Many trials have you faced over the last week. Against many you have raced for this chance. You saw several more accomplished adventures aiming for the same opportunity and you know not what criteria was the deciding factor, but somehow, you were chosen.
You’ve been escorted to a modestly decorated room, with chairs and couches and tables, refreshment, food and drinks. In the same room, four other awaits just like you.
Mentally reviewing his court etiquette, Vik greets the others graciously and makes small talk until their host arrives.
Know-Nobility:
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Rendyl stood near one of the tables laden with food, his tall, lanky frame seeming even taller as he stood next to the short table. He eyed the others in the room nervously with his dark eyes. The ranger is not unsure of his abilities or capability, he just feels out of sorts with all this finery around him. Hell, even the servants in this place looked like they belonged more than Rendyl.
He slid a hand through his shaggy, black hair, very aware that it was not evenly cut amongst these more well-groomed strangers. Well, this was what he had been aiming for. A chance to do something for the good of others, possibly make some money, and drown himself in work to forget his recent troubles.
From his spot he holds up a hand, as if to gain the attention of the others. In a quiet, gruff voice that sounds as if it is not used on a regular basis, he says, "Ummm, hello. Rendyl. Rendyl Millary, that is. Nice to meet all of you." The deed done, he looks down at the food, making a show of selecting something to eat to hide his embarrassment.
"Ummm, hello. Rendyl. Rendyl Millary, that is. Nice to meet all of you."
A stunningly beautiful young woman wearing a simple blue dress with puffed sleeves, leather traveling boots, and a dark blue apron turns from the window. Her black hair is pulled neatly (and practically) in an elaborate twist. She has been grasping her weapon protectively the entire time.
She moves with her weapon – a trident – to approach the food table. ”I’m Tegan Ryker. You all can just call me Tegan.” She looks towards the door, then at Rendyl, the door, then towards Vik, then the door again. Like Rendyl, Tegan feels nervous but perhaps for another reason. I really hope she didn’t follow me here.
Tegan watches Rendyl examine the refreshment table and picks up an apple for herself before returning to her spot by the window. As Vik continues to make small talk with the group, Tegan begins to open up: ”The weather’s been nice today.” Ugh, I'm being so generic. ”Perhaps it’s a sign of good luck to meet on a day like this.” Tegan offers the smallest of smiles which, unknowingly to her, accentuates her beauty.
Nowhere is the Rostlandic spirit more alive than in the Free City of Restov. The city owes its allegiance to the Brevic crown, and Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius must bend his knee before the Dragonscale Throne like any lord, but otherwise Restov belongs to no house, making it a haven for the lost glories of the Aldori swordlords and those who look back to the old days before the coming of the Conqueror. Restov is a city of both refinement and rough-and-tumble manners, as only a colony can be in fondly recalling and imitating its motherland.
You are currently on the Lord Mayor City hall, presumably to meet the man himself and receive instructions on what to do from now on.
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Oh stars and stones, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late...
Djebelle set off in good time, she’s sure she did, but she hasn’t worn this armour before and hadn’t realised how much it would slow her down (it also chafes in places she doesn’t want to think about, but she’s not going to think about that). By the time she finally arrives, she’s worked up a sweat of both exertion and anxiety.
(“Peasants sweat, dear,” she hears her mother’s voice in her head. “Noblemen perspire; ladies should simply glow.” Fine. Then she’s glowing absolute buckets under this scale mail.)
She arrives in the room at speed. “Sorry I’m late, have we started yet?” She doesn’t trust herself to be able to sit down while wearing her sword in its scabbard, so she finds a spot along the far wall where she can stand and observe. “Oh, I’m Djebelle, by the way. Djebelle Torr.”
To an interested/keen observer, she presents something of an enigma: her scale mail and her scimitar are new, of good make and clearly not cheap; and her clothing is the same, plain garments but a fine weave that might indicate nobility. Her hair however is in the peasant style: a long, single braid, the sort that you plait yourself when you don’t have time (or maids) to do anything elaborate – and there’s something around her eyes, a suggestion that (unlike many pampered nobles) she knows how many beans make five, and has perhaps occasionally had to do without.
Her figure might kindly be described as ‘boyish’ although the last of the teenage puppy-fat around her face would suggest that she still has some filling out to do.
Rendyl looks up from the food as Tegan approaches, announcing herself to the room. As she got close, he realized he absolutely towered over this one...she was perhaps 15 hands, no more. And such lovely features...the ranger found himself staring and tore his gaze away. The last pretty face in his life had ended up being trouble and heartache. That's what Rendyl loved about the wilderness...it might be able to warm a bed with you at night, but it was pure. Even if something violent happened to you, it was only because of the nature of the beast, not any kind of emotional head game. The tall young man offered Tegan a brief wave, his eyes still down as she walked towards the more social of the group.
As Djebelle introduces herself after her late arrival, Rendyl feels that politeness compel him to introduce himself to the newcomer. "Rendyl Millary. I don't think so..." He gave the young woman a brief nod of respect before looking away, indiscreetly casting glances at the newcomer. She was painfully young, and the equipment she wore looked like it hadn't much if any use. Still, it seemed as though youth were the common parameter here in this room, so she should feel right at home.
Feeling like he has spent enough time stalling at the food table, he grabs his well-laden plate and crosses the room with long strides to join Vik and Tegan Don't look! in the section of the room they have congregated in. "There's a slight wind blowing in from the West...my father always warned that a eastbound-wind meant rain soon." He offered the information matter-of-factory before he popped a bite of something in his mouth.
Arriving after the others, a tall slender elf, limps into the room. He wears simple, but well worn clothes over his leather armor, with a dagger and shortbow for weapons. He looks around at the two women and two men, "Damiel Morgethin, at your service" he says softly, and with a slight scowl.
He moves over to the table, and looking it over picks out some simple fruit, mostly apples, and water. Moving to a table, he sets down his chosen food and drink and begins to eat.
Thinking to himself, so these are the other chosen ones, all human. I wonder how long they will live, or will they die like all the other humans in my life.
Vik continues to play host to the new comers. His dueling sword at his hip, he wears cloths that, well kept and clean, are of a fashion a number of years past. His hair, while also clean and tidy, is longer than current trends dictate. His smile, however seem genuine, and a feeling of excitement somewhat radiates off the young man, showing itself in the bounce in his step, and the twinkle in his deep blue eyes.
"Yes, well I hope we continue to have good weather, but Rendyl here seems to know what he is talking about. I hope it is a swift shower and it does not bog down the roads. Now if you will excuse me, I shall make our new arrivals comfortable. I am sure the mayor will be along soon."
He give a short bow to the two by the window then walks over to Djebelle and Damiel.
"Greetings, I am Viklop Kolavar, but please call me Vik. Welcome to our band of adventures. Please help yourselves to the food and drink on the sideboard. I am sure the mayor will be here soon."
Djebelle smiles at Viklop, as much in relief that the grown-ups in the room seem to be taking her seriously as anything else. "Thank you, Vik." She looks down at the dueling sword at his hip. "Are you one of the Swordlords? I've had some training in this scimitar from the temple of Sarenrae, but I know I've got lots still to learn."
At the mention of food, she brightens up: one of the upsides of intensive training in sword-fighting is that you generally don't have to worry about how much you eat. Trying carefully not to trip over her scabbard (seriously, how are you supposed to walk wearing these things?!), she wanders over to the food table, smiling at the others that she meets, and trying not to gawp at the elf - Damiel, she corrects herself. There aren't many elves in Brevoy, and she hasn't met one before.
"Yes, well I hope we continue to have good weather, but Rendyl here seems to know what he is talking about. I hope it is a swift shower and it does not bog down the roads. Now if you will excuse me, I shall make our new arrivals comfortable. I am sure the mayor will be along soon."
The idea of rain causes Tegan’s heart to quicken, but she keeps her opinions private. Oh, I hope it rains. She uses one hand to steady herself on the rod of her weapon and the other to hold the shiny apple as she bites into it.
The other woman looks more battle-ready than Tegan feels. Tegan wonders how much experience Djebelle has with her weapon. They both look like they come from money, Tegan muses. Tegan thinks of her father's unkempt home with peeling paint and a wild yard. I'll do better than he ever did.
Tegan listens to Vik and Djebelle talk about swords, but seems more interested in the elf’s left leg. What happened to him, Tegan wonders. Eventually, Tegan decides to approach the elf. "The apples are good, aren't they?" Tegan finds a seat near Damiel and straightens the fabric of her blue dress. She feels frumpy with the nobles in the room, but her lovely face and hair are nothing of the sort.
"My father, then uncle had a fencing school and was was taught the fighting style of the Swordlords, but I still have much to accomplish before I can attempt to lay claim to such a lofty title. I hope to run my own school someday, perhaps in this new territory."
A brief smile flashes across the young man's face, and it shows how truly young he is.
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As Damiel entered, the elf introducing himself with none of the excitement of the others, Rendyl nodded in greeting to the man. The limping elven man definitely was the odd one of the group, even counting the ranger's relatively unkempt appearance. At least Rendyl had bathed before coming here, his embarrassment around the two women would have been a detriment otherwise.
The young man's keen ears take in the conversation around him as he eats liberally of the mayor's offering, his expression polite to those that meet his eyes. A trick, if it could be called that, he had learned to use in crowds was to always keep your mouth full. Around uppity sorts with manners, that would be excuse enough to not talk much. Still, he becomes more curious as Vik talks of his family's fencing school. The Aldori Swordlords were legends, and Rendyl was too young to have outgrown a fascination with such things.
Rendyl’s predictions turned out to be true: dark clouds formed in the sky, and not much after, light rain started to fall down. The smell and sound of rain soon fills the place, and from outside the room, the frantic sounds of workers rushing to perform their job can be heard.
Time passes especially slowly and despite of Viklop Kolavar best intentions and host playing skills, silence soon fall into the room. A group of strangers with no apparent connection brought together by someone else’s whim.
You were made to wait for about one full bell, before a small knock and the door is open.
Outside a busy looking worker glances around the room, counting the occupants and finally says ”One of you hasn’t arrived yet, but the Lord Mayor will see you now. Follow me if you please.” he says leading the group out of the room into the Mayor office.
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The nameless worker leads you into the building and soon after you are standing outside a double door. The door is guarded by armed guards and they seem about to block your path, when the worker says a few words to the guards and after that, they make no more attempts to block your way.
Behind the door, the walls of the conference room are decorated with several crests, representing different sword lords. Inside a middle age man dressed in noble clothes befitting one of the Sword Lords talks with another employee while scanning some parchments he was presented to, but as soon as you enter, he dismisses the two workers, the one leading you and the one which has the parchments and greet your group.
”Welcome. I’m Ioseph Sellemius. Please have a sit and let’s discuss business.” he says smiling and pointing to the table in the middle of the room.
"The Stolen Lands have long resisted attempts at colonization. Wedged between the River Kingdoms and Brevoy, the approximately 35,000-square-mile swath of wilderness stolen from Brevoy’s nation’s southern expanse by bandits and barbarians variously from Numeria, Iobaria, or the River Kingdoms themselves." The mayor says to all of you then produces pieces of parchment which he delivers each of you.
“This is charter from the Lord Mayor of Restov granting license to explore and map the section of the Stolen Lands known as the Greenbelt, arriving at a small, remote trading post at the southern edge of rural Rostland. Similar charters have already been issue to three other groups, and they were set to explore different regions of the Stolen Lands. You were supposed to be the last group sent to the Green Belt, however due reasons” and when the mayor says reasons it’s clear on his face he’s most likely talking about something bothersome or irritating ”A second group has been granted the rights to explore the green belts as well. Because of that, another condition had to be added to this charter: The group which manages to settle the bandit problem from the green belts shall be granted full rights to create a settlement on the area.”
Timely, after saying this long piece, drinks are served.
He looks at everyone in your group and asks smiling: ”Any question?”
Vik steps forward, and with a graceful bow, speaks to the Mayor.
"Lord Mayor, first my thanks for the refreshments you had supplied for us. your generosity is greatly appreciated. I would like to ask, if I may, of this other group that was sent to the Greenbelt. Who are they? How long ago did they depart, or are they still here in the city? Finally are they a threat to us directly and if conflict should erupt will we be condoned for defending ourselves?"
He stops here, awaiting the response of the Mayor and any added questions by the rest of the group before he continues with more questions.
Rendyl’s predictions turned out to be true: dark clouds formed in the sky, and not much after, light rain started to fall down. The smell and sound of rain soon fills the place, and from outside the room, the frantic sounds of workers rushing to perform their job can be heard.
Tegan presses the palm of her hand to the window pane and peers outside. Only the knock at the door pulls Tegan away. She follows behind her companions and the worker into the Mayor’s office.
”Welcome. I’m Ioseph Sellemius. Please have a sit and let’s discuss business.” he says smiling and pointing to the table in the middle of the room.
Tegan takes a seat at the center table, holding her trident upright in one hand. She listens intently as Ioseph speaks, trying to memorize everything he says. When given the parchment, Tegan picks it up and begins reading it, mumbling aloud a few parts: ”…thirty-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post… …unlawful behavior… execution by sword or rope… ….authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne…”
Tegan look up from reading the decree. ”I- I’m sorry. Does this mean the group that was assigned to our area has two assigned areas?” Tegan looks the Mayor confused, trying to better understand the situation.
Who are they? How long ago did they depart, or are they still here in the city? Finally are they a threat to us directly and if conflict should erupt will we be condoned for defending ourselves?"
The Mayor ponders at the questions asked by Viklop, sighs then finally answers. ”They are, as far as I can tell subordinates of the daughter one of the local Sword Lords. I don’t need to say that this whole matter was insisted by this particular Lord. He demanded the chart to be given to his daughter, but we already had held the trials for your group and the best I could do was a compromise into our current agreement. Both groups shall be given equal chance, and the one that performs better, gets the right to settle down. ”
The mayor serves a good amount of whisky to himself and after taking a good mouthful, maybe to placate the irritation on thinking on the matter of the other sword lord, he continues ”I’ve just finished meeting with them, and they most likely are still in the city, as for violence, it shouldn’t happen, but if it does, I can only advice you to make sure you have proof, before making any claims to foul play from their part.”
”I- I’m sorry. Does this mean the group that was assigned to our area has two assigned areas?”
”Not really young lady, the other groups have been dispatched for some time now. The Green Belt is the last area to receive charters, and it’s more of an area receiving two charters than a charter receiving two areas.”
The lanky ranger was led from the room docilely, relieved at having the awkward, silent tension finally broken. By instinct he shuffled along until he was at the rear of the group, having at least something of an open space around himself. He ran his fingers through his mane of dark hair, trying to pull out the worst of the tangles before they meet this mayor person. Then perhaps this excruciating part of the deal could be over and they could move on to the good outdoorsy stuff he was keen on.
Rendyl accepted the paper from Sellemius with a quiet "Thank you...". He had been taught to read, but practiced only sparingly, so it took him a longer time to get through the text than the others. As the Lord Mayor offered the 'catch', the ranger's face drew into a tight smile. He was not surprised...these noble sorts were always trying to pit the common men against one another.
The young man thought Vik's question a good one, though the ranger had never really thought to ask to protect himself. He thought such things went without saying, but when the Lord Mayor offered a cautious reply, the ranger grimaced. Politics. Just then, his head snapped up. "My lord...which noble do you speak of?" Rendyl's jaw is clenched tight after his question. Surely there would be many such minor lords with daughters seeking the excitement of the reclamation of the Stolen Lands!
Tegan politely listens to the concerns and questions of her new companions. She flicks her dark eyes towards the various people in the room as they speak.
When there’s an opportunity, Tegan speaks up: ”I would like to write the occasional letter detailing our progress with the bandits. Who should I address my letters to?” Who decides which charter does the best job? I had assumed Ioseph was in charge… Regardless of the Mayor’s response, Tegan nods and promises to send the letters to the appropriate person.
Tegan isn't looking forward to the inevitable encounter with the other charter. She lowers her long lashes to stare down at her hands. When the other’s are ready to leave the Mayor’s office, Tegan suggests: ”Perhaps it would be best to get on our way.” And avoid this other charter while they’re in town. Tegan looks up towards the Lord Mayor and wets her lips before speaking: ”Where would be the best place for us to begin?” Tegan wonders how severe the bandit problem actually is.
After spending a grueling amount of time waiting to be seen by the Mayor and learning the land has been doubly assigned, Tegan is eager to leave. She leans on her trident as she rises from the chair. Tegan makes a small curtsy in the Lord Mayor’s direction, ”until we meet again,” and exits the office with the rest of the party.
----------------
“You were supposed to be the last group sent to the Green Belt, however due reasons” and ”A second group has been granted the rights to explore the green belts as well. Because of that, another condition had to be added to this charter: The group which manages to settle the bandit problem from the green belts shall be granted full rights to create a settlement on the area.”
The Mayor stares at nothing for a moment, then at his drinks, which he takes another mouthful, then at Rendyl and only then answers the question. ”They are but a minor house, but, I know not how, they’ve manage to secure support from none other than the First Swordlord herself, Jamandi Aldori.”
The Mayor opens his mouth to say something else when a knock on the door interrupts him. A worker enters and quickly walks to the Lord Mayor and after whispering something to Sellemius, the worker quickly departs.
”It seems that the last charter has just arrived.” he says nodding towards the door, and there, soaking wet in rain water, an elf.
But before the elf or any of the others present can as much say “hello” the mayor continues ”I have some urgent matters to attend to, I’ll leave you to explain your current situation to the newcomer.” He places yet another chart on the table. ”You may use this room for as long as you need to decide your next move.” He looks at Tegan and says ”There’s a trading post, Oleg’s, which has sent for help to deal with the bandits. It would make a good base of operations. I’ll also send a group of soldiers led by a Lieutenant named Kesten Garess. You might submit your letter to him, or you might send it directly to me.” with that, he bids you farewell and leave you to your own devices.
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Djebelle has been immersed in reading the Charter, fixated on the words "unrepentant banditry." Sarenrae is the goddess of forgiveness, and Djebelle indulges in a reverie of preaching the Dawnflower's word across the Greenbelt, of sobbing bandits laying down their arms and kneeling to receive her benediction...
(“Djebelle Tor!” Her mother's voice, again. “WHAT have I told you about daydreaming when you should be paying attention?!”)
With a guilty start, she refocuses on the present, doing her best to listen as the mayor explains about the unexpected second group.
Unfortunately she really hasn't been paying attention, and she's unable to glean anything from the little that she does hear. She does have a question, though: "Um, excuse me - you say the group that settles the bandit problem will be granted the rights - what counts as the problem being settled? How will you be able to tell that it's settled?" There's a LOT of bandits in the Stolen Lands, and the prospect of spending the rest of her life hunting them all down makes her heart sink.
There is of course a second question, about the charter being granted by the Surtova when this expedition is entirely in the interests of Restov - but some questions are simply too dangerous to ask.
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Tegan listens to Vik and Djebelle talk about swords, but seems more interested in the elf’s left leg. What happened to him, Tegan wonders. Eventually, Tegan decides to approach the elf. "The apples are good, aren't they?" Tegan finds a seat near Damiel and straightens the fabric of her blue dress. She feels frumpy with the nobles in the room, but her lovely face and hair are nothing of the sort.
As Tegan approaches and speaks, Damiel stands, "Yes Lady, quite good for this time of year" and he appears to relax somewhat, and the scowl on his face softens, just a bit. As she sits, he does so likewise, and continues to enjoy the provided food.
As Rendyl stays near the rear of the room, he finds a companion in Damiel who distances himself a bit from the group, and lets the others do the talking, for now. Smiling and nodding to the ranger, although the scowl soon reappears on his face, he listens to the conversation.
The look on the Mayors face gets Damiel to thinking, there is something bothering this man.
Rendyl shares a companionable grin with Damiel at the back of the room. It seemed that some of his new partners weren't the social sort. He could relate. As Djebelle asks her clarifying questions, the ranger nods appreciatively. Very good...it was much better to have things clarified and spelled out...that way the nobility would have less leeway to screw them over later.
After the Lord Mayor leaves the room, the young man's brow furrows at the man's evasive answer regarding the other party. No matter...if they were still in town, that meant this group could go ahead and leave and have a head start. From his place behind most of the group, he states, louder than intended. "So...on to Oleg's, then? Does anyone need provisions?"
His eyes drifted to the lovely woman in the dress (and perhaps lingered there a moment more than necessary)...then the Sarenite who couldn't quite manage to keep her scabbard out of the way of her own two legs, then the scowling elf with the limp. This was probably going to be a long trip. At least they'd be slow enough that the long-legged ranger could scout about and make sure the going was clear for these urban folks.
Vik again thanks the Lord Mayor for his hospitality and then turns to the others. Hearing Rendyl's question, he nods rather sheepishly.
"I have a horse in the stables and, well, this is all I own...now. I am ready to move on to this Oleg's Trading Post. As the name suggests we might be able to refresh our basic supplies there."
He then walks over to the newcomer and holds out his hand in welcome.
"Greetings, I am Viklop Kolavar, and welcome to our group of adventurers"
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There were few things Hylaen disliked more than being late. Well, being late and arriving during pouring rain was one of them. He had tried his best to make himself dry, but in comparison with the well furnished room and the warm fire, there was nothing he could do to make himself look acceptable, so he just had enough with fussing uncomfortably at the door and simply entered in silence, as the host finished talking. Looks were not Hylaen's forte anyway.
It was amazing Hylaen could be even recognized as an elf. His lithe and unusually short body was covered in layers and layers of clothing, turned heavy with rainwater. His face was hidden deep in the shadows created by a large brimmed hat. When said hat was removed, for politeness, it revealed a face covered by a plain wooden mask. Only his partially scarred mouth and chin were visible.
Hylaen stood there, awkwardly, hoping not all the eyes of the room were on him. "Hello" he said, simply. "My apologies. I was delayed..."
"Greetings, I am Viklop Kolavar, and welcome to our group of adventurers"
Hylaen smiled back at the friendly human. The tiniest of smiles, sure, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you very much, sir, hm, Viklop. I am Hylaen." He looked at the others. Oh introductions were always the worst. He was simply terrible at it.
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He places yet another chart on the table. ”You may use this room for as long as you need to decide your next move.”
Tegan studies the newcomer wrapped in layers of wet fabric. They must have gotten caught in the rain. ”Hello Hylaen. I’m Tegan,” she doesn’t curtsy but her demeanor is pleasant. After introductions are made, Tegan leans over the table to examine the chart the mayor laid on the table
Straightening, Tegan confides: ”Unfortunately, I didn’t plan as well as you all. I’m afraid I need to go shopping before we leave for Oleg’s.” Tegan’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and she looks away in embarrassment. ”On a positive note, perhaps we have a better idea of the supplies we’ll need.”
After Tegan’s confession, she turns all business: ”So you have a horse, Vik? Perhaps I should buy a wagon so we can travel to Oleg’s Trading Post faster?” Tegan makes a quick glance at Damiel’s leg. ”Does anyone else have a horse?”
Tegan promises to be quick as she makes a stop at the general store. Within ten minutes, she’s outside again.
Backpack = 2gp (2lbs)
Blanket = 5 sp (3lbs)
Ink = 8gp
Inkpen (1 = 1 sp) = 4 inkpens / 4sp
Parchment (1 sheet = 2sp) = 50 sheets / 1gp (1lb)
Sealing wax = 1gp (1lb)
Artisan’s Tools, common (for Tailoring) = 5gp (5lbs)
Trail Rations (1 day = 5sp 1lb) = 5 days / 25sp (5lbs)
Waterskin = 1gp (4lbs)
Flint and Steel = 1gp
Torches (1 = 1cp) = 5cp (5lbs)
"Teagan. A pleasure", he greeted politely from afar.
"Yes. Oleg's." Hylaen adds, distracted, looking at the parchment left on the table, then turns to the others, adding in a efficient tone of voice: "I have no horse, but I do have everything else, food and beverage included. We may leave whenever everyone is ready. There will be plenty of time on the road for me to catch up with what you all discussed here."
That's what I get for arriving late, thinks Hylaen, bitterly.
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Rendyl steps up briskly to the newcomer then, realizing his posture might be perceived as threatening, he forces a smile to his stubbled lips as he slowly extends a hand to the clothing-obscured newcomer. "Rendyl Millary. Nice to meet you, Hylaen." The ranger quickly stepped aside to make room for the others to introduce themselves.
At Tegan's words, the ranger smiles bemusedly at the young woman but says nothing, shaking his head at her equine question. It was unsurprising to the man that she should be relatively unprepared for a trek into the relative wilds. Still, she seemed eager and enthusiastic, so he doubted she'd be long.
As the group waits for anyone to get more supplies that might need them, Rendyl approaches Djebelle. "My lady, I mean, Djebelle, correct? I wonder if you will allow me to..." The ranger glances down at her belt and sheathe, raising an inquiring eyebrow. If she does not refuse, the young man reaches down, adjusting her belt and sheathe to where it rests a few inches back of its previous position. Now it rests against the left-side and back of her rump, the hilt extended far enough forward for her to grasp with ease, but out of the way of a steady gait.
He grins at the young woman, "I know that's not how they draw it in the art pieces in the uppity homes, but it's practical." He meets her eyes for a moment, then shyly looks away, walking over to study the map before they leave.
Straightening, Tegan confides: ”Unfortunately, I didn’t plan as well as you all. I’m afraid I need to go shopping before we leave for Oleg’s.” Tegan’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and she looks away in embarrassment. ”On a positive note, perhaps we have a better idea of the supplies we’ll need.”
Relief rises off Djebelle like steam - she's not alone in thinking that leaving right now is going to be tricky... or in not having a horse.
She's barely had time to appreciate this however when Rendyl approaches her. "What - oh! I see. Um, yes OK..." she trails off slightly dubiously as his hands adjust her belt, but he is scrupulous in his touch and the end result, she has to admit, is far better. "Thank you - I've had sword lessons, but I've never actually worn a scabbard before." Or armour - but she's definitely not about to let someone she's barely met inspect that.
She blushes slightly, and hastily turns to the newcomer. "So, Hylaen - what brings you to this meeting? And do you know Damiel?" She's definitely curious about what brings not one, but two, elves into Brevic politics - but perhaps that's another dangerous question.
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Turning to Hylaen, Damiel nods to the other elf in the group, thinking at least one that will live as long as I.
"Hylaen and I do not know each other, Lady. That would be like me asking you if you know every human in Brevic" replies Damiel to Djebelle.
"As far as supplies, I too need to buy rations and a waterskin. How far is this Oleg trading post? Also, I have no horse, but even with my leg, I would rather walk unless we absolutely have to travel great distances. As soon as we are provisioned, let us leave for this Oleg."
Rendyl's brow arches at the elf's prickly response to the young Sarenite. That and his scowl meant this one might not be the best camp-fellow of the bunch. The elf seemed to have seen some suffering, at least, with that leg as crippled as it was. He'd probably be less apt to complain than some of the others on this trip. And with several days on the road and the comradery of a campfire and the open wilderness, perhaps he would loosen up a bit.
To the others he remarks, "It's not too far away, if these maps are to be believed. About 25-30 leagues south, it seems. Three or four days travel, depending on pace." Though his tone is carefully neutral, it seems pretty clear from his demeanor that he believes the pace won't be cheetah-like. "I believe our path runs through a couple of settlements, if the map is to be believed. I don't know how old it might be or how large the villages are..."
As the others stop to make their purchases, the lanky ranger paces in front of the establishment they're in, like a caged animal. He is eager to be off, eager to get out of the city and back where he is comfortable. He had been too smitten to worry about it, but the smell of all the industry and cook-fires here polluted the air. Some time spent in nature's arms would do him good.
Hylaen greeted all that introduced themselves to him with the same distant politeness. With his expression hidden by the mask, and the hat back, he seemed even more detached. Hylaen was interested by the sour faced elf that would be traveling with him. So used he was to the life among humans, it would be interesting to have another of his kind around once more, for a change. And even if he was curt to Djebelle, more than Hylaen would have been, he had a good point.
"I was sent here by my master to accompany out to the green belt. I shalk do so." answered Hylaen to Djebelle, in a friendly manner. "I serve as an alchemist to house Orlovsky. Have done so for years. And apparently, will do so from a distance now," he added, smiling uncomfortably.
"I have no horse, but even with my leg, I would rather walk unless we absolutely have to travel great distances."
Tegan decides to purchase a and neatly saddles the animal with all of her purchases. "There you are, Milo," Tegan coos as she feed him a carrot. "You're going to carry my stuff for me to the trading post." She speaks softly to the Milo as she pets his mane. Milo has a brown coat with a black tail.
Backpack = 2gp (2lbs)
Blanket = 5 sp (3lbs)
Ink = 8gp
Inkpen (1 = 1 sp) = 4 inkpens / 4sp
Parchment (1 sheet = 2sp) = 50 sheets / 1gp (1lb)
Sealing wax = 1gp (1lb)
Artisan’s Tools, Masterwork = 55gp (5lbs)
Trail Rations (1 day = 5sp 1lb) = 5 days / 25sp (5lbs)
Waterskin = 1gp (4lbs)
Flint and Steel = 1gp
Torches (1 = 1cp) = 5cp (5lbs)
Mule = 8gp
Saddlebags = 4gp, 8lbs
Feed (5cp/day,. 10lbs) = 15cp, 30lbs (3 days)
Tegan holds her trident in one hand and Milo's bridle in the other. "I'm ready to go." Tegan looks around, anxious her father or sister may suddenly appear. No. No, there isn't any reason for them to be here. Tegan tries to not feel guilty about leaving her family.
Tegan watches Rendyl's tall form as he paces, waiting for the others to finish. She has to look away out of temptation of wanting to start pacing herself. Let's leave this city already. Tegan maintains a ladylike posture as she stands patiently next to her her pet. Milo flares his snout near the pockets of Tegans' apron, sniffing for more crunchy snacks.
"I was sent here by my master to accompany out to the green belt. I shalk do so." answered Hylaen to Djebelle, in a friendly manner. "I serve as an alchemist to house Orlovsky. Have done so for years. And apparently, will do so from a distance now," he added, smiling uncomfortably.
His... master? That sounds unpleasant. Tegan keeps her beliefs on independence to herself.
As Hylaen explains why he is here, Damiel looks questioning at him, trying to decide if he heard an accent in the speech and if so, what kind.
The Mayor leaves the room, leaving unanswered questions, more than just the one presented by Djbelle.
The rain that started falling when they were inside the building didn’t last long, and not long after, the city was buzzing again with activity and life.
After a brief introduction, the group of newly met adventures leaves the city hall towards the market, to finish their supplies for the upcoming trek.
Looking over the party, Vik dismounts and walks along with the others.
"Glad the rain stopped. Usually I love the rain...but when travelling it gets old...fast!"
He motions to his horse.
"Anyone needing a lift please feel free to hop on. Elmo would not mind in the lease."
A nobleman's watchdog...perfect. Rendyl isn't overly concerned about Hylaen's proclamation...the ranger certainly wasn't going to do anything illegal or against the charter. Something about how the elf had said it made Rendyl believe the relationship between the man and his 'master' might be strained. Yet another person in the group running from the past.
The ranger makes a point to pat both the new mule and Vik's horse on the flank, whispering to the animals as he caressed them. Vik made a good point, though the brief shower had left the air smelling fresh, free of the stifling smell of the city for all too short a time. After it seemed that everyone had made what purchases they intended, the ranger said, "Shall we be off, then? It would be nice for the other group to arrive to be told that we had already claimed the full charter."
With a smile the young man turned about, long strides starting to take him out of the city. Inside, he was concerned. He had never really harmed another person, let alone milled them. He hoped that his hand was steady, if and when the time came.
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The travel to Oleg’s Trading post is uneventful except for one particular night, when during the late hours, the bushes near the campsite rustle suggestively, but after a few minutes, a badger, accompanied by its young, emerges and wanders off, offering no real danger to the party. It doesn’t rain anymore. You meet few travellers on the road, and you areyou attacked by any wild beast or bandit.
The long days of travel were ending; Oleg’s was the resting place in the merchant’s road. The sun always threatening to hide behind the mountains cast its dying light over the hills and the nearby trees. In the dusk, the walking travelers approach the fortified trading post.
Oleg’s Trading Post is located at the southern edge of Rostland (and thus Brevoy). To the south, the green line of the Narlmarches looms only a few miles away. Oleg’s trading post is surrounded by a wooden palisade that stands 10 feet high. At each corner of the palisade are 20-foot- square watchtowers, each armed with a run-down catapult left over from the site’s original use as a border fort. These catapults seem to be in no condition to be fired. There’s one entrance through the palisade—a 30-foot-wide wooden gate.
The travel to Oleg’s Trading post is uneventful except for one particular night, when during the late hours, the bushes near the campsite rustle suggestively, but after a few minutes, a badger, accompanied by its young, emerges and wanders off, offering no real danger to the party.
Tegan rises from the warmth of her bedroll upon hearing rustling foliage. The light of the campfire illuminates Tegan's pretty face wrought with unease. She reaches to place a hand on her trident, meeting the gazes of her companions. When the mother badger appears with her young in tow, Tegan can't help but sigh with relief. She smiles at the parade of cubs following after their mother. Tegan remains as still as possible to avoid alarming the animals. When the visitors have moved out of sight, Tegan settles back down underneath her blanket and bedroll. That was a cute way to end the night.
Oleg’s trading post is surrounded by a wooden palisade that stands 10 feet high. At each corner of the palisade are 20-foot- square watchtowers, each armed with a run-down catapult left over from the site’s original use as a border fort. These catapults seem to be in no condition to be fired. There’s one entrance through the palisade—a 30-foot-wide wooden gate.
What an entrance. Tegan stares up at the wooden gate, wondering why it was made to be so wide. Tegan thinks the structure could be a formidable stronghold if given some repair and a few archers. What are we supposed to do? Knock? Tegan's feet ache from walking all day and her stomach rumbles. "H-Hello? After such a long journey, Tegan feels unsure of the destination.
"Hylaen and I do not know each other, Lady. That would be like me asking you if you know every human in Brevic" replies Damiel to Djebelle.
It seems so obvious once he points it out. "Oh. Oh yes."
Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt.
She looks relieved as the others express a preference for walking. She purchases a few more days' worth of trail rations and gathers her belongings together. Everything she owns, she can carry on her back. A slightly depressing thought.
...
Djebelle stares at the slightly run-down fort in dismay - it's so obviously in a state of disrepair. She looks at it closely, trying to see if anything is out of the ordinary.
As Tegan calls out, Djebelle moves to the front of the group, flourishing her Sarenite holy symbol, hoping the implication is clear: we come in peace.
Rendyl looks at the run down walls and the war machines on the towers in their obvious state of disrepair and thought that this trading post was perfectly indicative of the wild Green Belt. A former bastion of civilization, clinging to some semblance of order as nature and its agent, entropy, slowly but surely weathered it away. The green partition of the Narlmarches beckoned to the young man, but the group needed to replenish and probably speak to this Oleg.
After the long day's march Rendyl admits to himself that the prospect of sleeping indoors does sound rather appealing. You've grown soft with all that pampering. As Tegan calls out timidly for Oleg and Djebelle steps forward, her symbol of the Dawnflower prominently displayed, the ranger simply walks up to the wide gate and gives it a few good pounds with his gauntleted fist. He then backs up a few paces to where the Sarenite stands and then another couple further. He thought it prudent that the first faces this Oleg should see were the lovely faces of his female companions, not a gruff young man who would probably remind Oleg of the bandits around here. Yes...Rendyl would take the opportunity presented here to engage in a bit of self-grooming, and not just for the young women's sake!
During the trip, Damiel keeps close watch on his companions. He sees that the ranger is well at home on the road and close to the land. Both women seem competent, though the one in the blue dress seems out of her element, while the horse riding sword lord seems quiet. The new member of the team seems like he keeps to himself all the time, even more then I do he thinks.
After a few days, and the badger incident, Damiel scowl is less noticeable, and he is more open and friendly to the group.
Upon arriving at the fort, Damiel looks at the condition of the walls, turrets and the parts of the catapult that he can see. Hoping that Rendyl and he would be given the opportunity to peek into the place before approaching the gate, he is not surprised that the young ladies impulsively, to him, move up and announce themselves. He moves back with Rendyl, ready to cover the companions in case bad things happen.
Now that he is actually out of the city and travelling towards their destination, Vik begins to feel the nagging doubts return. It was only by calling in every debt owed to him that he was able to get onto this mission, and now he was having doubts about his usefulness.
No! Down that road leads only to trouble. You were trained by one of the best and you will reclaim your families heritage.
With that internal turmoil sorted out, he begins to relax and take in more of the trip and his companions.
Watching the others call out and bang on the door, Vik mounts his horse and scans the walls.
Perception:
The somber resentment that followed Hylaen everywhere continued with him on the way to Oleg's. Never very sociable to begin with, the prospects of traveling with soldiers of fortune was never appealing for Hylaen. He was pleasantly surprised however with their efficiency and demeanor. He left them alone, he was left alone. A fine arrangement.
It wouldn't last, he knew. Not if they were really to work together in the future. Hylaen thought anxiously about that during the nights, laying far from the others, as he finally put down the mask, under the cover of darkness.
A rustle in the bushes made Hylaen jump out of his bedroll, fumbling for the closest of his flasks. As the badger and her family passed by, Hylaen let out a nervous laugh. The poor animal had no idea how close it got to get burnt to a crisp. His silly overreaction was at least something to laugh about with the others, even if it was somewhat embarrassing. So began Hylaen's attempt at socializing.
By the end of the sixth day, Hylaen remained his quiet self, his face still well hidden, but he no longer walked apart from everyone or fussed awkwardly every time word was directed to him. It might not seem much to most, but if anyone truly knew Hylaen, they would realize even that little meant significant progress.
Hylaen stood in the back of the group, watching. Tegan should have called attention of someone beyond the wall, so nothing to do but wait. "Better to announce our intent? he suggested aloud. Hylaen knew perfectly he had no business being the spokesman for any decent group.
At Tegan’s call, Damiel hear voices inside the old fort, but is unable to understand what’s being said. A short moment later, the door slowly opens revealing about a dozen men and women, scrambling about loading supplies into a wagon just inside the outer wall. They look well-travelled and keep their hands on their weapons as you approach.
There’s a lot of tension everywhere and something seems strange.
Two people, one man and a woman, the only one's without weapons are furious, but trying very hard to hide it. They have outward smiles.
For those that make their way of studying people behavior, it’s a fact to you that this is a robbery of some kind.
A brutish man with an unkempt beard, the one who opened the gate, looks up to Tegan. A longbow is held idly in one hand. "Hey little girl. What is a tasty morsel like yourself doing so far out here." He doesn't wait for an answer and calls out to those following, "how much for a taste guys! I'm willing to rent!"
The others put down their various burdens and a wave of light laughter rolls across the collected.
The man turns back to Tegan, "Just kidding, kid. I'm not the kind to dip the wick in another man's wax." He grins a greasy smile. "Unless, of course, you ask nicely."