A Game of Kingmaker

Game Master Wandering Wastrel

Sasha takes a moment to push any loose hair behind her ears, before turning back to the Swordlord.

"A pleasure to see you again, my lord," Sasha responds. She momentarily considers a curtsy, but dismisses it. The action outside of a dress would look ridiculous. She instead offers Yuri a slight bow, complete with a playful smirk. "I see that the old men finally took your claims about the bandits in the Kamelands seriously."

Noticing Sasha has a previous connection with the swordsman, Raquel steps back and lets her take control of th conversation. She makes her way to Nariel's side and looks at the elf with concern. "Hey, you took some pretty nasty hits back there. Are you alright?"

As Raquel introduces her to the young warrior, Nariel follows Sasha's lead and bows in a respectful manner and simply addresses him "M'lord."

Seeing that Sasha clearly had a history and handle on this interaction, Nariel stepped back beside Raquel. Gripping her right shoulder were she was struck by the arrow, Nariel took a deep breath before pulling her shirt to side to see if a mark was left. Seeing almost no sign of it on her bare shoulder, Nariel shook her head "I appear to be alright, your divine powers have seen to that. The wounds I took appear only superficial." Shaking her head while covering her shoulder again, Nariel adds with a clear sense of disappointment in herself "I have to be more careful in the future, I am not built as strong as the rest of our company. I am a liability on the front line, I have no place being there."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," Raquel says. "You single-handedly stopped two of the bandits with one spell! You've nothing to be ashamed of!"

She hesitates a moment, then lays her hand on the elf's arm. "Combat is chaotic by its nature. There's no way to know what the 'right' tactic is, and it's easy to wind up in a bad position. But... I'll always be there to get your back. No matter what."

Aivar seems to be completely out of it when he rejoins his companions after the battle comes to an abrupt end, with the remaining bandits running for the hills. He's uncharacteristically quiet, often staring at some far off point in the distance. It's clear he's struggling with something.

That something is a feeling that's new to him. The feeling that he let himself and his friends down in a life or death situation.

And so, the merry chatter between the victorious parties flies right by the paladin who spends his time chewing on a bitter pill. Eventually, he'll manage to swallow it down. Eventually.

Arianna darts back when the body falls forward. She's breathing heavy and jittery. She looks around, making sure nobody's in danger anymore. "Ha...oh...we're still alive? Good." She steps into the stream and cleans her face and hands.

The healing rejuvenates her, and she checks Kressle's body for the stag's head amulet.

Yuri's eyes widen in recognition, and he bows smoothly. "My Lady Sasha! A thousand pardons, I should have recognised you anywhere. I am glad to know that the wilderness has not damped your spirits. Thank you for coming to our aid. I hope to be able to show my gratitude at a more suitable time."

"I see that the old men finally took your claims about the bandits in the Kamelands seriously."

This is met with a rueful smile - "Well... yes and no." He points to the bodies on the far side of the river. "One of those is my commanding officer, His Grace the Baron Kaschle. Apparently a noble title is no protection against arrows." He smacks his open palm against one leg in anger. "I told him this was a ridge too far, that we've cleared the Rostland Plains but the hills and woods are unsafe - and he still insisted on going ahead! Urgh." He shakes his head in exasperation. "Now I have to transport his noble carcass - and those of the other two soldiers - back to Fort Serenko."

He gives you a hopeful look. "I don't suppose I could purchase a horse or two from you, to help with the transporting?" Another rueful, slightly lopsided smile. "I realise you can pretty much name your price..."

Know(Noble): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Decent of the chap to not simply demand we cough up whatever help he wants, Tristan thinks. Of course, given that he and his companions may very well triumph if it came to a fight, perhaps the man was simply practical. Though I suppose I don't care too greatly about the difference between humility and pragmatism so long as it doesn't cause me any trouble.

"We're short a mount ourselves, as it turns out," he answers. "Lost the poor beast to uncertain footing and a ravine. But if you're returning by way of Oleg's post, we'll certainly help with the burdens of the road."

Knowledge (nobility): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10 Thank Abadar for low DCs

Normally, Sasha would swindle a desperate man for all she could. It wasn't anything personal, just the way she was raised, but it's Yuri. He was honest and kind and handsome. Gods above, she thinks. Even after a pitched battle he's handsome. And I must look a mess.

There is also the matter of him being a Swordlord and her better, although the matters of nobility and privilege in this wilderness are hazy at best. So the rogue offers Yuri her most winning smile.

"Tristan is right," Sasha replies. "I lost my own mount in an accident some time back and share a horse with Aivar." She gestures towards the sullen paladin. "Perhaps it makes the most sense to pool our resources to guarantee a safe return. I doubt my companions would refuse a chance for a hot bath and several extra sword arms."

Upon hearing his name, Aivar turns around and slowly eases his way into the conversation. Nods are exchanged between him, Yuri and the soldiers. It is after Sasha is done laying out the notion of traveling back together that he butts in. "You can use my horse, Yuri, for it is the least I can do to repay all of you for the sacrifices you've made."

Tristan mentally kicked himself for his lack of tact. "Indeed. I'm sorry for your fallen - Yuri? I hope they'll rest easy at a job worth doing."

know noble: 1d20 + 7 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + 7 + (4) = 12

"Capital idea," Arianna says. "I'd say we counted quite a coup today. A bandit lieutenant dead, and many more besides. I only wish we might have arrived sooner."

Knowledge Nobility: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11

While Nariel was marginally aware that Swordlords could legally requisition materials as they saw fit, Nariel still widened her eyes a little in surprise. Moving in beside her horse quietly, Nariel began to stroke Hrive's mane protectively. The body language was pretty clear to those paying attention... nobody is taking this horse.

As talk drifted towards accompanying the young nobleman, Nariel grew less protective and more at ease, eventually adding "A hot bath sounds lovely. I also need to write some new scrolls up, so a return trip would be welcomed."

"Aye, a hot bath and a cold drink! To Oleg's, friends!"

Yuri nods in thanks to Aivar and Tristan, gratefully acknowledging their words. He gives another rueful half-smile: "I can't tell you how much a hot bath appeals right now! But - alas - I think we are headed in different directions." He looks about swiftly to get his bearings, and then sighs. "Yes: if you're going back to the Trading Post then your course is Northwest, and I'm going Northeast to Fort Serenko. It's my duty to report in as soon as possible."

He sighs. "They're not going to like the fact that I lost Baron Kaschle. Quite apart from the embarrassment of defeat to bandits, he has - had - close ties with House Garess; and we cannot afford to lose that alliance." He looks at you. "I'll make sure to report how you came to our rescue... although that may not win you as many friends as you might wish. Some of the Swordlords were unimpressed that Restov picked mercenaries to do this job - although since the whole point was to have some plausible deniability, I'm not sure what they were expecting."

He pauses. "You didn't hear any of that from me, by the way."

Another pause. "Well, I'd best get going. Godspeed, and I hope to see you all safe and sound in Restov very soon. House Wenislaus owes you a debt."

He draws his sword, saluting once to each of you, before leading his men away.

Raquel waves as they depart, then turns back to her companions. "Well then, shall we continue on to the trading post?"

"I think so," Sasha replies. "We've been gone long enough."

Aivar tries not to grin as he seizes up both Raquel and Sasha, but fails in his effort. "Shelyn knows the two of you can use a bath and a brush. Not, of course, that you do not look absolutely dashing right now."

And immediately he backs down. Tall man or a big boy? Apparently, you can be both at the same time.

Raquel sticks her tongue out at Aivar. "Speak for yourself, Sir Stinks-a-Lot! Phew!"

"Heartily agreed," Tristan says to Sasha. Then, when Raquel speaks: "Yes, and that too. Funny, they never seem to mention the odor of travel in any of the songs. Perhaps I'll write the first honest one, eh? Hmm, somewhat like... 'Many were the fearsome foes brought low / by the might of the brave knight's hits / but this number paled to those who quailed / at the stench of the brave knight's pits...'"

A smile grew on Tristan's face as he played with the rhyme. "Yes, I rather like that. The Bawdy Ballad of Sir Aivar the Pungent will be a hit in all the taverns in Restov!"

Aivar glares at Tristan before leaving his comrades to seek out his horse. There were, after all, fallen heroes in need of transportation so that their family may bury their remains with dignity and honors.

Raquel snorts and starts laughing hysterically. She leans on Nariel for support as she guffaws at Aivar's expense.

Raising one eyebrow as Raquel leans on her, Nariel appears perplexed. Hoping up on Hrive as the hilarity ensues, Nariel sets out ahead of the others. As she rides by, the regal elf doesn't bother to so much as look up as she mutters "I will never understand why humans find bodily humor so entertaining."

Raquel wipes at her eyes as she climbs up on Thunder and follows Nariel. "The brave knight's pits... It works on so many levels!" she chuckles.

Sasha laughs with the rest as Tristan cracks jokes and Aivar glowers. "Maybe change the name," she suggests to the bard with a smile. "For our friend's sake."

"Sir Aivar the Aromatic!" Raquel suggests, provoking a fresh round of giggles.

With fewer horses, the going is much slower - barely more than walking pace. Still, progress is steady as you head back to the trading post, traveling Northwest through yet more unexplored territory.

As the hills slowly start to give way to the plains, the trees start to reappear, dotted here and there. One particular tree stands out: a lightning-blasted oak, on the top of a small hill, looks eerily like a claw reaching for the clouds.

The sight of it outlined against the sky jogs something in Nariel's and Tristan's memories, and they pull out the map you found some months ago. The claw shape of the tree sketched on the map looks exactly like the one that now presents itself to you.

"Aha! The treasure tree!" Raquel says triumphantly. "I don't suppose anybody brought a shovel?"

The cleric volunteers to help dig for gold, regardless of tool availability.

"Huh?" mutters Aivar as Raquel bolts forward to (apparent) treasure and glory. It had been a while since they had found the map in days of snow and utter cold and so it took Aivar a while to realize what they were approaching: a possible jackpot! "Oh! I, eh, didn't, but maybe it's stowed away into the tree and not actually buried?"

Surely luck will be on their side today, no?

Giving the tree a good hard glance, Nariel finally speaks up cautiously "This area was indicated on the map we found at the spider cavern." As soon she mentions the tree, she glances over at Raquel and Aivar as they discuss treasure. Finally, she places a gentle hand on Raquel's shoulder "Hang on Raquel. While 'X' marks the spot is traditionally associated with buried goods, we cannot jump to that conclusion first."

Moving closer to the tree, but careful to keep her distance, Nariel observes it a moment before adding "Let me at least rule out any possible magic before we approach. We should look out for possible traps as well."

Casting detect magic on the area, and trying to search for traps before approaching. May Sasha, you want to search for traps?

Perception: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (20) + 15 = 35

"On it," Sasha says, hopping down from Romas.

She starts poking around the burnt out tree, keeping a careful eye on the ground for any sort of booby trap left behind to deter would-be looters.

Sasha: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Raquel blushes when Nariel touches her shoulder. She tries to conceal her wistful smile as she trails behind the elf.

"While 'X' marks the spot is traditionally associated with buried goods, we cannot jump to that conclusion first."

"Treasure hunters tends to use ink, not blood. If the medium is the message, that may not bode well for what we'll find. Still and all, I suppose we might as well investigate."

"They're thugs and bandits. If not loot, what else would they bury that warrants the creation of a secretive treasure map? I guess we're about to find out."

Bloodstains, mud and several seasons below ground have ruined it for good, and it disintegrates in your hands. Wrapped within this hastily buried piece of former finery, you find several items of interest. The first is a wizard's spellbook - most of its pages are sodden, the ink bleared and smeared with damp and mold, but some of it is still legible.

Nariel can pick 1d3 ⇒ 1 2nd level and 1d3 ⇒ 2 3rd level spells that can be salvaged for copying into her own spellbook

Also wrapped within the cloak is a wand of jet, its black surface inlaid with runic silver arrows.

Nariel identifies this as a wand of Magic Missile - usable 3 times/day, it will heighten with the level of the caster

At the bottom of the hole, beneath where the cloak lay, is a suit of armour. With the mud shaken free, the scales of bronze shine in the warm Spring sunshine. The suit is dirty, but bronze doesn't rust in the way that iron does - a bit of cleaning and it would be wearable.

The armour is a Masterwork suit of scale mail

The remains of what was once a sword and dagger, their iron blades now too pitted and rusted to be of any further use, completes the trove.

Raquel tries to peek over Nariel's shoulder at the haul, but settles with peering around the side of the taller elf. "Looks like this is mostly your haul, hon! Except for the armor, of course. That looks like it's the big guy's size! How about it, Aivar? In the market for a shiny new suit?"

Aivar's first reaction is a frown. "Perhaps once it has been cleaned, the straps have been repaired and I'm sure it isn't marked all over with profane symbols. It does make you wonder though, doesn't it? Who did the armor belong to? Who was the mage that wore this cloak and spellbook? And who made the map that leads to this place, and why?"

Answering such questions isn't exactly Aivar's forte.

Raquel looks at the equipment with a touch of sadness on her face. "I don't know. We may never know their stories. All we can do is put what they left behind to use working for a good cause."

"Bronze armor? It's not everyday you see that. I wonder how long ago this stuff was buried?"

Know(Local): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

Can Tristan get a sense of how old the armor and blades were? Archaic style, perhaps?

"Well, I suppose that's that mystery solved. Congratulations to you on some new magic, Nariel, but honestly I'm a bit let down. Mark an 'x' in blood for... some rusty equipment and an old spellbook? Too dramatic by half. Unless, of course, the armor does turn out to be covered in magic symbols."

Raquel pats Tristan's shoulder to comfort the bard. "When you sing about it at Oleg's, you can add some angry ghosts to the tale to spice it up. I won't tell anybody."

"Yes. Ghosts would help. One of them can haunt the armor - though truth be told, it doesn't look very old." Tristan shrugs. "Might as well get going again, I suppose. Oleg's awaits!"

Aivar can't help but grin. "Maybe we ought to write a 'thank you' note and bury it here in case whoever this treasure trove belongs to comes looking for it. It would be the considerate thing to do."

"Well, seeing how we found the map on a dead guy in a spider's lair, I highly doubt he'd be able to come looking any time soon." Raquel says.

"Huh, right. Still, you reckon him to be the one who made it? Or did he nick it, what with banditry being his vocation and all that, from someone else? Regardless, I guess we can bury this discussion and move on."

Raquel shrugs. "As you say, it doesn't matter much either way. As they say here in the River Kingdoms, 'You have what you hold.' Put another way, 'Finders keepers.'"

"If it's not old, why choose bronze?" Sasha asks. "I could be wrong, but I thought steel was much harder. Either way, it doesn't make it any less ours."

"My guess is that whoever owned that cloak, wand, and spellbook was waylaid by some of our bandit friends. Maybe the owner of the armor was his bodyguard." She shrugs.

Kneeling beside the body, Nariel observes it quietly for a time before taking out her notebook and jotting down some details. Finally, Nariel puts her journal away, and begins sorting through his belongings. Who were you I wonder? Soon finding the spellbook, Nariel flips through the pages gently and smiles after a moment at Raquel "This is indeed of use to me Raquel... well, everything except the armor of course."

As the others talk, Nariel meticulously transcribes the salvageable pages into her own book. Finally looking up, Nariel smiles broadly, speaking with an almost childlike excitement that is uncharacteristic for her "This is good fortune my friends; some of these spells are still legible, and of considerable power. I am not actually adept enough to even use these spells yet, but I have transcribed them for future use."

Setting the spellbook to her side gently, Nariel looks back at the long deceased magician. Eyes widening again, she examines the wand before pointing it towards a nearby tree. "Templa pelekta!" Suddenly a magical bolt of bright energy fires from the wand and strikes the tree with noticeable impact. "Aman re!"*

Tucking the wand into her belt safely, Nariel brushes herself. Though still in a buoyant mood, Nariel nods with Sasha "That indeed sounds plausible Sasha. When I have a chance, I might try to write the wizards at the Arcanamirium. They might have record of who this magician was. It is a long shot, but such information might be useful."

Raquel can't help but grin at Nariel's sudden exuberance. It's a side of the elf that she hasn't seen very often. It's quite endearing.

She applauds when the wizard blasts the tree. "Sweet barleybrew! Nice shot! Now you can blast the baddies with impunity!"

"A bit harsh, don't you think? I didn't like that tree either, but you never know when they're about to turn over a new leaf."