs to his room. Once inside, he stripped off his armor and put on a light linen shirt, some trousers, and sandals. Then he makes his way to the stable to Strommrunner, and sees that the stableboys have already taken her saddle off and brushed her down. His saddlebags, lance, and other weapons were stacked neatly in the stall next to her. Agramir gathers up his gear, feeling that although he thinks it would be safe down there, he wasn't going to take any chances. So he hauled his gear back up to his room through the common room, giving Darinea (and Cay if he is present) a nod as he passes through. Once in his room, he neatly stacked everything within grasp of the bed, and lies back on the bed, with his hands grasped behind his head as he waits for the bathwater.
It was but a few minutes before there was a knock at the door, and then it was pushed open, and the two stablehands, into their teens by perhaps a year or so, carried a large metal tub into the room. It was sturdy enough to hold water and not bend, but nothing so particularly ornate as to make it unmovable. "Utilitarian" would be an adequate word to describe it. They shared enough features that it was likely that they were siblings, and if it was in the tradition of many inns, likely they were sons of Cay.
"'Ere's y'tub, sir, give us a few, an' we'll be back with y'water", one said, the other already heading out of the room. Following suit, the one who had spoken headed out the door as well. In a few minutes, the sounds of footsteps were coming up the stairs, the two brothers carrying buckets full of steaming water. A surprise was a third set of footsteps, those being of Darinea, giving her brothers a hand.
Between the three of them, the tub is filled in a short span of time, the stablehands departing as easily as they came.
"Darinea, wait," Agramir blurts out before she leaves behind her brothers. "About downstairs. I wasn't trying to offend, but I was trying to find out..."he pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. "Well, you are a beautiful woman. I was wondering if you'd be interested in spending some time with me, outside of work."
Pausing, she tilts her head at him in consideration before nodding, taking a good look at him without his armor. "Take y'bath A-gra-mir. I'll come back when I'm done downstairs."
Ernesto Blanco -- A Day of Rest
The next morning Ernesto rose early in the mild pink light of pre-dawn. The prospect of freedom and seeing the town had kept his sleep light and fitful. An unusual element of gratitude informed his morning prayers, both the quiet introspective meditation to Iomedae in his heart and the spoken rite of Abadar. After prayer he washed with the basin of water in his room and stole out of the Even Scales, closing the door softly behind him.
Remesiana was just waking up. Bakers and milkcarts were about, dropping off the day's deliveries. As amazed by the number of vendors as their activities, Ernesto gawked. He wandered down to the waterfront where the muscle fishermen were guiding the small flat-bottomed skiffs back to dock on a half-risen tide. Looking across the harbor he saw the lighthouse at the end of the breakwater. Impulsively, he decided that it would be a fine vantage to watch the sunrise and that he would try to beat the sun there.
One of the things that Ernesto had been able to tell since he dedicated himself to Iomedae, was the exact moment of sunrise. It began as a distant sort of awareness, almost anticipatory, that continued to grow, the closer sunrise came.
The harbor itself was warming up with life, some things already in full swing in the pre-dawn light; dock hands carrying cargo onto and off of ships, dockmasters already consulting lists and directing hands this way and that, fishmongers, chefs, and others making deals with the fishermen that had set up early, and the occasional port tavern that seemed impervious to having its goings-on disrupted by something so minor as the dawning of a new day.
It may have come as a bit of surprise to Ernesto at the number of people he had to dodge as he raced the sun to the lighthouse, but with barely a minute to spare, he reached the white stone tower, its color bleached from the countless mornings that it had seen and the salt water of the ocean. The occasional spray of the waves breaking against the rocks brought droplets of moisture to his skin, carried by the wind, and from here, the smells of the harbor were overpowered by salt wind of the sea.
Breathing heavily Ernesto sagged against the night-chilled stone tower. He could feel the roughness of the stone through his thin tunic. The morning breeze was just stirring. He welcomed the cool touch of the air. A few moments later he closed his eyes and welcomed the warmth of the sun as it cleared the horizon.
"This is a good place," he thought to himself. "I will return tomorrow for sunrise too." Feeling quite alone and private, he took a deep breath and arms outstretched began to recite the Acts of Iomedae.
As Ernesto stood awaiting the sunrise, arms outstretched and reciting the Acts that he had committed to heart, the sense of sunrise that had been with him ever since that day in the temple grew. With the coming of the sun, here, in this city, the sensation grew as the sky brightened, threatening to sweep him up. When the first rays crossed the horizon and fell upon him, the feeling exploded inside of him, blotting out all of his senses. He felt as if he was afloat in light and warmth, awash in timelessness and comfort, drifting contentedly. Whole and complete, he drifted with the sense of someone regarding him with a smile.
The splash of the seaspray brought him back, the feeling fading from him as his senses reasserted themeslves, disappearing except for a small piece that stayed with him, a remnant of a memory, but a tangible reminder he was something special.
The sun was a handsbreadth above the horizon when Ernesto nodded his head and let his arms drop. I will indeed come back here tomorrow morning. He started landward picking his way more slowly along the rocks of the breakwater and greeting the fishermen he passed with a broad smile and hearty, "Good morrow."
At the foot of the breakwater he found a woman selling steamed buns from a cart. He bought a pair of the orange-sized pastries. They were warm in his hands. He bit into them and felt the hot fatty juice of the meat inside flow into his mouth. Too hot. Blowing to cool them, he finished them slowly in small bites while watching a ship maneuver in and tie up to the dock.
Inwardly he marveled at the agility of the sailors and the timing and coordination of their actions. He found it incredible that something so large could be handled so adroitly as to be parked in a space only a few feet longer than the ship itself.
The docks took on a rhythm that he could start to see, the longer he watched. First, a dockmaster came up to a newly docked ship, then hands would secure and to handle cargo. A gangplank would be dropped and cargo would be taken from the ship, and stacked neatly, or taken from a neat stack brought by nearby warehouse workers fetched by runners and loaded onto the ship.
Some goods did not even make it past the edge of the docks before it was sold, either to individual customers, or loaded on to wagons that bore the insignia of houses or guilds, others being picked up by warehouse teams, moved into storage. Many of the storage warehouses were one street over, and at a nearby guard outpost, there was a map carved into the wall of the outpost, denoting the nearby districts. The trade district was the next closest, followed by the residential districts.
Morning called, and the city beckoned.
Roladir Brightwing -- The Beginning
To facilitate Rolandir's travel into Andoran, he had been "assisted" by the elders in being given a contract for a caravan which was headed towards the country's capital of Almas. The caravan consisted of traders primarily, the majority of them claiming Kyonin as their home. Surprisingly, there is a merchant of almost every race present in the caravan, A pair of elves and a couple of half-elves initially, adding a human merchant as they reached the edge of the forest, and a dwarven smith as they crossed the mountains. The caravan is surprisingly long, the merchants' wagons, the supplies, and their guards and guides serving to make this caravan a tempting target.
Fascinated by the people traveling with the caravan, Rolandir will try to get to know as many of them as he can. Taking to it with a certain bright-eyed eagerness, he will try to learn their motives and history openly talking to the other elves about seeking his brightness.
The pay he was offered was remarkable at first, and once the caravan got going, it was obvious to see why. Winter was ending, spring was coming, and with the change of seasons, things would become dangerous as predator and prey alike stirred with the warming weather. Already, they had fended off desperate bandits, and a tribe of gnolls, the plains coming with some relief, since the visibility was much preferable to the limited and hazardous line of sight in the mountains.
Muttering words of encouragement to his companions and friends during these encounters, Rolandir took it upon himself to watch the spiritual well-being of the caravan as best he could. Trying to lighten the mood of the fighting men with amusing stories about the trickiness of fey he remembered from his days growing up in Kyonin and stories of brave knights fighting in the face of innumerable odds and surviving in the face of evil.
Now, a little over halfway to their destination, it was a distinct surprise that some of the towns that they had been expected to pass through to resupply had been ravaged, one burned nearly to the ground with no survivors, and another with so few survivors that they joined the caravan as it escorted them to another town, the damage so extensive that it would not be able to sustain itself. The only story that the survivors told was that of being beset by undead, and barricading themselves in, desperately hoping to survive. What makes the story even more odd is that no undead were present when the caravan arrived.
Torn between his duty to the caravan and his desire to investigate this evil, he walks through the towns carnage and destruction trying to make sense of the scene before him. What trails he could find were quite muddled from the traffic through. Numerous footprints, some normal, by people with sticks.. simply abnormal tracks in a manner that is hard to determine. The town's graveyard has been rooted through, it seems, corpses missing, coffins broken open. Surveying the terrible scene before him, Rolandir swithces his eyes over to the spectrum of vision he has learned will allow him to discern auras of evil, present or lingering. There are no lingering traces of anything in his vision, any traces that would indicate what occurred here.
Feeling curious about the lack of signs about the undead and knowing that the time for action is fast approaching. "Well, we had better keep our eyes open on the continuing journey." Rolandir states to noone in particular and heads back to the caravan.
Zathe Dakamon -- Training Day
The Guardman's guildhall was more of a "training area" than a "hall". Half of the building was dedicated to administrative duties, with the other half set up with practice poles, and sparring rings. Exposed to the open air, there was even a back wall that looked like it sported no few scars from missed bolts or arrows. Likely, they just pulled the targets out, set them up, and practiced. By comparison, it was nothing to the school Zathe trained in, so some of the flaws in their capabilites could be explained if this was all they had to work with.
As he entered, again there was someone at a desk, though this one was more attentive, a rough-looking man sporting a bright red kerchief tied across his forehead. His eyes turned up to him, and looked him over, raising an eyebrow. "State y'name and business", he said in a tone that said the statement was routine.
"My name is Zathe Dakamon, and I am here to inspect the guards assigned to escort a gentleman known as Sir Janus Cableton east. If you could have them lined up and ready for inspection within the hour, I would be appreciative. I'll be over here if you need me"
Zathe pointedly moved over to a practice pole, taking a training pole-arm and begun to practice his martial skills, worried that he had lost his touch over the long days of travel. He had always been a regular athlete and usually devoted at least three hours a day to perfecting his technique. He had been letting himself take it easy over the last few weeks, but with the ever-present possibility of an ambush on the road ahead, Zathe was not prepared to be complacent.
The appearance of a stranger in Janus' service was nothing particularly new, at least to the man working the desk, because he accepted the statement with little more than a grunt of acknowledgement, and rose from the desk.
Though the sun was shining, the air still held a bit of a chill as it does in the beginning of spring. Direct sunlight moderated that into a pleasant, if cool day so far. The night was probably going to be cold, though. As Zathe practiced, he was aware of people trickling in, though from what he could see as he exercised, they made no move to line up immediately, forming more of a casual assembly. Some murmurs he could hear as well, comments of curiosity, some offhand observations, and idle speculation. Perhaps there were even a few bets being made.This persisted until almost the end of the hour, where the group had grown to number thirteen, when one of them pushed himself off of the wall where he was leaning, and looked over at them.
"That everyone?" The man lazily drawled.
"Three are on assignment, won't be free until later", another answered.
"Alright then, line it up, you know the routine."
That order caused a shuffling of footsteps that settled as everyone lined up, and the man who had originally spoken looked them over, before coming within a respectable distance of Zathe in the open training area. "Dakamon", he said formally, "Current available contracted guard is assembled."
"My thanks..." Zathe said, gesturing for the man to tell him his name. Walking slowly down the line of men, he gave each a thorough inspection, asking only the name of each man and mentally noting any gaping flaws in their manner, discipline, arms and armour; but saying nothing.
"Thirteen... is reputedly known in many places in Golarion as an 'unlucky' number. In this case, the number is merely... inconvenient. All of you, take your melee weapon of choice and ensure your armour is fitted correctly. I will be here to render advice and assistance if necessary. Then, form two lines of six men and face each other."
Zathe gestures at the man who formally introduced him- "With the exception of you Sir. You will do the same, but you will take your place opposite me. Are my instructions clear? Then lets not delay, the day is still young."
Most of the guardsmen seem to be at least three or more years over Zathe's age, and still, they take to his instruction easily, which is either a sign of very good discipline, or that this is a common tactic by Janus. The leader gives his name as "Shion", before squaring off against Zathe, and after retrieving a pair of blunted handaxes.
The guardsmen line up and square off against each other, the majority of preferred weapons being swords, most of them long, save for one shortsword, and another who seems perfectly happy with a quarterstaff. Most of them seem to be of Chelish stock, save for the quarterstaff wielder, which may be of Varisian or Vudrani stock, at least partly. By the end of the session, they have proven to Zathe that they are capable, and Shion seems to be especially so.
Zathe complimented the men on the sparring session, but warns them he will be putting them through their paces very hard until the caravan leaves. "Erastil may choose to keep us safe on the road ahead" he says with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, "but sharp swords and sharper men will prove invaluable if a few bandits slip past him".
Lindley Dearborne -- Darkest Before Dawn
The skeletons did not run, and simply pursued her with that inexorable pace. Lindley was able to stay ahead of them without too much effort, despite the slightly uneven ground of the fields that she was running through. In the dark of night, it was hard to tell if they were following her, but she could use the faint flicker of the lamp as a point of reference, so she at least ran in a reasonably straight line.
After a minute or so of running, it was her hearing that alerted her to the edge, the rustle of trees in the wind, and the way the sounds changed, letting her know that she had reached the forest that was cleared away to make room for the fields. She had managed to put some distance in between herself and the skeletons, though how much, she was not sure.
Lindley took advantage of the lead she had built up to search the forest floor for a stout stick, hopefully a more useful weapon against the walking dead. Once she found one, she climbed up a large tree and found a place where she could comfortably brace herself and wait for the skeletons.
By the grace of the gods, Lindley happens across a stout enough branch that could serve as a weapon in a pinch, and climbing the tree was difficult, but she managed. Now, the question of whether or not the skeletons would be able to find her was answered in a short amount of time, as multiple footsteps were able to be heard, moving towards her. At least she was out of their immediate reach.
Lindley waited patiently through the night in the crook of the tree, trying to get some small amount of rest while remaining vigilant. Occasionally, she would poke her stick at one of the skeletons to keep them interested, but she was always careful to keep out of their reach. As dawn broke, she paused for a moment and said her daily prayers to Erastil, asking a special blessing on the town in case she would fail.
Now that she could see properly again, Lindley drew out her shortbow. With a little luck, she hoped she would be able to hit the skeleton's skulls by firing from above, and stand at least a small chance of injuring them. Hopefully she'd be able to at least thin their numbers.
A quiver of arrows later, Lindley had not damaged any of them enough to destroy a single one. While nearly half of her arrows are solid hits, none of the arrows seemed to do much damage against the aged bones of the skeletons, save one. One arrow hit well enough that it managed to break the skull on the skeleton, so now an eye has an arrow through it.
The forming of another plan was forestalled by the sound of a voice in the distance. "Liiinndley! Liiinnndlley!!"
As one, the skeletons turn their heads in the direction of the sound.
She does not recognize the voice, but whoever it is, has a rather booming voice. "Liiiinnndlley!"
It is a bit difficult to make out with a few of the trees in the way, but it looks like the inhabitants of Greenfield have organized a search party for her.
Almost as one, the skeletons turn and start marching their way out of the forest's edge, towards the voice.
Lindly curses and leaps down out of the tree as soon as the skeletons have gone a few dozen feet away. She takes just a quick second to stretch and make sure none of her muscles are cramped in ways that will hinder her, then picks up a nearby rock. "Hey!" she yells, flinging the rock at one of the retreating skeletons.
The thrown rock hits one skeleton very solidly, the report of its impact accompanying a loud 'crack', as part of the bone breaks, splitting in half. That skeleton is barely being held together now, some instability evident in its walk.
The skeletons turn again, heading for her directly, since she is closer than the source of the voice, and this time, she has no fence to prevent all five from being able to reach her at once.
The skeletons approach, and even though only four have the chance to attack her at first, luck is not on her side. Her opponents are too numerous for her to handle, and despite her managing to fend off two of the bony claws, two others slip her guard, one raking across her leg, and the last clouting her across her head, sending her to the forest floor and into a welcoming blackness just beyond the borders of life and death
Agramir Franklin -- A Girl Worth Fighting For
Darinea was gone long enough for Agramir to finish his bath, long enough for the sounds of the inn to quiet down into the silence of night, and there came quiet footsteps, and a light knock on his door before it swung open enough for darinea to lean against the doorjamb with a nervous smile. Her hands were fussing with the front of her dress, the apron absent, and she had pulled her hair back, tying it with a thong. "Y'look like an almost new man", she teased quietly.
"After that bath I feel like one. Thank you again," Agramir replies as he sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed and stands. He pulls his flask out of his kit and offers her a sip of whiskey. "A nightcap for a hard days work,' he says smiling as he smooths out the bedspread. Then, he stops for a second, as if he just thought of something. Then he grabs the tub and shifts it closer to the bed, making as little noise as possible.
For lesser men, the tub would have been truly difficult indeed to move without a fair bit of noise and a greater amount of effort, being enough to seat a man, perhaps not comfortably, but with enough water to cover him to his waist. Agramir manages it just fine. "Kick off those shoes and pop those feet in the water. It's still warm and should feel good after a hard days work."
The offer of the nightcap makes her raise her eyebrows slightly, but she does push up off of the doorjamb to take a small sip from the flask and seating herself at the edge of his bed. The offer of the still-warm water catches her by surprise, brightening at his suggestion. "Are y'tryin' t'get me t'lose my clothes, sir?", she said with a smile, taking another swallow from his flask, and kicking off her ankle boots to rest her feet in the water with a sigh. The pleasurable feel of the warm water was just heavenly.
"I just thought after being on your feet all day, it might feel nice to soak them a bit," Agramir responded. "Anything you do with your clothes is up to you." He sits next to her on the bed an dips his own feet in. "Ah, still feels wonderful," he says, taking a sip from the flask himself.
"I'd planned on asking y't'take me f'r a walk outside, but this s'much better", she said, kicking at the water a little. "So tell me sir", leaning back on her hands, she tilted her head towards him, her grey eyes curious. "Why're you looking f'r 'missing' people?"
Agramir sits for a second, looking at his toes in the water before turning to Darinea, looking into her eyes. "I have seen what happens to a family when a child is stolen. It's heartbreaking. I have been part of rescues, where young woman and boys have been abused on there way to a sale, breaking them for servitude. These kids lives will never be the same. It disgust me that men out there will treat other people like cattle, or dogs; to be bought, sold, or worse, maimed and killed for either pleasure or just carelessness." There he stops. It is obvious to Darinea that he is getting worked up. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before continueing.
"Growing up, I had everything. I could have stayed home and been an administrator to my families lands, but I wanted to see the world. Be a hero like my grandpa. My platoon has seen the horrors of what the slavery 'business' does to people and families," he says the word business with disgust. "And there is no one else to do it.
"And how are you enjoying life in the family business?"
"Well enough, I s'pose", she replied, looking at the water her feet were in. "I know there's more out there th'n this, but I'm just not seein' m'self as anythin' that I can't do here.." Darinea kicked her feet a little bit, watching the ripples in the water, then looking to Agramir with a wry smile. "Guess I'm a small town lass at heart."
Agramir, taking in that wry smile, steels himself for his next act. 'Whew! Fighting slavers has nothing on the ladies. This is much harder.' He leans in, taking a chance at a first kiss.
There was a moment of hesitation and a searching of his face, but she gave in to the kiss readily enough, prolonging it for a few seconds before breaking it and pulling back to look at him with a knowing smirk. "What're y'intentions?"
"Only as far as you're willing," he whispered, moving in for another.
Ernesto Blanco -- A Shop and A Sword
Ernesto walked through the crowd toward the guardpost. Unfamiliar as he was with crowds, he tried to give everyone' plenty of room. That put him out of sync with the flow of the urban crowd. He ended up causing more people to alter course around him than he would have if he had just bulled through the crowd. After a few "I'm sorries, " and a collision with a running boy who had been darting nimbly through the crowd, he reached the guardpost. He looked at the map, but nothing suggested itself to him.
He turned to the guard and asked, "Pardon me, sir. I've two days to see the city. Where is the city temple? What is best to see here?"
The guard, who looks like he had just come on-shift not too long ago, gave Ernesto a measuring look. The guard himself looked like he was about thirty-five, freshly shaven, but his dark brown eyes were alert and clear. "The temple district is the first district between the merchant's district and Noble's. If you head up this street", the guard says, emphasizing his directions with sure points of his whole hand, "and follow that up, that will put you in the merchant's district, and by then, you should be able to see the tops of the cathedral in the Sun Square."
The morning crowd continues to flow around them, giving a natural berth to the guardpost, a few individuals of the crowd breaking from the flow to take advantage of the berth to pause and look at the map etched on the building's side. Tilting his helment up a bit, he continued. "If you can see those, then you should be able to make your way there pretty easily enough. If not, just use your ears, as the bells start to ring around this time."
The guard chuckled, withdrawing his hand from indicating directions, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully."'Best to see' varies greatly from person to person, son. In general, if you want, you could always take your time around the merchant's district, since many of the owners send buyers out into the markets for the day.. You could also check around the Sun Square, there'll be criers there around midday. I know some that just go to see the competition between the various criers."
Ernesto nods at the guard's directions. His hands mimic the guard's as he repeats the directions, "Up this street to the merchant's district, look for the roof of the cathedral before I get to the noble's district. If I don't see it, just follow the bells." He looks to the guard to see if he has it right.
"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to explore the market and the Sun Square too." After checking traffic, he starts to trot up the long sloping street to the merchant's district.
As Ernesto walks, the differences between traffic at the various times of day are distinct. Right now, there are numerous people out, many with the air of someone performing a duty, heading one way or another. Night shifts are being exchanged for the day workers, Buyers are buying, and many are dressed up in their 'working best', as the flow of traffic heads towards the merchant, port, and generally 'away' from the residential sections. Most travel by foot, though some of the better dressed go by mount. A horse-and-cart is rarely seen in the flow, as compared to the evenings, when many of the carts are exchanged for carriage, and the flow reverses itself, with workers heading towards home and tavern, with its own eddies and whorls.
Indeed, as Ernesto reaches the end of the street, he can see a beautiful white peak of a roof, topped with the artful rendition of the Sun-in-Glory a few streets over. A wash of the scent of spices, some rare and exotic passes his nose, followed by a smell of something possibly food, a crisp smell of fruit. The hawking of merchants to passerby can be heard, offering samples, tests, and other things to attract the eye, nose, or ear. Early beggars sit on the edges and in non-intrusive locations, hands or bowls out in the open. The shortest way to to the temple -- and presumably Sun Square -- would be through this edge of the merchant's district, and hop a couple of streets over at the earliest convenience.
Ernesto walks slowly through the merchant district, drinking in the sights, smells, and sounds. He can't believe the variety of wares for sale or even the sheer number of goods and vendors. Fortunately, or not, he has only a few coppers with him to spend else it would all be gone in an instant.
The beggars attract his attention and pity. He resolves to skip lunch and come evening when he returns to the inn, to give them whatever he has left from the day.
Passing a shop with wide doors under a broad awning, he glances in and sees stands of weapons. With a quick glance around he sidles to the doorway to peer in. Spears, maces, knives, pikes, and swords. To one side five longswords are displayed on the wall. As he gazes longingly at the weapons, his mind is alive with thoughts of Iomedae and her companions, and heroes of the past. He slips into a daydream of wielding a sword himself against ankheg, gryphon, or troll.
Rolandir Brightwing -- City to City
On the road again, the caravan carries news to their destination, and spreads the word of what happened. Two days into the Carpenden Plains, the caravan's next notable destination is Riverford, and then Almas.
For the remainder of the journey he kept mostly to himself, looking out for signs of his brightness and pondering the burnt villages and their desecrated graveyards. Fearing that something powerful and evil was on the rise, he wondered if it would be his brightness to hunt it down.
A trio of weeks pass with no significant encounter that the outriders could not handle, and the great walls of Almas are coming into view. In fact, in the past week, there has been an obvious increase in traffic, both going and coming, that is a common indicator of an increased population. In the case of Almas, that population was greatly increased. Judging by the size alone, though the manner of construction was not akin to elven styles, it was a fair guess to think it likely that the city was bigger than the capital of Kyonin itself.
Amazing Rolandir thought to himself as he took in the increase in traffic and the sight of the city. It truly is amazing what the human drive can accomplish. This city can't be more than a human's lifetime in age, yet it is larger and more populated than great Kyonin itself.
Ever since the city walls had come into view, there has been talk about what the guards and merchants wanted to do once they reached the city. Some were thinking of taking the time off, and moving back when the caravan retraced its path, others were debating hiring out with another caravan going in a different direction.
Rolandir listened to his companions talk with a quietly distant air about him, not knowing what lay ahead for himself. The uncertainty did not worry Rolandir in the slightest, instead it filled him with a sense of purpose Rolandir had never known before. He knew that whatever happened, Iomedae would be his guide.
In the time that Rolandir had spent with them, he had learned how to become part of a team, taking watch shifts in pairs and trios, as well as some of the surface points of business, come from talking with the merchants. At the time of their nearing Almas, he was well liked by nearly everyone in the caravan. With different sights and smells, once they got settled, it looked like Almas was a place to find many interesting things.
Collecting his pay and thanking his travelling companions profusely, he asked them for directions to Iomedae's temple. Standing at last on the streets of Almas, Rolandir took his time to gather his thoughts before he set off. For what must seem a very long time to many of the shorter lived races, Rolandir stood on the streets, watching the crowds and taking in the sounds and smells of Almas, before heading off to find Iomedae's temple.
Iomedae's temple is easily found, his ears and eyes helping him follow the singing of hymns towards the temple eventually. It was only logical that the temple be set up in such a manner that it should be illuminated by the rising sun, so with that in mind, Rolandir had little trouble locating it, once he kept that in mind. While he walked, he saw all manner of things that were not normally seen in Kyonin. At least, not on the scale that they were here. Bazaars were open and operating in the early evening, with sights and smells that were completely different, if not alien to him.
The temple of Iomedae is a tall, majestic structure, her holy symbol emblazoned on the door and on the top of the belltower. The building itself was worked in pale stone and painted with yellow or gold where appropriate, the two steps upwards towards the door, which swung open at a touch from him. At a small office off to the side of the door, a voice calls out, "One moment, and I shall be with you." It was the voice of an older man, quite nearly into his venerable years, his long, white hair almost seeming a mark of stature as it fell around the shoulders of the clergyman's robe.
Rolandir steps inside the door and waits as patiently as only one who has centurys left to live can. He looks about and drinks in the glory of his diety's grand temple. Closing his eyes he mutters a prayer of thanks to Iomedae for seeing him safely to his destination and stating that he trusts her to guide his way and prays for the wisdom to see her will and the strength to carry it out.
Closing the book he had been reading and taking notes off of, the older clergyman walks calmly out of the small office, coming around the desk to look Rolandir over, a knowing look in his eyes. "Welcome to the temple brother, how may I be of service?"
Looking the man in the eye Rolandir can't help smiling, the feeling of elation overwhelming him. "Thank you brother, I am glad to finally be here. My name is Rolandir and I have travelled here from Kyonin in what I believe to be a path set for me by Iomedae." The smile fades from his face as he continues. "But I bring troubling news from my journey. I travelled here via caravan and two villages on its route had been ravaged by undead upon our arrival, it had been several days since when we arrived and I could find no clues to guide me. And so I thought it best to travel here and report this to the grand temple, I hope I have done right?"
Zathe Dakamon -- A Full Day
As the guards dispersed, Zathe looked to Shion. "Tell me, do the guards defer to you due to your rank, or otherwise?"
Shion shrugged, giving a hand-waggle that implied it was a somewhat complicated answer. "We usually rank by years, with the seniormost having the most.. 'pull', I guess you can say. However, since we are contracted out, often not all at once, it can shift if someone has proven themselves capable." The axes were since tucked into his belt, and he pulled his shoulder-length tail of dark black hair from under his vest, tightening the thong that held it together.
"If it helps, think of us like a pack of wolves, Dakamon", Shion grinned toothily at Zathe. "You're the wildcard at the moment, but since you're not permanent, that's fine."
"I... see. Well, I will treat you as my lieutenant for the duration of my temporary employ; makes sense not to change the command structure too much. I am weary of the days sparring, is there a bed and a meal available here?"
"Well..." Shion scratched his head, looking down, then back up at Zathe in consideration, you're under Janus' employ, so I'll toss you a bone." That wolfish grin was back, briefly before vanishing again, his hand falling from his head to his side. "Lodging is for the Guard only, but four streets down and three over, there's an inn called 'The Blue Helmet'." There was a flicker of exasperation at the name. "The innkeeper's Ursiel. Tell him that I sent you, and he'll give you a lower rate than the usual."
At that, he walked past Zathe, close enough that their shoulders bumped, despite the spacious courtyard. "You're helping us out, pup--", pausing, he turned to look over his shoulder, regarding the young paladin out of the corner of his eye, a hint of hostility threading through the warning in his posture. "--don't let it get to your head."
Refusing to be intimidated by the threat, Zathe got Shion's attention again and said
"Understood. Follow my orders and we'll get along just fine Shion; I have no intention of disturbing the status quo too much, as long as the whole company works hard- your lives are in each others hands. You say you function like a wolf pack; this is encouraging as wolves are indeed a pack- they look out for each other and work as a team.
Thankyou for the heads up on the Blue Helmet- I will repay you in some way, mark my words."
Zathe left the Guildhouse, following Shion's directions. Before entering he did a circuit of the building, getting a general impression as well as noting obvious exits- his family had warned him against inns in cities; claiming they can be rife with Thieves and Cutthroats.
Sure he had scouted out the building to the best of his ability, Zathe entered the inn, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead and walked to the bar with purpose and confidence; a slight show of bravado on his part as there was indeed some trepidation hidden within his stance.
The onset of evening was but a few hours away when Zathe left the Guard guildhouse. So when he entered the Blue Helmet, the inn was just starting to warm up in preparation for the evening amount of business when he walked in. There were no more than ten people in the common room of the inn, patrons who looked like they occupied the place as a home away from home, like the trio of older men in the corner, or the group of four at one table near the wall, perhaps some adventurers in town for one reason or another. Two others are at the bar, nursing a drink of one sort or another, with enough space between the two of them that it was likely they were not there together.
The serving girls and the bartender look up as Zathe walks in, along with most of the people in the common room, all of them looking back down after a second or two, politely uninterested in him after the initial assessment. Two of the serving girls look a little longer, one, a small redhead, giving him a small wave and a smile before going back to her work. The bartender, a gruff looking man, large of stature, bald of head, and great of mustache gone salt-and-pepper was in the middle of polishing something, and sets it down as Zathe reaches the light wood of the bar.
"--I help you", he said in a voice that sounded like it had been roughened by smoke and liquor. The bartender looked him over and raised an eyebrow. "Y'look a bit skittish for someone so heavily armed and armored."
"Just being wary good Sir; I am a stranger to these parts. Would you be Ursiel? My man Shion told me you would have lodgings and food available. I can pay my way."
Lindley Dearborne -- A New Community
No time passes -- or a lot of time passes. It is hard to tell by the time Lindley swims back up to consciousness. Judging by the taste in her mouth, it has been a significant amount of time. Her ears tell her that she is in a room, her body tells her that she is on a pallet, likely on the floor. The next thing her body tells her when she tries to move is of pain. Her arm, leg, and right side of her face and neck hurt, and layered atop that general ache are strips of pain that set themselves aflame when she tries to turn her head. Her armor has been removed. Her clothing has been removed, save for a single shift for modesty, though even that is light. At least she has a blanket draped over her.
Her wounds have been treated and bandaged, unless the cloth that is stuck to the side of her face and neck is an overly affectionate towel, and the smell of medicinal herbs and honey is pungent, and very strong. There are vague, fuzzy memories of someone, maybe an older person, looking down on her, a hand pressed to her, keeping her from rising, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Right now, all she knows is that she is very thirsty, and she aches all over.
Lindley gathered the blanket around herself and stumbled to the door, trying to get a bearing on where she was.
The wooden door is not locked and opens easily at her touch, opening to a bigger room that is perhaps three times the size of the little room she was resting in. The smell of herbs is even stronger in here, and dried bundles of various herbs that she can identify hang neatly from the ceiling. Along the far wall, near what could be a small kitchen, rows upon rows of jars sat, containing one substance or another, dried and liquid. The wood of this home was old, but well cared for, the color warm and inviting, floors and walls worn smooth through work and time. Two wide windows of frosted glass were set into the wall perhaps ten feet to her left, a stout wooden door set between those two. The entire house is comfortably warm, and while sunlight does stream through the glass, the angle is not what it was that she last remembered. The light seemed like it was the late afternoon, perhaps.
Still weakened, even this brief look around has Lindley feeling like she may want to find a place to rest upon in the next couple of minutes. The wounds on her leg are starting to hurt, warning of more pain to come if she kept standing.
Footsteps can be heard outside the door, light, their pace unhurried, confident. The door swings open, and an older woman's voice can be heard, instructing. "--ays want to make sure it is ground properly, dear. Elsewise, you make things harder than they should be. There's no substitute for doing it right the first time." The woman was older than Lindley, perhaps about the age that the rest of the farmers were that she had seen in the inn. Her dark hair was bound up in a bun, and her face was lined with age but it had not yet started to wear her down. Her smile was as good-natured and warm, more lines showing in testament to the frequency of the act.
"Yes'm", replies a young voice, a child, coming in just after her. A young girl, somewhere under ten years, perhaps, her short brown hair pulled back into a tail. Slightly pointed ears denote her heritage, as do her slightly angular features, and bright eyes. She is the first to notice Lindley and gasps, smiling happily. "Ama, she's awake!" she exclaims, hurrying over to Lindley and offering her support as she guides her to a nearby chair, blanket and all.
Lindley resists sitting down for a moment. "Please, can you tell me where my horse is - I need to check on her.
The old woman looks a bit uncertain at the question. "I believe she remains where you left her-- but that would be a fair walk in your state. You're still fatigued, aren't you?" She tuts, and closes the door fully. "Lucky you are to be alive.. Some were not", she says with a trace of sadness.
One look at Lindley's face and the woman sighs, knowing that she is not so easily dissuaded. "Very well.. Tia, go get this young lady something she can wear and look decent.." The little one scampered off, to rummage for something, coming back with a simple dress, likely for warmer weather, but it would do in a pinch, a simple homespun brown, sleeveless.
"Here you go!" the child says brightly, holding out the dress to Lindley.
As Lindley slowly puts on the dress she looks at the old woman. "What happened?"
"Eight died." The woman said without preamble. "Eight of the twelve that went out to search for you at first light." She looked saddened, but calm. "Adding poor Wilkes, his wife and son to that makes eleven that died to whatever foul magic that raised those bones of the dead against this town."
The child's enthusiasm dims somewhat, in light of the solemnity that the old lady was displaying.
Lindley remained stunned into silence as she limped toward the stables.
The trip to the stables was difficult, Lindley having to stop and rest at least once, to let the pain of her wounds ease somewhat. The wounds themselves seemed a little distant, buffered by an artifical fatigue, but she could still feel them, most certainly. It turns out that Lindley was placed into a home on the main road, thankfully not too far from the large oak in the center of town. It would only take her perhaps ten minutes at her pace to travel a distance that would have taken her a few minutes to cross normally.
The town was quieter than she would have expected in the mid-afternoon light. There was some activity, with a few inhabitants travelling back and forth, while other places seemed oddly quiet. The blacksmith's shop seemed to be closed for the day, and some children played, stopping when they saw her making her way to the inn. One came over and helped her walk, simply taking her hand and putting it on his shoulder, giving her silent support.
Eventually, she made it to the inn stables, to see her horse still stabled there, and none the worse for the wear, it seemed. The mare did give a whicker of greeting at seeing her, and tossed her head slightly, restrained by her stall.
Lindley limped over and scratched her horse behind the ear. "Well old girl, I hope you're enjoying yourself here, because it looks like we've found a new home. It looks like I'm not cut out for a life of adventure - I barely scratched those skeletons despite my best efforts, and may very well have gotten more people killed when they came out into the open like that to search for me." She leaned back against the stable gate and stared out at the town vistfully. "Eleven people dead, and eight of them died trying to help me. I think Erastil's been quite clear with his signs - I'll stay here, and help the people recover and rebuild."
Agramir Franklin -- The Morning of the Beginning
Morning came, and Agramir woke to sunlight through gaps in the shutters, and an empty bed, despite having fallen asleep not too long ago after being woken by the now absent Darinea. She had fallen asleep against him with apologies for her reticence to go further than heated kisses and wandering hands last night, a resolution that faded with the night's sleep apparently; for in the morning's eve, he was woken by soft hands and warm flesh that did not cease until they both were bared and drowsing in the aftermath. The sounds of the inn already working in the morning greeted his ears, and unless his nose deceived him, there was breakfast to be had.
Agramir, grinning, slid out of bed and donned his trousers and tunic. He splashed some now cool water from the tub on his face and runs it through his hair. He pulls out a fresh set of socks, slides his mocasins on his feet and heads downstairs to the source of the smell of breakfast. He enters the common area, looking for Darinea and a place to sit.
Of the former, there was no evidence at the moment, but the latter was easily attainable. Conditioned by his years of service, it was still the beginning of the morning. As he sat down, one of the other serving girls swept over to him, greeting him with a polite smile. "G'morning, sir", she said with that accent that seemed to be common to these parts. "I'll be right back with breakfast f'r you. Milk or watered wine?" An older woman, she shared no features with Darinea that Agramir could tell at a glance, dark brown hair pulled back comfortably, darkened skin, and a small silver pendant hanging at her neck.
"Oh, milk please. And coffee if you got it. Thanks so much, ma'am," Agramir replies, all the while keeping an eye out for the young woman that captured his attention so well last night.
"Right away hon", she said, heading towards the back and into the kitchen.
While Agramir waited for his breakfast, Darinea was nowhere to be seen. She was not on the floor this morning, and if she was elsewhere in the inn, he did not know. There had been no indication that she was going to be absent, or at least, she made no mention to him previously.
As he wondered, the serving girl that had taken his order came back out, holding a bowl filled with a generous helping of Porridge, drizzled with honey and some dried fruit, and in her other hand was a mug of milk. "Here ya go dear", she said, setting the two items in front of Agramir and producing a polished wooden spoon. "Enjoy!"
'Must just have the morning off', he concludes. After finishing breakfast, Agramir heads back to his room, gets his boots on, and straps his longsword to his hip. Then he heads out into the morning for a walk, wandering towards the general direction of the town square. He engages in polite hellos and small talk with those who are willing, trying to find out if there is anything more to the missing people rumors.
Ernesto Blanco -- Sword to Square
For weapons merchants, most of the large deals that are done are rarely done by someone simply walking into the shop. That is, large purchases such as for those outfitting militia and military are usually negotiated and delivered through merchant to supplier, to purchaser, barring some uncommon circumstance. Which made most of those that walked in to the store people purchasing for themselves, or for a very small number of people, if not for the individual themselves. That made the approach somewhat different.
"Goood Morning, young master!" A voice greeted warmly, a large man coming out from behind the counter to the right, where he was going over his inventory. By the tone, it was like he had known him for a while and they were good friends. "I could not help but notice you looking at my fine selection! No need to linger in the doorway, I do not run off those that wish to look, unlike my competitors!"
The man is tall, broad of shoulder, and large of stature. a well groomed beard is cut close on his chin, his clothes saying he was indeed a merchant, but he was not rich. Coming over to Ernesto, he reached out a hand to place on his shoulder, ushering him into the shop, gesturing at the swords on the wall. "You are fond of these swords, yes? I can tell by your look. I can tell you that these five here are made from Dwarven Steel, from the Aspodell Mountains themselves!"
Ernesto let's himself be drawn into the shop. The man's demeanor set the farmboy immediately at ease. He stared wide eyed. "The Aspodell Mountains, sir? Where are they?"
The merchant takes in the question of location in quite easily. "The Aspodell Mountains are a mountain range to the East-Northeast. They span most of the border with Andoran, near Brastlewark, the great city of Gnomes." There is a pause from him, the mention of Gnomes causing something uncertain in him for a moment before he continues his pitch. "The Dwarves make the Aspodell Mountains their home, and as most Dwarves do, they mine the earth using techniques and skills that are as yet unseen by us Humans, and some would go so far as to say 'secret'."
He listens raptly to the armsmerchant's spiel, dwarven craftsmen, the finest raw materials, lovingly crafted into fatal beauty. It's like fine music, a delicate melody over a steady contrapunctual beat. It carries the nascent paladin away. A break in the rythm, an expectant pause, brings him back to the shop.
A glance at Ernesto, and he can already tell that he was hooked well and good. "Seven--", pausing, he looked shrewdly at Ernesto and shook his head, leaning forward a bit conspiratorially. "No, Fifteen. For you."
"They are lovely, sir, but I have no money for such things. I am only the servant of a traveling Arbiter." For a moment avarice and self-pity mingle in his mind, then turns wholeheartedly to embarassment. "I am sorry, sir. So sorry to have wasted your time." Red-faced, the young man turns to leave.
There is a good-natured chuckle from the Merchant, who nods in understanding. "It is difficult, I am sure. Kahid will be here should you return."
Ernesto continues through the merchant district, gawking and staring. After several blocks he turns down a sidestreet in the direction of the temple.
In this district there is a lot to gawk and stare at. Numerous colors on display to draw the eye, glittering objects that appear to be worth an amazing amount, and this is just the "items" section of the marketplace, with things ranging from well-crafted arms to beautiful accessories that seem worth a king's ransom, and yet are "easily affordable", to listen to the merchants warming their pitches up. Some have the item itself on display, others are displaying their items on others -- in the case of one jewelry merchant that had his wares on a dancing girl who may have been a half-elf of Vudrani or Varisian stock. Even further down there are smells of food, and those odors chase him as he turns down the side street.
While this side street is somewhat off the "main" path, there are no less things to purchase here, though the quality of the goods seem of a slightly lesser quality or make. It would appear that the main thoroughfare was for the more expensive items. At one stall, a man sold carved wooden works, while another across the way had intricate wire pieces. Some of the gems were definitely rough-cut, or clever glass, and here a tent simply stood, with a large, shirtless, scarred man standing outside holding a club. He turns an unfriendly eye on Ernesto as he passes, but otherwise does not move, going back to eyeing those passing by.
The side street opens out onto another main street with more colors, more scents -- "Perfume and oils!", shouts a merchant -- while others offer fortunes, promises of wishes, and "pretty pieces t'turn the eye o'the empress herself!". From a look back at the spire, Sun square is perhaps three or so streets over, if he can find other side streets like that one.
The crowd, the scents, the acitivity, it begins to press in on Ernesto. He longs for just a bit of quiet, a little patch of grass or sun where he can gather himself. Thinking hopefully of the temple and the Sun Square, he hastens his pace along the streets.
After a couple more streets of things both familiar and not being hawked from all manner of booths in all manner of approaches, Ernesto finally reaches Sun Square, and it lives up to its name.
The first thing noticeable is the fountain in the center of the square. A simple plinth is set into the center of the fountain, made of the largest crystal that Ernesto had ever seen. Etched into the four sides of the plinth by are the symbols of all known gods, and proximity seems to be by association. Some of the motifs are highly stylized, but he can most certainly make out the mountains of Gorum, the stylized swirl of Pharasma, the hammer of Torag and more. Water sheets down the top of the plinth, bright in the morning sun, and casting rainbowed reflections onto everything nearby. The water in the fountain is as clear and clean as any Ernesto has ever seen.
The basin of the fountain is an octagon of skillfully worked grey stone, the color of an overcast day. some parts of it are worn with time, but the simple yet artful cast to it declares the fountain itself to be the centerpiece, without compare.
Arrayed around the grand area of the cobblestone square -- in which some enterprising merchants have carts, and are selling foodstuffs for any occasion, breakfast, lunch, or dinner-- are churches of various faiths. A minstrel or two can even be found, playing or singing music appropriate to the location and time.
Marveling at the crystal, Ernesto circles the fountain looking for the sword of Iomedae. He finds it sandwiched between Sarenrae and Abadar. Satisfied with the discovery he watches the falling water. He can't help but compare the fountain to the simple well from which his village draws up cloudy water.
He sits on the edge of the basin and trails a finger through the clear pool. Then he looks to the churches around the square. Unlike the crystal, the churches seem to be randomly distributed; Iomedae's and Abadar's are on opposite sides of the square; Iomedae on the west side. He pulls the neck cord with the key and sword over his head, holds it in his hands, and looks at the two symbols. He remembers his feeling at dawn.
The smell from the water is pleasantly clean, and this morning, as he watches the city go about life, it does seem to aid his thoughts, providing a soothing note, calming and refreshing. As he sits, a cascade of bells can be heard from the cathedral, small, blowing in the wind, once, twice, their sound fading before a single bell rings, great and loud in the morning.
As if it were a signal, not minutes after the great bell rings, traffic begins to noticeably increase, and some of the doors of the churches open wide and remain that way, a priest or priestess coming out to stand by the door. Some minister to the passerby that approach, others simply converse familiarly, amidst sweeping the steps.
Morning services are beginning, and the day official as well, it would appear.
Rolandir Brightwing -- City and Purpose
The older man looks thoughtful, considering the information he had just recieved, before beckoning Rolandir over to his desk, and going to a chest. "This is.. uncommon", he admits, as he looked at the marks on the cases inside the chest. "We don't often get news of such, and two towns are certainly the sign of something serious." It took only a minute of looking before the man pulled out a scroll case, extracting a map of Andoran and laying it out on the table, weighting it with small polished stones.
"Do you remember where you were?" he asks, gesturing to the map.
"I'm not sure really, let me see. It was on the plains just over the mountains, a three week journey from here by caravan. I didn't think to ask the names of the towns." Says Rolandir as he bends over the map, trying to trace his journey by it. "The odd thing was that there were no undead to be seen at either location. I looked around both towns, both cemeteries had been ravaged but no traces were to be found."
Finding the villages on the map he points them out. "Here and here."
The priest frowned at Rolandir's indication of the locations that were destroyed. "That is.. troubling..." Looking at the map again, he shook his head slightly, and turned his attention back to Rolandir. "Any servant of our Lady is welcome here, please make your way to the back and speak to one of the brothers. We will put you up for your stay, as this information you bring us is most troubling."
Bowing slightly and lowering his eyes Rolandir can't but accept the invitation as a dismissal. "Thank you most graciously."
Making to turn he stops as with a thought; "If I may, will you tell me the significance of these news? Surely we must muster to arrest this threat? Will you not allow me to be part of this?"
The older man looked closely at Rolandir once he voiced his question, and gestured him over to point at the map. "While risings of the undead are not exactly rare occurrences, having the undead rise in numbers enough to destroy a town --let alone two-- is clear evidence of an intentional act, or unique event that requires some investigation." He explained, pointing to the two towns, and indicating the distance between them.
"Questions will be asked, and the answers will have to be gathered by magical and mundane means... If there are clues to be found." The old man gave a slight smile. "Those are not my province directly. A report will have to be writen, copied, and relayed, and as things go up the channels, steps will be taken... Unfortunately, all this will take time." Pursing his lips, he thought.
"As you could find no trace, if haste is not made, there may very well be none to find." Frowning, the old man heaved a sigh, his eyes distant as he examined possibilities. "It will take at least a day", he concluded. "Remain, and I will do what I can to see that your request to be a part of this will be fulfilled."
"Thank you, I will wait for your word." Rolandir turns and walks into the temple proper. There he will find a quiet place on a bench where he can admire the temple built for Iomedaae, pray and meditate on the journey so far.
Zathe Dakamon -- A Night and More
"That it is", Ursiel agreed. "I'm guessing by the referral, you are working with the Guard. I've got a room for you." His thick hands flat on the counter, he looked at the closest passing serving girl, and got her attention. "Eliandra, could you get this young man set up with a room?"
The serving girl looked up and nodded professionally, her loose brown hair falling around her shoulders and giving Zathe a smile as she set her tray down. "Right this way sir." The dress she wore was cut enough to just give glimpses of her calves over her short boots as she walked, and from the way she walked, those glimpses were frequent enough to keep a wandering eye. The strings of an apron hung down the back of her dress, their lengths falling over the curve of her rear and to the backs of her knees. A scent of honey trailed behind her, and as she started to climb the stairs up to the rooms, she looked back over her shoulder at him. "New in town, eh? Where ya from? To be honest, I'm surprised you can walk with all the weight you're carrying.. Isn't it heavy? Are you going to war?"
Zathe smiled at the pretty serving girl, her scent and good looks having more of an impression upon him than he cared to admit to himself.
"I'm from the Capital, Eliandra was it? My family keeps an estate in Egorian. Although it is rather heavy, my armour and my weapons are some of the few keepsakes I have left of my old life; and while I have little intent to go to war, if that is the fate Erastil has planned out for me, then so be it. Besides," Zathe said with a chuckle "It certainly keeps my shoulders strong. And what of you, fair maiden? Doth thou reside here, in the Blue Helmet?"
Zathe received a bright smile from her at getting her name right, laughing softly at part of his question. "This inn is called the 'Blue Helm'", she corrected him with a small grin. "If someone told you the name, then they were having fun at your expense."
They reached the second floor and she paused, counting something on one hand. "I just work here", she replied to his inquiry about her residence. "I live a few streets over with my family." Remembering whatever it was that she was counting, she led him down the hallway, past several doors to a door on the right. This door was the fifth one on this side, and there were a few more in this hallway before the end. Rapping on the door, she waited for a response, and upon hearing none, she swung the door open, beckoning him inside. "Here is your room. Dinner will be served in about a mark, and feel free to.. lighten your load somewhat." Eyes twinkling, she leaned against the door. "I'll have your key when ya come back downstairs, and hey -- what's your name?"
"My name is Zathe Dakamon, and it is my pleasure to make your acquantaince."
Walking into his room, Zathe dropped his heavy load in a corner, and began to unbuckle his scale mail. Pausing briefly, he looked at Eliandra quizzically and said
"I believe it is the custom at Inn's to reward good service with a tip? Please do not be offended if I am mistaken; I have had somewhat of a sheltered upbringing."
Zathe gave Eliandra a silver piece, and continued to unbuckle his scale mail, revealing the simple leather jerkin and travelling clothes he wore underneath.
Eliandra was struck speechless by Zathe's gesture for a moment, eyes wide, before moving to give him a hand in removing his armor, the silver piece going down the front of her apron. Casting a glance at the open doorway, she was thankful for small favors.
When Zathe was as dressed-down as he wanted to get -- with Eliandra's blushing face saying she was thinking something that she was not voicing -- she stepped away, somewhat awed at the array of items that Zathe removed. "I.. goodness.." She was panting slightly, shaking her head. "I think I'd not be able to walk under all that weight." She drew the silver piece from her apron, a flick of her thumb bringing a ringing sound from the flipped coin, before catching it in one hand and slapping it palm-down onto the little table in the corner of the room near the door and looking at it before sweeping it back into her apron, and giving him a deep curtsey. "Thank you for your generosity, sir", she said honestly, "would you require any more.. um, assistance?"
"I am loathe to keep you from your duties for too long Eliandra; I will see you downstairs within the hour, I am sure. Mayhap we can talk more"
Zathe stopped and thought for a moment, and before she left his room he said
"Actually... I would like a courier to deliver a report to my superior in an hours time; there will be a copper piece in it for him or her, and its not a long walk. Could you possibly arrange this for me?"
Eliandra was just past the doorway when Zathe spoke out, and she listens to his request attentively, before nodding and giving a proper curtsey with her response. "Of course, sir."
Kordoon -- Upland to Lowland
Overland travel for one of short stature is not recommended to be by foot. That is a given. Those in the know tell too many tales of things with more than two legs that would run twice as fast as a slower being, and those things have more than enough teeth to make a fine meal of whatever they manage to catch... Of course, these things are just tales, but even tales have a place in truth, if just a cautionary tale.
Travelling meant travelling in groups, even if it is only two. Minimal companionship is not something that will be necessary, however, as the seasons are turning. With the coming of the green, the fading of the snows, is the renewal of trade, and as with such trade, there are those travelling, laden with goods that are better protected. Those moving these goods pay fine coin to those that are able to protect it.
In this case, the goods being moved were ingots of metals, direct to the Andoran captial. Hiring on was easy enough, as was the travel. The route taken consisted of travelling south from Highhelm over the Five Kings Mountains, and directly south to the mouth of a river marked by a small town by the name of Kentbrook. From there, the river was to be followed south until Almas, with stops as necessary along the way.
It took the other caravan guards some time to wear through Kordoon's stoic exterior, but once he opened up they got along quite well. Kordoon's willingness to take the midnight watch went a long way towards making friends, and though he didn't have any great tales to share he more than made up for it with jokes. He spent a fair amount of time with the merchants of the caravan as well, those that would speak to him at least, learning the lay of the political landscape.
He was most concerned with preparing himself for the eventual arrival in the capitol, and never passed up an opportunity to educate himself on human customs.
The travel is supplying Kordoon with many opportunities to pick up on human customs, habits, and preferences. Some of the dwarven guards that came from Highhelm concluded their tour at Kentbrook, with human guards hiring on in their place. From their bantering with the caravan master, they had worked for him before. The next step in their travel was transferring the chests to the barge that they would be taking down the Andoshen river, and that was being done by porters. The transferring would be done a little after sunset, and travel would resume in the morning.
Kordoon gazed in awe at the first real barge he had ever seen, although he was careful not to let amazement dull his vigilance. He was seasick almost immediately upon boarding the barge, but recovered most of the way once a more experienced dwarf advised him to imagine that it was all just a really long earthquake.
Kordoon's group passed their watch with no incident, adding yet more names to his ever-growing knowledge of nature outside of the mountain ranges, while the guards chatted idly to help the time pass. The caravan master had secured a place for them in the inn, though to keep from displaying any favoritism, that place was the floor of the great room. With the benches and tables pulled to the walls and stacked, there was enough room for the fourteen guards if needed, though a third of them were with the barge at any given time.
Morning came, bringing with it the sounds of movement, and the smell of breakfast being cooked. The smell of eggs, meat, and bread being prepared drew many of the men up, a truly hearty breakfast being served to them as they got ready for the day, a long ride on the barge ahead of them.
"Hey Kor", a younger guard said, sitting down next to him. "Morning."
He had noticed a tendency for the humans to shorten names into their first sound, rather than say the whole name. A large yawn interrupted his next words, not being fully awake yet. If Kordoon recalled correctly, the man's name was Graham, and he was one of the guards that had some nature and trapping knowlege outside of caravan escorts.
"Morning Gram. Have you been through this run before?" Kordoon dove into his breakfast with great relish, expecting that his appetite would not be particularly strong during the next few days on the water.
Graham was doing the same, knowing that without a fair hand at trapping or fishing, well-cooked food like this was going to be scarce. He paused after eating a bite, washing it down with a swallow of the inn's weak ale. "Yeah. This will be the second year for me. I travel down to Almas, do some work there until the caravan is ready to head back, and then come back here."
He stops to take a healthy bite of the bread, talking with his mouth mostly full. "Nothing especially difficult. Some goblins by land the last time back, maybe some Sahaugin-- but we saw none last year."
"Sahaugin? I've heard about them in legends, but I always thought they were only in the really far-off parts of the ocean, not a river like this."
"I don't know why they showed", Graham said around a mouthful of potatoes. "Someone thought they might have been driven away or called." He gave a shrug, professing his lack of knowledge in that particular area. "Quite honestly", he began after a drink. "I don't really want t'know that badly." Grinning, he resumed eating.
Kordoon paused for a moment at "called", remembering his temple training and the stories about evil mages and clerics who summoned creatures to do their bidding. Then he was back to normal and ate the final large bite of his breakfast. "Well, wherever they came from, I hope we avoid them this run. I've no desire to spend my first trip on a river fighting shark demons." He made idle chat with Graham for a few more moments while cleaning up the scraps of his meal and finishing his drink, and then excused himself "I think I'll be off to the dock a bit early this morning. I'd like to get my sea legs working before we start moving if possible, so I'll see if the loaders need a hand with anything. Thanks for coming over, I'll see you around."
Ernesto Blanco -- The Day after Dawn
The key and the sword lay in Ernesto's hand. He looked up and to his left, to the east, and then to the west. Abadar's temple, the Bank, was squat and solidly built of stone with bronze-sheathed doors. Across the square Iomedae's temple looked equally stout, a miniature fortress. Ernesto contemplated the similarities between the two gods, and their differences. Then he looked again at the two buildings. The rising sun behind the Bank cast the facade in shadow. On Iomedae's temple the sun shone bright and clear, gleaming on the white stone.
Ernesto ducked his head to put the necklace back on with the sword to the front. He stood and walked to the portal of the goddess' temple.
At the entrance, a young priestess is ministering to those who come, giving small blessings and quoting small passages from the Acts as advice. She smiled at Ernesto as he reached the portal, and inclined her head familiarly. "The Inheritor smile upon you", she said softly.
Inside the temple, things were immaculately maintained, polished, and beautifully wrought, hanging tapestries depicting acts of Valor, Justice, Rulership, and Honor. An ornate sword, more art than function was set into a pedestal atop a small dais, rows of pews lined before a podium to just before the door. There seemed to be a still, deep sense of power in the quiet air beyond the threshold, welcoming him.
"And you also, sister, " Ernesto replied as he stepped through the door into the shaded interior. He moved to the left side of the church and walked toward the pedestal while he looked at the tapestries. He paused at the depiction of Iomedae standing over a dead vampire with a band a ragged warriors in the background.
Further in he found himself standing in front of the sword on the pedestal. He stood in front of the pews contemplating the gleaming engraved blade, the jeweled hilt. Sunrays shining through the small round window above the door struck the sword and glinted off the jewels. Light in the darkness. The warmth and comfort of light. Ernesto thought about the morning sun rising over the horizon. 'That was good. That was worth following.'
Ernesto knelt deliberately on the flagstones in front of the cross, then fell forward with his arms stretched toward the pedestal. He craned his neck back to stare up toward the sword. 'Iomedae, to you I pledge my life and my strength and my honor. I want to do good. I want to help people. Forge me into your sword of Justice in this world. Let me carry your light.'
His contemplation continues, finishing with, 'Show me a sign of your will.'
The soft shuffle of a footstep can be heard, and a man perhaps only a decade his senior comes into his peripheral vision, politely allowing him his time of worship. The sounds of other passerby being greeted by the priestess filter in from the distant doorway, and the traffic in the square is still picking up. He wears the same robes as the priestess at the doorway, cut a little differently, of course.
Ernesto notices the man's presence, but tries to concentrate on his prayer.
There is a polite cough from the man, after another minute has passed. "Good morning, sir." His voice was calm and even, peaceful.
Ernesto looks up, and realizes the man must be a priest. His face quickly becomes bright red. He hastily gets to his feet. "Good morning." He bows. "Was I doing something wrong?"
There was a gentle smile from the man, and he shook his head, attempting to dispel Ernesto's embarrassment with a wave of his hand, returnig the bow. "Not at all", he said, his voice strong and possessing the same sort of calm that one often finds in men who are certain of ther place in things. "I just thought it prudent to inform you that service will be starting shortly."
Indeed, as he talks, someone enters the church, a commoner from the looks of it, and she is followed by another.
Ernesto listens and looks and turns a deeper crimson. "Ahhh."
Perhaps clued by his embarrassment, the priest gives Ernesto a knowing look. "I suspect you are new to the faith, and yet.. Your role is not as mine."
"I am new, " the words come out in a rush. "I was raised to follow Abadar. My father especially was very devout. We went to services on Wealday and Oathday. And, and I still honor the Lord of the First Vault." ~ He pulls the cord necklace out and rotates it to the key.~ " But I've always felt something missing there. And the stories of Iomedae are inspiring." ~ rotates to the sword ~ "That's what I want to do. I want to take up the sword and help people. This morning I was down on the breakwater. When the sun came up I felt -- I don't know. I can't describe it. But the Light is good. I want to carry Light to the world, especially the common people. My family sent me to serve at the local temple. And they assigned me to a travelling Arbiter. The law is a good thing. It holds people together. But it's not enough. There's too much I'll do this if you do that. It doesn't --- I mean. People should do the right thing because it is the right thing. And they should let anything stop them. But people don't see anyone doing that. I want to be the one they see doing the right thing because it's the right thing."
Ernesto stops a little out of breath.
The man smiles a wide smile, completely understanding. "Then you have the right concept of things", he says, nodding his agreement. "All of us are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for. The right thing may be difficult at times, or even painful, but the act itself of right makes it worthwhile." Moving about the front, he appears to be going about the setup for the service.
"There is a standard that Good is judged by, and were it not for those that upheld and continue to uphold that standard, perhaps even the concept might come to be diminished." The man glances towards the pews which are filling, and smiles warmly. "My name is Eldan. You are completely welcome to stay for the service, if you like."
Rolandir Brightwing -- A Task Given
Making his way to the back of the temple he will store his gear and spend his time making himself at home in the temple, joining daily rituals if he can, eating with the clergy and walking around the temple giving everyone a warm smile and a "Hello."
While not all of the clergy are as perceptive as the old man --perhaps he was the head priest?-- even in a church, word spreads rather quickly. In the course of his wandering beyond the church that most commoners normally see, Rolandir meets and greets sevaral humans and a couple of half-elves, all of them studying to join the priesthood, or newly-ordained priests.
His room is simple, a spare room with a cot and a desk, with little else. Enough room to have some privacy in. At dinner time, he is served a thick bowl of vegetable soup, and a crust of bread; simple, but good food. As the newcomer, Rolandir is tasked by the Kitchen head to help with the dishes. She is a jovial woman, large of personality and stature, which is perhaps to be expected of the seniormost cook. Given the amount of reserve that the elves tended to show, though Rolandir got a taste of the human manner of doing things, she was a bit intimidating.
These humans always seemed to want to do things bigger, brighter, louder... It was as if they compensated for their shortened lifespans with a greater intensity.
Despite being a little confused by the human behaviour Rolandir took to life at the temple with a smile. He kept his own little rituals, offering a prayer to Iomedae for every task and every meal and keeping up his martial training for the glory of his god.
An extra hand was always appreciated around the temple, and in Rolandir's case, he was especially appreciated, since he was able to help with translation and rewriting of a couple of parts of texts. After three days, Rolandir's diligence and patience is rewarded. A little after the morning services, he was summoned back to the small side office near the front door where he had spoken to the old man, which he had learned by now was one of the senior priests.
"You are in luck", began the old man from his seat behind his desk. "Just yesterday we have begun to hear rumors about a curious type undead: Black Skeletons." Furrowing his bushy grey brow, he stared intently at a piece of parchment that lay curled before him. "It seems that they were found near a ship that had been docked for repairs near a coastal village. There were only two of them that were seen, but this is a curious thing."
Opening a drawer on his desk, he removed a small case from it. "Since you had requested to serve in a task like this, I am giving it to you." Opening the case, he removed a sheet from it, and rolled up his sleeve as he began writing upon it in a smooth flowing hand, even as he spoke.
"Speed is of the essence, therefore I will not be sending a large group to investigate, as it may be an anomaly. You will travel with one other, a tracker. Find the skeletons, or find the evidence, and send a report back. Investigate to the extent that you can." As he finished giving the order, he also finished the letter, reaching into a small pot on his desk to sprinkle a fine sand over the letter to help the ink dry. After a couple seconds, he tilted the sand off of the paper and back into the pot, deftly folding the letter, and lighting a golden candle to drip wax onto the center of the fold. The cooling wax was stamped with an elegant sigil, a stylized image of Iomedae's longsword, and offered to Rolandir.
"Find the Longstrider's guildhall, and present this. Your compainion has been notified."
Sensing the seriousness of his task, Rolandir somberly listens as the senior priest sets him his task. He accepts the sealed scroll with a nod.
"Thank you, I will set out at once. Can the temple provide me with a horse to speed my travels?"
"The temple cannot." the old man answered. "The Longstriders will. Godspeed and good fortune to you, Paladin Brightwing."
Giving a slight bow, he inclines his head. "Very well, I will make haste." With that he turns and heads for his chamber, gathering his gear he gives a last stop in the temple. Kneeling before the altar he prays for Iomedae's blessing.