"Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Calistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne."
Well, that's what the charter the reeve gave the group said. Exploring the unknown, putting wrongs to right. All stuff to stir the blood of anyone with ambition and talent.
The reality is somewhat less exciting. A tramp on foot from Restov to Oleg's Trading Post, where the track finally petered out. A hamlet so insignificant that all it really comprises is the titular establishment and a few mean hovels where colonists try to beat back the encroaching wilderness and farm; the incessant pitter-patter of the rain; water and mud soaking into every pore; surly and disgruntled peasants looking on in dumb insolence.
These are the things from which greatness is born.
Or something.
On the way out to Oleg's Hasren will have made the trip a bit easier, pulling out his flute & piping various merry tunes that lightened steps & made the miles melt away. Along the way he will also have attempted to converse with each of the other members about their reasons for participating in the expedition and what they hope to get out of it. Whenever the conversation lagged, he'd give it a moment to start back up & if nothing seemed forthcoming, he'd start up another tune on his flute.
Gazes about the place, then;
"is this an.....outlier of....Oleg's City?"
sneezes from the hay fever.
As the group approaches Oleg's he'll call out "Ho! In the hamlet! Weary traveler's approach! Have you a dry roof & a warm hearth for us? Hearty food & strong spirits would be well appreciated!"
Hearing Aleph's comment, Hasren chuckles, claps Aleph on the shoulder and says "I'm afraid this is it my friend... THIS" gestures toward the hamlet "is civilization here on the borderlands. I'm sure it will grow on you!"
"This is the kind of place where it is possible to start anew." Though Heimoth has marched the whole way from Restov in his platemail, he's barely sweaty. "Smash some brigand heads, chase away some monsters, then break new land. Once you get used to the bugs, it'll be great."
"....bugs...i dont know why, but....i thought they were particular merely to city's squalor, as if gathering enough squares of brick rabbit hutches together conjured them..."
rubs his shoulder where the bawdy get of Gunnarr crushed it with one pale, gossamer hand.
;P
Marc smoothed his immaculately coiffed goatee.
"Yes. Well, Civilization may be lacking. But at least we can bring a touch of class to this poor, benighted, backwoods outpost." He says with a smile, flipping a loose lock of hair back over his shoulder.
rubs his shoulder where the bawdy get of Gunnarr crushed it with one pale, gossamer hand.
*notices Aleph rubbing his shoulder*
"Sorry about that Aleph! I'm blessed with none of my mother's grace, nor of her deft hands. I can be a bit clumsy. Did I hurt you?"*Hasren looks concerned*
Marc smoothed his immaculately coiffed goatee."Yes. Well, Civilization may be lacking. But at least we can bring a touch of class to this poor, benighted, backwoods outpost." He says with a smile, flipping a loose lock of hair back over his shoulder.
"Master Wyvernspur. I hope that's a jest. If not, that attitude is likely to ruffle feathers and make folks unhelpful. Folks hereabouts appreciate you respecting their ways more than they do you expecting them to respect yours. It's part of the reason they're out here rather than in places like where you're more accustomed. I've seen a few fellows make that mistake, and I'd prefer not to suffer for it."
"Class or no, I'm itchin' to set foot under somethin' warm and solid to dry out for a spell. Hey, Heimoth, how much gold to make ya willin' to give me that fine loppy hat a' yours?"
"And i reckon i thought we had big biteme's back on the farm… these suckers are likely to suck me dry."
Quinn stands silently at the gate - or whatever passes for one - at Olegs, his copy of the charter gripped in one hand. Looking over the official edict from Brevoy, he comes to the realization that this piece of paper is the symbol of his new life. A life of purpose beyond advancing the aspirations of his family name.
He looks out over the wilderness they have been hired to explore, and the openess of it all fills him with elation. He smiles under his mask at the banter of his new-found friends.
'This will be interesting.' He thinks to himself.
He takes one last look out across the landscape before turning to join the group as they enter the compound, the charter folded neatly under his clothes.
*dot*
:S
"Master Wyvernspur. I hope that's a jest. If not, that attitude is likely to ruffle feathers and make folks unhelpful. Folks hereabouts appreciate you respecting their ways more than they do you expecting them to respect yours. It's part of the reason they're out here rather than in places like where you're more accustomed. I've seen a few fellows make that mistake, and I'd prefer not to suffer for it."
Marc arches a thin, meticulously plucked eyebrow, but his smile is like a sunbeam of warmth on a cold rainy day.
"Of course Hasren!" The thin dandy replies as if they are old friends, and not just met a brief few days ago.
"Have no fear! I am fully aware that not everyone is blessed to have been born into providence as I was, AND that I am fully aware that I can be,... overly impressed with both my aristocratic upbringing, and my own cleverness. It is one of my few faults, and the primary reason I decided to join this expedition was to see new parts of the world and open new avenues of exploration for my own life as well as for the throne!" He declares with apparent sincerity.
"And worry not about me unduly upsetting those we have been sent here to aid. As you may have noticed, I can be most eloquent when I put my mind to it. And I am perfectly willing to compromise my personal feelings for the greater benefit of all." He says with his hand over his heart.
"Especially when they see things my way,..." He adds with a tiny smirk, ALMOST under his breath.
;P
:S
Marc says a bunch of stuff in response to Hasren's comment.
"Fair enough. I figured I should say something lest we find ourselves lodging in a leaky stable, being served trail rations and catch-water. If this rain keeps up, a modest dry roof & a warm hearth will seem a palace compared to the alternatives."
:S
Marc looks wistful at the mention of 'palaces', but grins at Hasren.
"Well! I don't know about you, but I made the mistake of buying new boots RIGHT before this trip! They are now well-broken in, but so, unfortunately, are my feet! I shall be happy to accompany you to whatever version of a palace currently await us after our well-watered walk!" The dandy smiles and makes a grand 'after you' gesture.
EDIT-
"Class or no, I'm itchin' to set foot under somethin' warm and solid to dry out for a spell. Hey, Heimoth, how much gold to make ya willin' to give me that fine loppy hat a' yours?"
"If you're willing to pay me in gold for this hat, you mst be truly desperate. I thik I'll hang on to it a bit longer, just to drive the price up." Heimoth grins. "But, seriously, if Oleg doesn't sell bug hats, what the hell does he sell? Let's go say hi to the proprietor, shall we?"
"Heh… after this long, wet haul, you could prob'ly fetch a fair sum. I'm of a similar mind, though… let's get on with it. Get out of this weather, anyhow."
The tall youth's grey eyes drift back down to take a notice at the comings and goings of the village folk. If it weren't for the large sword strapped across his back, one could almost take him for one of the village's own.
I wonder why they're so upset, he wonders to himself. An affect of the rain? Seems silly to let the weather get you down, though I guess I wouldn't blame them if it's always this way.
well, I.....like the fact that.....you can smell green grass AND...horse shit here, instead....of just horse shit and....other sorts of shit like....in the city....
sneezes; digs in his adventuring kit for his handkerchief; allready sopping wet due to the hay fever...
"Heh… after this long, wet haul, you could prob'ly fetch a fair sum. I'm of a similar mind, though… let's get on with it. Get out of this weather, anyhow."
"Aye! I look forward to drying off & warming my bones with a good stiff drink. Hasren makes his way over to what he thinks must be Oleg's Trading Post. If this should bring him near one of the peasants, he'll ask if he's headed in the right direction to get to Oleg's.
The trade post looks like a small fort. A palisade wall of logs driven upright into the ground surrounds it with four towers at each corner. On each of the towers squats a catapult. A stout wooden gate sits open and inside is a collection of buildings, mostly single storey and built from wattle-and-daub. A well sits in the middle of a muddy court.
One in particular looks like the trader’s main residence. A column of blue-grey wood smoke rises from a chimney and a stack of logs sit outside the door. A woman in her thirties, dressed in homespun and an apron, is busy washing clothes in a wooden tub on the front step, scraping them vigorously in the suds against a washboard. She looks up as the party walks in, brushing back a few stray blonde hairs not captured by her bun, and smiles delighted. Turning, she calls back in through the open door.
“Oleg, the men they said they were sending – they’re here!” She stands up and wipes her hands on her apron before stepping forward to greet the new arrivals. “Hello, welcome to Oleg’s Trade Post,” she says, curtsying politely. “I’m Svetlana.”
A middle aged man emerges from the house and stands on the step, giving the group an appraising, vaguely hostile look. He crosses his beefy arms, the dark hair cladding them revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, and a developing paunch struggles with his faded dungarees. He makes no immediate move to greet the arriving heroes.
EDIT
to change Avatar... i was doing that thing to get the dot as the guys noted before
After taking a hard look at the fort, Thom's face takes on a look of doubt as he mutters under his breath (just loud enough to carry to the rest of the group) "Is it just me, or do all them logs in the fort look just 'bout rotted out? I mean, I ain't no military man, but even them catapults look pretty broken down. Would they even work in that condition?"
Marc smoothes his goatee once more, and mutters a response behind his hand.
"It seems there is a reason they asked for help. This place looks worse than our house after one of mom's famous parties!" He says softly.
The dandy then raises his arm in greeting, grinning as if being welcomed home a hero.
"Greetings fair lady! A pleasure to make your acquaintance lady Svetlana! And this must be the famous Oleg! Greetings to you sir, from both the throne and our little weary company!" Marc calls out, giving a little half-bow.
1d20+10
The passive perception score is what Aubrey uses to figure what we notice when we're not actively "looking" at something.
1d20+10
The passive perception score is what Aubrey uses to figure what we notice when we're not actively "looking" at something.
1d20+7
Quinn looks around at the squalid trading post, knowing that it isn't "if", but "when" trouble comes looking for this place.
"The best way to stay out of trouble is to stay ready for it." His father would say. Oleg certainly didn't appear to have talked to Quinn's father.
perception
huh. wood walls.....are supposed to repel....attackers how?
Also keeping his tone low... "I don't think the palisade's quite that bad yet, but without a garrison to maintain it, I don't think these fortifications will hold out long-term. And it doesn't really matter what shape these catapults are in if there aren't men enough to man them. If it's just these two here, it's a wonder this place isn't already some bandit king's lair!"
Loud & clear "And hello to you good lady Svetlana!" *Nods to Oleg* "Good to meet you Master Oleg."
"Might there be a place for us to get out of the rain?"
Also keeping his tone low... "I don't think the palisade's quite that bad yet, but without a garrison to maintain it, I don't think these fortifications will hold out long-term. And it doesn't really matter what shape these catapults are in if there aren't men enough to man them. If it's just these two here, it's a wonder this place isn't already some bandit king's lair!"
Quinn looks over at Hasren as he speaks, nodding his head in agreement.
"And if you folks have a place to lodge us, I think I could use the rest. I'm not feeling quite myself..."
"Oh, really, it's not trouble." Svetlana turns to her husband. "See, the Duke sent the men."
Turning back, she invites the party into the house and sits them down at the table. She then begins doling out stew with crusty bread for the footsore travellers while chattering. Oleg continues to glower at the periphery.
"It she such good news that you have come to help us, as we requested," says Svetlana, "I wasn't sure the message would get through."
Marc gratefully accepts a seat, stretching his sore legs. He smiles in gratitude as she begins to serve the stew. He sniffs the hot stew, and gives a sigh of satisfaction.
"It's such good news that you have come to help us, as we requested," says Svetlana, "I wasn't sure the message would get through."
"Why, what do you mean Lady Svetlana? Exactly what kind of trouble have you been having here?" Marc asks with a raised eyebrow as he breaks off a chunk of crusty bread and prepares to dip it into the soup.
"The bandits. You were sent to deal with the bandits, weren't you? By the Duke?"
"We were indeed. Please tell us more about your bandit problem."
"We were indeed. Please tell us more about your bandit problem."
"Aye! Please do! We'll need to know as much as you can tell us if we're to deal with the rascals properly!"
Relieved to finally get to get off his feet, Thom offers a hand and a polite smile to Master Oleg on the way inside… the effect slightly ruined by the crooked scar running vertically from hairline to jaw on the right side of his face. There, a polite word on the way in, Sister Andra would be proud.
Seeing the warm food awaiting him, he eagerly finds a seat and begins to sit while responding, "I think that's just a j--acccckkkk!" His greatsword thumps into the floor, the strap choking him as he takes his seat without accounting for the length of metal on his back. A few moments of fumbling with the strap finally find him freed, and he embarrassedly mumbles, "just his joke. He has often has a strange sense of humor." Gingerly he leans the long weapon against the table, not realizing it's probably poor manners to prop his weapon there.
At least i think it's a joke, he thinks as he blows on his first bite of soup, i can never really tell.
"What kinda trouble you been havin', ma'am?"
Reaching down carefully to make sure he doesn't make any more of a scene with the weapon, he pulls out the writ he'd carefully stowed in his pack for the trip and offers it to Master Oleg or the friendly Svetlana, whomever chooses to take it.
Wherever the door is, Aleph sits facing it.
He doesn't like the door to even be in his peripheral vision.
He wants to sit in the corner, preferably one without a window next to him.
And eat his stew.
"ma'am, can you tell us about your bandit problem? How many? Human? Orc?......where they hide? That sort of thing....what they're up to? Larceny? Or....murderousness...."
"The bandits. You were sent to deal with the bandits, weren't you? By the Duke?"
Marc smiles, (which threatens to become out right laughter as the skinny lad almost strangles on his large sword baldric, but he manages to turn it into a wide grin.)
"Indeed madam! It is details we are most sorely lacking I'm afraid. As the gentlemen say, please tell us what kind of trouble they have been giving you. Any and all details will be most appreciated, so we can determine how best to deal with them." He says pleasantly, as if discussing pleasantries over tea. However, his jaw clenched upon Svetlana's mention of the bandits. And it still hasn't relaxed.
"They first came three months ago. They... threatened us, and took our month's stock. They then came back the following month, and the month after that. The first time they came in force, but as we haven't resisted they have come in fewer numbers. They're led by a woman. She was horrible...." Svetlana trails off.
"She took Svetlana's wedding ring, threatened to take her with them for her men," growls Oleg for the first time. "I would have fought them, but..." He balls his fists in frustration.
"They would have killed you, dear. I want you to stay alive." Svetlana turns back to the party. "And now the Duke has sent his men to deal with them."
Marc's countenance turns dark as Svetlana tells of the bandits.
"Filthy Mongrels." He growls under his breath. Then he smiles reassuringly to Svetlana and Oleg.
"You did the right thing sir! As so far you have suffered nothing worse than thievery and threats. It is, in my humble opinion, always better to live. Then you can return to deal with the situation once the status quo has shifted." He holds out his hands, indicating the group around the table. "And here we are!" He smiles. "Rest assured madam, we shall endeavor to find and return your wedding ring soon!"
"Now, what can you tell us about these bandits? How many have been showing up to collect their 'payments'? You mentioned that they come once a month? So when do you expect them again, how long do we have to prepare a proper reception for them?"
"You say that they are led by a woman?!? Extraordinary. I would imagine that it takes a forceful personality to lead a bunch of rough and tumble cutthroats! What can you tell us about her?" Marc's eyes flash as he leans forward, and you can't help but wonder if his interest is entirely 'professional'.
Thom nods in grim agreement to Marc's assessment, an edge entering his eyes at the mention of the threats and thefts.
"I guess there's no rest for our weary boots, then." he says, idly rubbing his right thumb along the length of his facial scar, his stew all but forgotten, "But I guess when the fields are ready for harvest, ya work'em. D'ya'll know where these bullies call home?"
"And they ain't gonna like it much when we do stand up to 'em. Should we be preparin' this place to be more defensible than it is now? It don't look like it'd take but a stiff breeze to bring some of these walls down. It'd be a shame to get one a' these nice folk hurt if we can keep'em from it."
With that Thom looks around the room, seeing if anyone has something to add to the conversation. "Any thoughts?"