Willas carefully tucks his glasses in a hidden pocket in his shirt before he sits down. Strangely, he takes a few looks around first, as if to ensure that no one else sees the hiding spot. He immediately pulls them out to clean them off with a soft cloth from the same pocket, then returns them. "Yes, Absalom received word from you and sent out the assignment. As you can imagine, Galt is not the most stable of lodges," he says with a finger swiping across his neck, "so I leapt at the chance. Especially with the opportunity to explore ancient ruins."
He takes out a ledger and a self-inking magical quill and looks at Verik intently. "There is an identical quill and journal in the Great Lodge in Absalom. It will write all that I write here and now, saving the time and risk of returning the Chronicles to Absalom in person. Isn't that fantastic? Now, tell me all that you know of this tower - for posterity." The quill stands poised in front of the paper, quivering in Willas's grip to learn more.
"Hmmm?" is Berrin's first reply to Aylene as he tears his eyes from the temple on the hill to gaze amiably at his soon-to-be wife as his brain processes what she just said. Going from a scowl to a big grin he rumbles a laugh at her joking seriousness, Berrin had no intention of dishonoring anything. "But we're not married yet, are we, hmmm?" he teases, "Seems a man can do as he pleases then! 'Till he's said the vows and tied the knot, hmm?"
Drawing a slap on his shoulder and an indignant look from Aylene Berrin rumbles more laughter at the play, spurring Valnyr on as Aylene rides a bit from his side in a huff. "Oh, come now! Don't be cross at me, you know how I hate it when you're cross. The darn rug is cold even at the best of times." he says with a snicker, leaning in to speak the word to her alone. "But no, Aylen. I would not." he says earnestly, drawing her stare. "Nor am I one to share you neither." he adds, drawing a sharp look that threatens to begin a row in the streets. But stopping herself Aylene looks away and giving Berrin a stiff nod, relaxes.
"I'm anxious as well, dear." Berrin says to her. "Meeting all of those nobles in their nests, can't say I'm looking forward to it. Just want to get this over so's we can get back to Sanctuary and marry already." he continues, confiding in her as he's found himself dooing more and more as they've gotten to know each other better. Berrin was never one to hide his heart, a trait Aylene appreciated and one she shared.
Looking around the buildings and watching the faces he wondered if he'd recognize anyone, god's knew he'd downed a few pints here and made some who'd call him friend at the time as he'd done the odd job of bouncing and reminding people that their debt was due, a friend of convenience no doubt. Having a large man to call your friend in the shadier casinos and taverns had served someone well, Berrin was sure, but he himself didn't remember a single one himself. The time had been in a haze and his memory of this time was dominated by Alda, dead now if Alexey was to be believed, and Melissa, dead by his word as well, and the strangling of Alexey Surtova so no, he didn't look forward to meeting the bastards father and ask him to be let into his little secret clubhouse called nobility.
'House Myrdal!' Berrin couldn't help but smile at the notion. 'Wonder what pop would say to that.' he'd have to remember to write his mom if this thing got pushed through, though honestly Berrin would believe it when he saw it. This was all a bit surreal to the big warrior. Sure, he'd earned his place as a Newhaven founder, and he'd sufficed as Steward in Jemini's absence and he knew he was doing excellent work, as money permitted, with the army, which with the booming economy lately, looked to be rising on the list of importance for the realm, so he might be getting more too do there, but being formally recognized as a lord? Well, that was taking things a bit far in Berrin's mind but hells, he enjoyed the perks so, if they thought this would pull through, Berrin was game.
Besides, Berrin hardly recognized himself in the mirror these days, how the hells was any drunkard going to do it either. And with that on his mind Berrin sits a little straighter in his saddle, riding Valnyr, his excellent warhorse, alongside Aylene, his beautiful would-be-bride, riding toward the Ruby Keep to meet the man who's son he strangled.
”Remarkable…” is all that Verik can manage as he leans forward and peers at both the journal and the enchanted quill, a slight smile of wonder upon his face. Straight to Absalom and their Great Lodge! What a wonder! Now why cannot we Abadarians manage such a means of correspondence between the Banks? Hmm…well perhaps we already do but my paltry domain doesn’t rate for such a wonder, but perhaps one day…
Verik straightens back up and clasps his hands together upon the table, sizing up the Pathfinder across from him. ”That is all very well and good Pathfinder Gunderson, and in principle I do find that the saying of my brethren ’This can help us all.’ clearly applies to this situation.” He raises a hand in a show of pious protest. ”However, before we go any further I have several requirements, four in fact, lest I be remiss in my duties as both a Founder of this fledgling realm and as an Abadarian that strives for fair dealings in all things of value.”
”Firstly, I must have some verification of your authenticity as a Pathfinder in good standing with your Society, and that you are here for the purposes you are expressly stating.” He nods respectfully and adds, ”My apologies for the request but it is non-negotiable – in the past year alone we have had two…ahh…situations where individuals were not whom they claimed, with malevolent consequences to us in both cases…” That was understated…poor Corwin… "…I am open to the means by which you prove your claim to me, though if you have not an expedient way of doing so I can cast a Truthtelling prayer to achieve it if you prefer.”
Servants arrive with both tea and wine, along with a small platter of rye bread and goat cheese for the pair. Verik suspends any serious talk and takes on an amenable tone for the servants. ”Ahh excellent, thank you, I shall pour tea for myself. The Brevic style of bread and cheese is strong but fresh and has a fine taste, even if a bit biting at times. Good with their smoked or pickled fish from the lakes.”
After the servants leave and close the door, he continues on. ”Once my first condition is met, I have three other stipulations to obtain fair price for the value of the information you seek.” He holds up each finger in turn. ”First, I request that no objects or relics be removed from the ruins without full disclosure and agreement by me beforehand. Second, I request a copy of your full findings to your Society after your investigations are concluded - particularly if you find any sort of threat that could harm our people in these lands. Lastly, I require a ‘donation’ of suitable manuscripts to my library that would illuminate our understanding of these so-called ‘Stolen Lands’ and their history. Say, tomes or treatises under Pathfinder control that cover the Cyclops ‘Empire’ of Koloran and their noted rulers, the role of the dwarves of Tar Tagaaradth in their downfall, and anything covering Iobaria and their customs of conquest from Choral’s time to present-day. In fact, I am keenly interested in any lore of Iobarian tribes where use of obsidian in their weaponry is documented. Copies of these works is more than sufficient – I would not be suggesting originals of course!”
With a sip of tea he inquires, ”Will you accept my bargain on these three points, Pathfinder Gunderson? In return, I shall not only offer my full support of your mission, but agree to make available any ‘reasonable’ request for provisions, equipment or other resources that would make your efforts a success here.”
Nikolai sits in his sparse room. Alone. Morose. Longing in a way for the days that he could drink until the world faded from him. Thinking of his sins, of which there are so many. Thinking of the fate of his cousin Viktor, burned alive by Choral. Wondering why he told no one what he heard, not even Jemini. Dreaming of vengeance against Choral. Of his own future.
A dark whisper floats across the room, through the air like a feather. 'Nikolai...' He stands and whirls around, grabbing the blade he no longer lets out of his reach. Nikolai cannot tell the source of the whisper, which echoes through his room. He wonders - and not for the first time - if he has lost his mind.
From behind him, the whisper begins again. 'Stag Lord...' He whirls around holding the sword with both hands. He is shocked to see Tandlara standing before him. The elf stares at him intently from mere feet away with that same intense, hateful stare. He recalls their last true meeting. She didn't say much to him when he and Jemini returned to life, and he was relieved to hear that she was comatose. Nikolai's most vivid memory of Tandlara floats before his eyes - when she stripped him of his eyes.
His blade is thick with blood. Spirits of those he has killed whip around him, judging him with dead eyes. His lieutenant Akiros swings his blade despite having his sight taken by the witch, clashing blades with Berrin. The Surtova bastard lays grievously injured at his feet. His sword plunges into Jemini's stomach as his great strength pushes it to the hilt. He locks eyes with her for a moment as she dies. His rage and her serene acceptance meet as she maintains a hold of his blade, keeping him from bringing it down upon the young man behind him. As Berrin charges and stabs him through the chest, the Stag Lord sees Tandlara fall to the ground. He feels her dark magic wash over him, trying to take his vision, but he is too strong. These lands are his. Then another wave of dark power rushes towards him. He sees her hatred, her rage, her sorrow - and it dwarfs his own. It is the last thing he sees, as blackness takes his vision.
The figure that stands before him is not quite the same. Nikolai can see the wall behind her, through her translucent figure. She looks at him with eyes filled with distrust and even hate. "Nikolai Rogarvia, the Stag Lord," she repeats with a hiss from her elven accent.
Willas Gunderson nods at each of the requests and dutifully writes the request in his journal with his magical quill. He pulls a long tube that looks like a massively oversized scroll case from his pack and opens it on one end. "I heard a rumor about a doppelganger throwing your city into turmoil last year. I'd love to interview you about that. I presented a paper last year about the potential of Galtan nobility being primarily comprised of doppelgangers utilizing illusion magic to eliminate rivals while slipping into new identities. While I felt that the argument was compelling and well-researched, it was not well-received. Alas. Doppelgangers are a fascinating subject, both as their well-known talent for causing strife and for the workings of their insular society. Might I ask, what happened to the body? I would love to examine it in detail. I have been looking for a new subject to write upon, and I think that the information gleaned in the autopsy of a doppelganger would be fascinating..." He stops speaking for a moment, lost in thought, until he realizes that Verik needed verification of who he was.
Willas pulls what appears to be a rolled-up tapestry out of the tube and walks over to the wall. He presses the top corners against the wall and lets the rest fall down, unrolling the tapestry by gravity. The tapestry shows a bookshelf on its well-woven face, with countless books portrayed. Willas claps his hands once and says in a loud, clear voice, "Knowledge!" The tapestry shimmers once, and he touches it with his hand. He reaches through the tapestry's face into a hidden magical space hidden within the cloth itself. "As you can see, it's a variation on a bag of holding, which is one of the most popular magical items in Absalom. I bring my library with me, rather than having to send off anything. I'm quite proud of my collection, though I can't say that I have all of what you need. Oh, but first!" He pulls out a handful of normally-sized scroll tubes. He reads the runes on the side and puts them back in until only one is left. "One of our Venture-Captains, Eliza Petulengro, devised a number of means of detecting shapeshifters after one of her agents was killed and replaced. One of the spells that she devised requires a sample - hair, saliva, or the like - for comparison, but that would not be useful in this situation. She devised another, which she likes to call Petulengro's Examination, that simply checks for the telltale signs of a shapeshifter's blood." He takes the scroll out and hands it to Verik.
Verik looks over the proffered scroll, scanning it with magic. The divination aura shines brightly, and the dweomers all seem to point to the veracity of Gunderson's description of the spell. It is an ingenious spell, though its arcane roots are somewhat beyond his natural talents. The runes are a dialect of dwarven, but his read magic makes the underlying words of the scroll redundant to the magical effects that they unlock. Gunderson pulls out a comically small dagger, which looks more like a needle than a weapon, and holds it over his left thumb. "I am more than willing to cast it for you, but I understand if you want to do it yourself or find another trusted source."
It is difficult to trust the living and breathing - the ones who can stand before you and suffer a vicious reprisal should they be caught in an act of betrayal. It is so much more harder for Nikolai to trust this apparition - this manifestation of the witch who helped defeat him.
But then also, Nikolai has changed. It could not be called patience, but it could be called caution. He no longer strode forward with his great blade and questioned nothing but the count of bodies after the haze cleared.
What is the meaning of this? he says to the spectre of Tandlara without lowering his blade. Are you dead? Are you here from Beyond?
Tandlara glares at him with a piercing gaze, as if she can see through him just as much as he acn see through her. "Dead? No. My spirit no longer rests entirely in my body, but I am not dead. A bond, however tenuous, links my spirit and body so long as my body lives." Out of the corner of Nikolai's eye, he sees a slow-moving thing sliding across the floor, but it is gone when he tries to focus on it. "You killed my precious friend, Stag Lord. She may live again, as do you, but that does not excuse the act. I accepted a bargain to throw you down, and yet another to save the city that we worked so hard for, and I now live up to the terms of that bargain. I have something to show you, something you must see. It regards your former patroness." She speaks in clipped tones, as if this is not a particularly willing task she has been set forth on. When she speaks of his former patron, he recalls her first appearance in his dreams.
The nameless boy sleeps, trying to ignore the searing pain of his burned skin. Every time he moves, pain shoots through him. Years ago, or a lifetime ago perhaps, he learned to keep sleeping through the torturous pain. He will need his rest for tomorrow's pain, when his lord and master sears him and heals him and sears him again. He dreams of a beautiful woman with shimmering hair of blue and green. She whispers comforts into his ear, telling him that she can free him. Her touch soothes his skin with cool air. For the first time in many years, he sleeps comfortably and wakes up with something other than hoplessness.
Nikolai glares at her, as if she is a charlatan pulling memories to use against him. How do you do this, witch? These are my dreams. Who is she and what does she want of me?
Akiros Ismort sits at his desk, pondering and brooding. Elspeth recently told him that she was willing to forgo all rights to her name and her house to marry him, and that she would do it gladly. Should they marry against the wishes of her house, she will be disowned. He sorts through his feelings on the matter, mindful as ever about the consequences of his actions. He is almost thankful when a knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.
Giergios Dumanov, the loyal and dutiful senior guardsman promoted to captain of the City Guard during the incident with Malgorzata, stands at attention until Akiros invites him in. His gray hair matches his gray cloak, but he holds himself proudly despite middle age. "Good morning, sir. One of the men reports that he was on patrol in the castle when he found a man in the castle's secure area, past all points of guarded entry. He claimed to simply be lost, but he was detained and searched. He had, on his person, detailed notes as to the layout of the castle and its personnel. He also had these, sir." He hands Akiros a strange-looking pair of goggles, with heavy leather straps and thick glass eyes. Akiros peers at them with curiosity. He has seen some magical devices before, but never anything so elaborately detailed. Clockwork of some type lines the interior of the glasswork, as well as several knobs along the leather straps that seem to adjust the clockwork gears. Giergios speaks again, gaining his attention. "The man lives, sir, and is currently under lock and key in the next room. I have Lieutenant Bennick with him, sir, as well as several other guardsmen."
Heaving a quiet internal sigh, Marshal Akiros straightens himself in his chair. For a moment he regards the older man, once again reflecting on his satisfaction and happiness at promoting the man to his current post as Captain. He was definitely the right man for the job. "Excellent Giergios. As always, you've performed your duties without fault. Have these goggles taken to Verik along with my strong request that he examine them with all haste and return his findings to me as soon as possible. Also inform him of the entirety of the situation and that I will be interrogating the prisoner shortly, as soon as I go though these notes, and that I extend my invitation for him to join the interrogation, should he wish. You are dismissed."
Taking the notes in hand, Akiros begins to study them carefully. Once he feels that he has gleaned all he can from them, he tucks them into a pocket and makes his way towards the interrogation room. Outside, before heading in, he asks the guard how the prisoner has been.
'Olegsgrav'? Really? Jemini muses to herself, Somehow a very unfortunate name for a settlement, with Oleg still up and well. Pray Sarenrae for a long long time still.
Jemini laughs at the antics of little-Jemini, and easily finds the time to spend with the small child - especially as it typically goes hand-in-hand with spending time with Svetlana, something Jemini has always enjoyed.
Somewhat familiar with greater holdings - and having even seen the gigantic city of Axis - New Stetven doesn't intimidate her as much as it may have previously. As is not uncommon for her, Jemini spends a fair portion of her time in the pleasant company of Zander Orlovsky. "Our Houses are fairly ancient, by the reckoning of the current generation - what are your thoughts on the rise of a new one? House Myrdal..."
Looking at the proffered scroll in his hands and then back to the Pathfinder and his needle-knife, Verik sighs after a moment and carefully rolls up the scroll. ”That is quite all right Willas Gunderson. While I would have you cast the scroll so that I may try to deduce its marvelous workings, it would only be for my appreciation, and therefore a waste for its intended use.” He hands the scroll back to him. ”I retain the right to demand further verification should there be a concern of duplicity detected in our dealings here, but for now I am satisfied.”
Smiling and gesturing them back to the table, Verik adds, ”I must say Pathfinder Gunderson, you have me at quite a disadvantage here with your show of wonders. Not that I mind at all, mind you!” He looks back wistfully to the magical wall tapestry. ”To your bargaining point that you may not have all of my desired lore in your collection is mitigated by the prospect that it wouldn’t take months to receive it! Let us have a brief contract made up with us as signatories to the terms, and in the meantime I shall relate to you our encounter out on the Candlemere.”
After allowing time for the Pathfinder to stow his items and return to the table, Verik rings a small service bell. Within a matter of moments the Hall door opens and Jabber comes in, scampering towards the pair with his quick but somewhat awkward gait. He lowers his head forward towards Verik as if in an attempt to bow and makes an overly broad smile that disturbingly reveals nearly all of his teeth. ”Jabber here! What Jabber must do to make good work for Master Jarrrrr-o?”
Verik cannot help but be reminded that Jabber frequently enjoys to use his name of Jabber in nearly every sentence as self-validation. ”Ahh yes there Jabber, good good…ahh I have need of you now.” The Banker furrows his brow in thought as he tries to best explain what he needs the kobold to do. ”I need you to…that is to say go find the young men in…” Uniform? Liveried surcoats? ”…in coats with the colors all same on front and back.” He points to a nearby Newhaven banner hung in the Hall. ”Like that there. The men or boys that are not armed ahh…” Right you know Jabber, the boys that keep complaining to the chamberlains that are scared you’re going to eat them! ”…that do not have big stick-poke spears or swords, but run with fast legs. Tell them I say to go to Bank…to go to Bank and get Cl…” NOT Clerk! Don’t say Clerk or he’ll just tell them to find ‘Clerk’ and they won’t know who to ask for over there like last time! ”…umm…to get DANNIL LEVANE. DANN-NILL.” Verik colors slightly as the Pathfinder looks on at the exchange between man and kobold. He makes a gesture with his fingers as if stirring tea in the air. ”Tell them to bring ink…and parchment. Ink and…you know Jabber the tools to make rune pictures like I tried to show you that one time. Have him bring that here please. Dannil. Levane. Please...and thank you Jabber.”
Jabber eagerly nods, smiles again hideously and then scampers back off to the door, clearly pleased with his new task. As the door closes Verik turns back to Pathfinder Gunderson and apologizes.
”That is a long story, though indirectly related to what brought us to the Candlemere as it turns out. Quite remarkable creatures really, and very cunning in their way, but they see themselves as…well perhaps when we have more time. Now let me see, I would have to refer to my journal to confirm the exact date, but it was perhaps three or four days after Taxfest of this year when we reached the shores of the lake to camp…”
"I will show you." Tandlara reaches out with her hand, which Nikolai tentatively takes. The room rushes away from them in a swirl of darkness. The memories of his time in the afterlife rush to him, and he worries that his time of judgment has already come. After a moment, though, the two of them stand in a snow-covered forest thick with trees. The colors of the place seem vivid, almost too vivid to look at for more than a few seconds. Tandlara releases his hand, and the two of them stare out for a moment at the kaleidescope of colors. Their breath dances in front of them as they breath the cold air. Despite not being dressed for it, Nikolai doesn't feel cold. Tandlara looks comfortable, though she wears her usual clothing more fit for summer. "This is Thousandbreaths, the realm of your former patron. It is part of and apart from the First World, land of the fey. To understand answer your question, you must understand her past. My own patron has shown me her past, which I now show to you."
Images swirl through the snowy forest, with voices rising over the wind to Nikolai's ears. He can see the woman - the fey queen - who was once his patron, who freed him from Choral's slavery. Her blue-tinged hair blows wildly in the wind. She stands defiantly in the snow, colorful blasts of magic exploding around her. A booming voice, hundreds of voices combined, come from the darkness surrounding them to echo through the woods. "Nyrissa! You have made claim to the title of Eldest, but we do not accept you! You have overreached, Winter Queen! For that, we forever link you to the Summer King. So long as you both live, neither shall truly return to the First World. For as long as one reigns over the Echo World, the other must wait until the passage of time. Neither you nor the Summer King will be in one another's presence from now until the end of time! Begone, Nyrissa, begone!" With a screech of pain, Nyrissa disappears - as does the vision.
Tandlara points to the horizon. "Nyrissa demanded recognition as one of the Eldest, the most powerful of the fey lords. She claimed the title of the Winter Queen by force, taking the place of the prior Winter Queen. She did so with the aid of her lover, a fey of the Summer Court who likewise claimed his own throne as the Summer King. Promising a reign of harmony and prosperity, they presented themselves together to the Eldest with the expectation of being welcomed into their ranks. They were shunned, however, and both banished to this world. Only one at a time can physically manifest on this world. Over the years, they turned to hate as completely as only love can do, swearing to kill the other to return to the First World. Neither could, though, because of the terms of their exile."
Three-quarters of the way through Verik's retelling of what occurred on Candlemere Island - right before the harpies's song bewitched Zander and Berrin, there is the sound of boots coming down the stairs into the Founder's Hall. Verik looks over, expecting Jabber returning for more instructions or, less likely, Dannil Levane with the expected ink and parchment for their contract. Instead of either, however, he sees Giergios Dumanov, Corwin's eventual replacement under Akiros. Giergios stands at attention, not speaking in the company of an unknown person, until Verik comes up to him. He holds a pair of very strange goggles in his hand, noteworthy because of the unusual clockwork that adorns the sides. "Banker, Marshal Ismort sent me to show you these. He requests that you examine them with all due haste and return your findings to him as soon as possible. A spy has been caught in the castle, sir, and the Marshal is going to interrogate him as soon as possible. You are welcome to join him if you wish to, but the Marshal requests any information on what these goggles might do." He offers the goggles to Verik, taking pains to hide them from Willas's sight. For his part, the Pathfinder simply scribbles with his quill onto his linked scroll.
Akiros opens the door to the room next to his. When this was the Stag Lord's fortress, the room belonged to the hateful madwoman Kressle. He hated having her nearby, especially when she would bring Happs into her bed. Many times she had invited him as well - sometimes in Happs's very presence, which made him profoundly angry - but he had always refused her. Even he hadn't been heartbroken over Sara's death, the vile woman held no appeal for him. As it were, when the fort was converted into a castle, the room became an armory of sorts. Spears and armor line the walls, with a few shields and swords for the some of the more capable guards. Several guards stand at attention when he walks in, giving him a clear view of their prisoner.
The prisoner is a wiry man with light brown hair. If not for the dried blood below his nose, there would be almost nothing remarkable about him. His clothes are simple and homespun, and he has no weapons that Akiros can see. He sits in a wooden chair with his hands tied behind the back of the chair. When Akiros walks in, he looks up with a swelling right eye. He doesn't bother to offer an excuse or a lie for his presence. "Are you here to kill me? I'd like to get on with it, please."
Orlovsky shrugs his shoulders to Jemini's question while they ride towards the Ruby Fortress where both their fathers await. "It may be the coma speaking, but I hardly see the point of having noble houses at all. While the elder generation should be capable of passing what they have earned over the years to the ones that follow, I am not of the belief that rights are amongst them. I feel more at home in Sanctuary, in all honesty. The people there have far more rights than the people here." He stares ahead at the Ruby Fortress. "I doubt my father would like to hear that. Truth be told, I feel like I barely know the man. I have almost no memories of him from before the fire. When he speaks to me, it is almost as if he doesn't know me, like he doesn't know what to say after the flames took me. Phelix says that he has been that way since the death of my mother when I was but a child. I fear that he sees me as broken, though. What I would not give to be a man of common blood with a father who I felt loved me."
Riding behind them, Zander Whitestag hears every word.
Behind them, Aylene laughs at Berrin, a warm and genuine laugh. For a moment, he recalls Esmerelda and her laugh; in his mind's eye, Esmerelda's laugh was never true and genuine. Aylene whistles softly, drawing Valnyr's attention. She winks at the horse and says, "Just like we practiced, Bessie!" With a neigh of approval, Berrin's steed trots forward, heading towards the nearest fountain. Aylene's laughter grows as Berrin realizes that she has - somehow - trained the horse to dump him in the water, obviously inspired by Jemini's retelling of their early days of exploring the wilds.
As Aylene tries to whistle through the giggles, Berrin taps, pulls, and pats his way to getting Valnyr to stop. Aylene pouts and laughs at the whole thing, not too disappointed about Berrin preventing himself from being dunked in the water. In this cold, he would likely be freezing and soaked, and have to present to the king through chattering teeth. Somehow, the imagery makes her laugh, and she nearly topples off her own horse in free-spirited laughter.
Already in a considerably less than jovial mood from his brooding, thoughts of a spy in the castle, and memories of Kressle, Akiros' mouth presses into a grim line as he sees the condition of the prisoner. His men knew well that he did not ever accept unnecessary violence against prisoners. Not willing to unjustly accuse one of his men however he first asks the guardsmen "Did he resist arrest?"
Jemini ponders Zander Orlovsky's words before replying, "Irori teaches that fate is as cruel and kind as we wish for and dread it to be. I agree with the ways used in Sanctuary - but truth be told, I don't hold much weight on the forms of government: consider the three grades of possibility, first government by birth (or other imminent power), second government by the highest bidder (or whoever has the money is in charge), third government by representation (or whoever is the most popular)." She sighs, a sight somewhat uncommon of her, "Honestly, I don't think any of these is particularly commendable or detestable. The true crutch or salvation lies in the individual rulers, no matter the form of governance, if the leaders lead with the goodwill of the nation and for the goodwill of the nation, then a nation thrives in heart and spirit. Unfortunately the hard part in all cases is having successors of equal caliber."
The guardsmen look at each other before one of them pipes up. He's a green-looking guard who seems pretty excited by the whole thing. "He ran. Looked like he was going to get through the window. I got him first, though, took him to the ground. Took the glasses off his head. Got him tied up here, ready for you."
The guardsman likely used a little more force than was strictly necessary when getting him to the ground, but didn't abuse the prisoner after taking him into custody.
Zander Orlovsky looks carefully at Jemini from his horse. "In the hereditary government, then, it would fall to the parents of a potential ruler to inculcate their child with the proper values. It would, in fact, be the ruler's responsibility to rear an heir with the full knowledge that his or her success in creating a moral framework for the child would directly affect those ruled. Do you believe that a so-called noble child should know those born to common parents, then? Should a ruler elevate others who show moral promise, as with House Myrdal?" Aylene snorts in amusement from behind them, apparently eavesdropping. "Should a ruler likewise strip nobility from a House that has raised a selfish heir? Would you, if you were cursed with a terror of a child, have it in your heart to deny your heir the throne on behalf of the people?"
Jemini nods agreement with Zander Orlovsky, "That is why I say the hard part in all cases is having a worthy successor. It's not just the case for hereditary governing either: new leaders are a gamble. For example, would you rather have a ruler who has been reared from the age of 4 in the ways of government - or rather vote for a new leader who made more appealing promises than his rival? ...most of the time the common man and woman don't even care what happens at the top, as long as they can live peaceful and prosperous lives. Perhaps that is a sign of good governance: nobody notices it, it just works."
Sense Motive:
Akiros narrows his eyes slightly at the answer, but after a moment nods his head slightly, seeming to accept it. Speaking to all the guards present he orders "You may all wait outside. I think our new friend here won't be giving us any more trouble for the moment."
As they are all heading out the door he turns his head slightly, addressing the guard who had spoken "Guardsman...Karok, is it? We shall speak in my office later. You are not to go off duty before then. That will be all."
With his back still to the prisoner, Akiros the Oracle murmurs a prayer to his Goddess, asking for her guidance in the task ahead. Turning back to the prisoner, the Marshal takes the other chair in the room and places it five feet in front of the other man. Sitting down, he collects himself and then simply stares at the man before him for a while, allowing his piercing gaze to gather the measure of the man.
Sense Motive:
After some time, he speaks "I am Akiros, Marshal of Newhaven, and protector of her people. And you are?"
Once getting an answer, or after a reasonable time if the man does not answer, he continues "I apologize if any of my men were a little...enthusiastic in the performance of their duties, they know I do not approve of such behavior. Many call me a hard man, and when it comes to the protection of my people, for the most part this is true. Yet I am also a fair man. Convince me why you should not be tried and hung for espionage, and what these mean." he finishes, brandishing the man's notes.
The spy says little, giving nothing away. He remains inscrutable, with a mask of nonchalance on his face. He knows that he can't deny his way out of this, so he doesn't engage them. "I'm not going to beg. If you hang me, then I get hanged. The rest of the details are just that." He looks past Akiros with glassy eyes, apparently bored by the whole affair.
Verik looks at Giergios incredulously, his mouth agape and nearly muttering a swear before composing himself. "Thank you, Captain." He carefully takes the goggles and places them into a soft belt pouch at his belt. "You may inform Marshal Ismort that I will attend to him as soon as I am able, but will attend to this inspection as my first priority."
With a brief look back to Gunderson at the table, he turns back to Giergios and says, "This one here is a visiting Pathfinder, and with his declared intentions I have no cause to place him under suspicion. It would be prudent though to have two of your men watch him here, and make sure he finds lodgings at Maeve's Boarding House or somewhere in town that is not here at the castle, yet where we are aware of him." Trying to think of all the ramifications, he suddenly remembers something to add. "Oh and inform the Marshal that I have a Truthtelling within my power if he needs verification in his dealings with this intruder. Thank you, Captain Giergios."
With a forced smile, Verik turns towards Willas Gunderson and says, "My apologies, Pathfinder Gunderson. It seems I must attend to other duties, but I shall make arrangements for us to meet later. Have you found lodgings yet? We have no formal inn as of yet, but there are two reputable boarding houses in town, as I would not recommend the 'common room' at any of our taverns. I'll be along later with our contract and the rest of my account, plus the journal I kept of the ruins for your direct perusal."
Willas takes the news in stride. "I will head to one of the boarding houses. Normally, I would stay in a Pathfinder Lodge, but the Society has yet to establish one here. Seeing the relative youthfulness of the settlement, this is far from unusual. After all, they just set up a lodge in Magnimar, which was founded many, many years ago. I personally agitated in the Society for its creation, as the recent events in Sandpoint and Korvosa make it the forefront of interesting new studies and scholarship. Have you heard of the ancient Tian saying, 'May you live in interesting times'? It is thought to be both a blessing and a curse. I imagine that your nation is on the cusp of a similar place in its history. I am very excited to be able to chronicle it. I hope to speak with you more about Candlemere and begin to uncover its mysteries." The loquacious, half-elven Pathfinder agent bows to Verik and excuses himself, heading out the heavy wooden doors out of the castle. Giergios heads back up the stairs to return to Akiros.
With Willas gone, Verik begins to examine the strange goggles. The clockwork gears on the edges are intricate. Turning the knobs on the straps, it seems that they effect the length and pitch of the lenses. Verik racks his mind thinking of what places could produce such technological wonders, coming up with a short list. Alkenstar has the technical knowledge and the technological savvy, yet he has never heard of any usage of clockwork in their inventions. Absalom has never shied from new technology, and Verik certainly recalls seeing stranger devices there. Numeria, relatively nearby to the west, has strange and unearthly technology; while he's heard of some clockwork in the bizarre items found there, Verik would have to research if this is the same type.
He heads up the stairs to 'his' library, just past the landing of the second floor. The library's size and scope grows with each passing year, largely through requests to Absalom. A second copy of the Manual of City Building with variant illustration (certified and authorized by the Central Bank, of course) sits on a pedestal on the middle of the library. Like most of the rest of the castle, the library's walls and ceilings were constructed of the plentiful timber in the area. The room is long with shelves of books (only about half-full) lining every wall except the door, but the correct length to minimize movement if something on the opposite side needs referencing him. He thinks, with more than a little pride, of how it reminds him of the stacks in the Great Central Bank of Absalom.
Verik heads to the section of books relating to the histories of the nearby regions, noting that someone (likely Kesten, who frequents the library for research) left a book on Pitax laying on the reading table. He pulls out the book that references Numeria and pages through it. Midway through, he sees the reference he was looking for. The book speaks of the so-called Technic League, which uses technology found on Numeria. The Pathfinder that wrote the text surmised that the technology was not developed on Golarion, but rather crashed there from a place beyond the stars. Much of this technology relies on clockwork and gears - even to the point that a number of clockwork men called gearsmen populate the region alongside the mad barbarians there.
Verik opens his eyes to his dweomercraft, finding that the goggles are actually an unusual synthesis of technology and magic. He is unable to find any references in the book to such a synthesis in Numeria, with the technology found there either purely mechanical or so far advanced in magic as to be undetectable and indistinguishable. He tinkers with the goggles, watching the auras shift subtly as he turns the dials. Each aura is divination in nature, but shifts between spellcraft to see magical auras, see through walls, locate a named item, and even see thoughts.
Akiros and the spy stand in silence as the Marshal tries to measure the man. He seems well-trained and not likely to break easily. Giergios knocks on the door and enters the silent room. He leans behind Akiros and gives the message in a low voice. 'Sir, Banker Jarrow is analyzing the device. He says that he is equipped to cast Abadar's truthtelling upon him if you wish.'
The group from Newhaven arrives at the Ruby Fortress, the heart of Brevoy's court. They steel themselves for entering the pit of vipers who speak with half-truths and cryptic promises that none believe will be kept. One of the few buildings built completely of stone, the massive castle dwarfs their castle at Sanctuary and looms over the rest of the city. Built on a slight hill, the Ruby Fortress has walls - forty feet high - that stretch at least a quarter mile on each side. It likely takes a guard on the top of the high stone wall the better part of a half-hour to patrol the whole thing. The castle gets its name from imported stone from the mountains to the west (a tribute from House Garess to Choral that left it nearly destitute for a generation). The stone's red tint starkly contrasts with the light snow covering the wooden streets.
A great portcullis stands opened for them, with a number of guards standing at attention for them. The king apparently has sent an honor guard to escort them to the castle proper, bedecked in the silver and blue colors of House Surtova. The half-dozen mounted knights lead them through the courtyard of the castle. As they pass through the gate, they see the main structure looming before them. A towering fortress with parapets that jut sharply into the sky, the castle makes the prestige and might of the Dragonscale Throne remarkably clear to them. They make their way through a smaller set of walls, likely a fallback position in the event of a siege, and to the front entrance of the castle. Thick doors painted red and still adorned with the double-headed dragon of House Rogarvia on both sides stands open for them.
Standing in the doorway awaiting them is Oleksandro Lebeda, Jemini's father. Not having seen her since before her death and resurrection, the noble lord trembles as he approaches her and helps her off her horse. He hugs her tightly without a word for many long moments, clearly simply overjoyed to have his precious daughter back. He pulls away from her and strokes her face. Sarrona smiles at them, having been helped off her horse by one of the Lebeda men, and gives them a long-overdue moment. "My child, I am so glad to see you. I wished to see you the moment you returned, but the crises here demanded my presence. I hope that you will forgive me."
Zander can truly understand 'other Zander's' situation, and know that it will not get better. There is no warmer Father to get to know. Even if it was not his fire that crated such a gulf.
As the talk shifts to rule and heredity duty, the Melani ferfur in him stirs. "I think what it comes down to is duty versus trust. Here in Brevoy, the ruling families have a duty to protect their charges, and the people a duty to obey and serve. But what we are building in Sanctuary, is a trust. The people trust the Founders to protect the city, lands and people. And the Founders hold this delicate trust with high honor. It is our duty to serve and continue to earn that trust. And I think it is the striving that leads to greatness. Complacent families produce complacent rulers. The perfect ruler cannot be made, it is the brave deeds and wise actions that show the mark of a ruler. And where no one is perfect, it is the strength of character to stand up and take responsibility when mistakes are made. This is something easily lost when rule is granted."
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His first impulse is to reach out and shake the apparition - to force the truth out of her as one shakes a tree for figs. But he closes his eyes for one second and wills back the reaction. A lord knows patience. Patience is a virtue. His puzzled mind wanders for a second. If I am going to have virtue, patience is a good place to start.
I know there are struggles greater than myself in my life. Kings and thrones and heirs and houses. I see this vision you offer and I would have the truth of it all. Do I owe her my life? Am I to help her defeat this Summer King?
The effort at patience allows his mind to consider possibilities. He is unsure, but emotion still rises up in him.
Is Choral the Summer King?
With a flourish the Banker finishes his crude sketch of the enchanted clockwork goggles, noting the overall dimensions of the lenses and approximate distances for each turn of the dials that convey a different divination effect, with additional notes on the intensity of the violet-shaded divination auras (as he sees them) when illuminated with his Detect Magic orison. He finishes by referencing the pages of his source on possible Numerian origins from the tome for later study and cross-confirmation, though he knows that with only one applicable tome on the subject, his efforts are purely speculative. Best I can do for now and too much to do to spend more time on it. Verik waits until the ink is set upon the parchment and then rolls it up for a pocket in his vestments. He then prays for his Detect Magic orison and examines the goggles one more time, simply taking in the fascinating workmanship and blending of crafted design and arcane magic.
”Simply astounding…” he murmurs to himself as he holds up the lenses to the light. I am fortunate to have glimpsed such a trove of wonders this day. Master be praised to have these in the First Vault! I wonder if Pathfinder Gunderson would find these surprising even to his eyes? Hmm be cautious though, not blinded by the desire for knowledge to be foolishly trusting. Remember how we came by these…another spy! Where one is caught, could there be another who is more cunning? Five more? I must send word out…
Verik gets up from the reading table to pull another sheet of parchment from a shelf and another vial of ink, wrapping the goggles with a kerchief and tucking them away in a pouch hanging from his belt. Sitting back down, he writes out a letter as hastily as he can without making an overly large mistake. That will have to do, but she knows what she is about, and once Taisper knows I will feel better that he may observe something we all fail to see. He finishes the letter with his signature, noting that he has neither his stamped signet nor sealing wax as he would properly use. Folding it three times, he sighs and goes to the door where he calls for a guard at the end of the hall.
”Guardsman, take this letter to the couriers downstairs and ensure that their fastest runs this to Senior Clerk Anya Amitel at the Bank. It is to be entrusted only to her or Senior Clerk Thomas Quiss, stated that it comes from my hand directly. I shall be in attendance to Marshal Ismort from here.”
Anya,
This is Sealed to the Bank. Entrust this note only to Thomas, Eben, Bertram or Taisper – all others should know only what is absolutely necessary to carry out instructions.
An intruder with foul intent has been caught at the Castle. Where there is one there may be more in town. Thomas is most likely still at the Keyhouse overseeing the Initiates – inform him fully but do not alarm the Initiates. See to it that Bertram is made aware, with increased watches at both the Bank and Keyhouse tonight – he will set the watch correctly. Find Petyr and tell him to go immediately and tell the Crowborn the phrase “A fox hungers for hens at the barn” – they will know what to do to scout about town in their way. If you have to send the Twins to find Petyr then do so, but have him found and over to the Crowborn at once. Also, send word to Taisper at the cottage, and inform him fully of the situation and my whereabouts. Tell this to Eben - he may be working on the day’s counts with Dominic but interrupt them - Eben can help you make sure matters are settled at the Bank until I return from here.
Also, this is merely a prudent precaution, but keep your mace on you Anya, and instruct Eben and the Junior Clerks to arm as well – call it a ‘drill of alertness’ by my order, but have it done. All is well, and I shall attend to the Bank as soon as I am able.
Verik
As the guardsman is underway towards the steps, Verik turns back towards where he suspects Akiros and his men are holding the spy, absently checking to ensure that his brace of light hammers are where they should be on his belt.
Tandlara barks out a derisive laugh at Nikolai, her contempt for him showing. "Used as a pawn for so long, and you see yourself a king? You must see where the pieces fit before you crown yourself, and you are no closer to understanding now than when you murdered my friend in your rage." She holds a hand up and hisses, with another vision swirling around them. The snow on the ground disappears in a haze, replaced by a sweltering heat that shimmer off the ground. Red needles fall from the trees, giving the soil the look of blood. Tandlara points to a shirtless man standing before them, muscular and fit. His eyes burn with intense power and ambition, clear as anything. Long green hair hangs down almost to his waist. Prostrated before him is a man who Nikolai recognizes instantly: Choral the Conquerer, the man who tortured him for years upon years. Tandlara grips him before he can move, pointing for him to watch. "This was well over two hundred years ago, decades after the exile of Nyrissa and the Summer King. This is his demesne. Watch."
Choral raises his head off the ground, showing that he has the traditional face markings and tattoos of the Iobarian nomads. His face shows an agony that Nikolai easily recognizes - pain. The Summer King who stands before him places a hand on his shoulder. "Turn," he says. Choral unleashes a scream of pain as red scales spurt from his skin and cover his body, as horns come from his forehead and claws from his hands. Wings emerge from his back, spreading wide and flapping in pain. "Turn back," the Summer King says. With another scream of pain, Choral's body returns to his human form. The man who Nikolai hates more than any other pants on the ground on all fours. The Summer King takes his hand off Choral's shoulder. "I have a task for you, lycanthrope. You can do as I ask willingly and be rewarded, or do what I ask unwillingly and be punished. The choice is yours."
Choral looks up with a pleading look in his face. "I will do as you ask... Master. My tribe will do as you ask."
The Summer King laughs in delight, though the fey's malice still lingers through the echoing laughter. "Good. I had hoped as much. I will reward you with power, long life, and freedom from your curse. But you will be my champion and fight where and when I cannot. You will sit upon a throne and spread your cursed bloodline far and wide, then return until I am ready."
As the vision swirls around them, Tandlara whispers viciously to Nikolai. "Both chose their champions. You were neither. You were a pawn taken by Nyrissa so that the Summer King - and Choral, his champion - could not have you."
Verik opens the door to see the spy sitting in a chair with Akiros staring at him silently. The two seem to be simply sizing each other up. Giergios nods to the Banker, then to his Marshal. When Akiros nods back to him in acknowledgment, he exits to stand guard outside. The spy's eyes flicker down to the goggles in Verik's hands, but he maintains his silence.
Various thoughts churn in the Marshal's brain as he contemplates how best to proceed with the interrogation. While doing so, he stares at the prisoner, attempting to gain the full measure of the man. He finally decides on a course of action and opens his mouth to speak when Verik enters the room.
Nodding to the Arch-Banker Akiros opens the door, summoning the guardsmen back into the room once again. Taking a few moments to double check the spy's bindings, and to insure that the spy has not been trying to free himself, Akiros commands "No one is to enter this room until the Arch-Banker and myself return. Do not speak to the prisoner and to not reply to him should he speak to you."
Then, as he leads his friend to the door to his office he whispers "Verik, can you check to make sure the man has no further magical auras about him?"
After this is done, he ushers Verik into the other room, offers him a seat, sits himself, and then passes the sheaf of notes over saying "I haven't been able to make heads or tails from these, they're encrypted, it seems. I have had just as little luck with the prisoner thus far. He asked if I was there to kill him, and to get on with it if so. That if he was to be handed, so be it." snorting his frustration. "Is that loyalty? Fear? Resignation? Or some form of mental control?"
Shaking his head, he asks "Anyway, did you get anywhere with those strange goggles?"
For a little blessed while there is no need for decorum - as Ellana, Jemini, and their parents, are united. "Father! Mother! Oh praise the gods! I've longed to see you again. Please forgive me, I've been so selfish." Again father and daughter hug in embrace, the tightness of it reflects the intensity of the bond between them that had been held apart by fate for in excess of two years. When it finally eases up, her fathers warm eyes rest on Jemini, "Come," he says, as he leads the way.
Verik huffs irritably and waves his hand towards the door. "I doubt it is mental compulsion, but surely any or all the rest that you speculate could be it." His scowl is clear to Akiros as he thinks on it and adds, "A sign of one who has been trained to skulk and spy for their 'masters' just as the Ludovan woman, dictating terms as if she sat at the head of the table. I tell you I am tired of it."
He offers the parchment of his notes regarding the goggles to Akiros, then sets the goggles themselves delicately upon the table between them. "An exquisite example of workmanship Akiros, one that I could not possibly hope to recreate with my meager talents - indeed I was fortunate to view the auras and realize that one of its aspects is very much similar to a prayer I have available to me now. The origins, however, are not Brevian and far from the divine." Verik goes on a bit about his interpretation of the various powers and how they could be used, though to him their duration is limited. He concludes by saying, "Clearly an advantage to a well-trained spy or burglar, though I think the lasting of these dweomers is quite short, so the ratter couldn't have used them continuously to explore the entire castle."
As they switch sheafs of papers, Akiros listens to the Archbanker and then briefly studies the notes while giving the goggles a closer look.
Taken with the device and the description given him, his response is somewhat distracted, and thus carries less heat than it might at another time "Yes, you are likely right. I myself greatly dislike this spy business. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Yet, since we ourselves employ similar tactics, I suppose we can't protest too much. All a part of this tricky business of ruling, I suppose, yes?" and from the twist to the corner of his mouth, is is fairly clear that 'ruling', while something he does as part of his duty, is not a thing he much relishes.
Holding the goggles up near his face he glances at Verik "So these are safe to try on then? I find myself quite curious about them, especially with my...altered vision."
If getting no warning not too, he places them on looking about and musing "I wonder Verik, while I have no desire to go against the Will of my Goddess, should she allow it, would it be possible to magic these, or some other pair of goggles, to magically increase the range of my sight?"
Playing with them for some time, he finally removes them and asks "So, what do you make of those notes? We must make some decision as to what to do with out spy."
"Hmmm?" Verik is looking over the notes just handed to him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to make sense of them. "Well while I do not believe those clockwork goggles are harmful, there is something more than the enchantments that both delights and disturbs me. That there has all the precise craftsmanship of an astrolabe from Absalom or spyglass from Cheliax. The fact that the...mechanical aspects of their construction allows for differing dweomers to take precedent over others without so much an incantation or command word is...odd. I'd like to surmise they are something from the odd locale of Numeria, but I have no confirmation of course."
Pointing a finger at the goggles in Akiros' hands, he adds, "With those, our ratter-spy was perhaps looking for our treasury room, or perhaps something specifically of interest that was to be acquired? An object of significance? A specific piece of information...no no unless his target was thinking of speaking it at the time I don't know how those would have served him, unless they were engaged in the exact conversation he needed. We have no Council meetings of note with most of the Founders away..." He taps his fingers in thought, and snaps them suddenly in discovery. "Perhaps he would have hidden himself in a...a secret room to spy upon our actions over many days, or concealed himself as a servant or...cogs but if he could disguise himself or alter his appearance he would have done so anyway, wouldn't he? I suppose I should cease such speculations and put my mind to these papers for our answers."
He studies the notes for a time, pausing only as he works out patterns in his mind, almost as if he is tapping the rhythm to a poem or song. The minutes pass by as he attempts to decipher the writings.
Riding under the stone gates of the Ruby Keep draws the mirth out of Berrin as the reality of their endeavor to New Stetven comes back to him. He was here to meet the king and beg to be let into the club of clubs; Nobility. 'House Myrdal! I'd pay good gold to see moms face when she opens the letter! Let alone me getting married, to an heir to a realm no less.' He thinks, not for the first time, and smirks.
Riding slowly up to the procession meeting them on the step Berrin swings out of the saddle and steps over to assist Aylene down. Meeting her gaze they both know full well that she can get down just fine without his help but appearances must be kept. Accepting his offered hand, Aylene slides just as easily of her horse. Lingering for a moment in a semi-embrace the two turn together to Lord Lebeda as he comes to greet the new arrivals.
Standing in awkward silence as he understandably only has eyes for his daughter Berrin can feel Aylene stiffen at what she no doubt feels is a slight but he can understand perfectly given the first impression he and Lord Lebeda had on each other last time they met. Patting her hand he holds Aylene's frowning gaze and smiles reassuringly and with a small shrug, that seems to ease her mind a bit, he leads his wife to be after the lords and ladies as they head into the keep.
Zander rides through the city, his helm in place. The silent stag stares down the overly curious or those that might snicker at the rough, uncouthness of this obvious servant of the Lebeda's. His grown respect for the 'Other Zander' had slowly soured as the prospect of seeing his father again loomed before them. Now in New Stetven, his spirit was at its lowest...this was a mistake...what game I am getting at?...there is no good resolution awaiting you... His thoughts monetarily broken as a young lady comes out from a side street, a clutch of red roses in the basket held to her chest......but then the procession moves on and she is gone.
Within the city, Zander's only comfort comes from seeing the children running along enamored with the Stag Helm. It gives him a shot of faith that even if only the littlest and most innocent can appreciate him, he might get through this visit intact. Zander occasionally turns and watches his namesake easily ride through the crowd, happily nodding and waving to the attention they receive. Zander wonders how this man can be created to be his exact double and yet the two are Nothing alike...was I ever what my father wanted? If it is THAT, I must have always been a disappointment...except he is brave....one more way we differ....he is way braver than me...he doesn't know the hidden places of the mind that the Harpies can use to break a man.
Verik looks up from conspicuously studying the notes to Akiros, then looks back down. After another moment he clears his throat and regards him again.
"Apologies Akiros, as I pretended to not hear you earlier on your inquiry with the spectacles and your...condition. It's just that despite my role as High Cleric of Newhaven, I do not wish to overstep my bounds on matters of other faiths, particularly those whom I respect such as She."
Verik regards him a long moment before responding. "I have heard of such enchantments, but know of no way to dweomercraft them myself. However, I would counsel you that...well...if the Inheritor placed this burden upon you for the future trials you must endure, it would be most unwise to try and circumvent Her plans for you. For me to try such a thing would, I believe, be against the accords of both the Inheritor and the Master of the First Vault. Akiros, I have seen such mighty blessings from both powers during the Battle of Dragon's Head, I would never dare to disrupt the favor they have shown us here."
Jemini and her parents gladly enter the Fortress proper together. Their reunion is one of happiness and joy, with Lord Lebeda over the moon about the return of his daughter to his arms. Ellana Lebeda follows her parents in, nearly giddy herself. The rest - Berrin, both Zanders, and their retinue - follow them into the vast fortress. The thick doors of the interior court, tall enough to welcome a giant in and similarly emblazoned with the sigil of House Rogarvia, creak slightly more open in a way intended to be inviting. Lord Lebeda quietly directs everyone except for Berrin, Jemini, Zander, and Aylene to the raised gallery that lines the ornate court. They join the dozens of watchers of the court already assembled there. It is not a daily occurance that a new House could potentially join their ranks.
King Noleski Surtova sits on the Dragonscale Throne, which looms over the room mightily. True to its name, the throne features thick scales from a dragon, rumored to be one of the dragons tamed by Choral Rogarvia, with two large claws framing the sides of the throne. The King is a younger man than most expect, with still-boyish good looks, dark hair, and pale skin. The crown of his regency sits atop his head. He leans forward, seemingly quite interested in the pageantry before him.
Lord Poul Orlovsky stands at the front of the Dragonscale Throne, where . He is an austere-looking man with tightly-bound dark golden hair. A strong jaw frames his eyes that glare at the upcoming party. Poul Orlovsky seems a man of little patience. Zander - the false Zander - steps forward to greet his "father." His voice echoes through the quiet room over the upcoming footsteps. "Sir, may I introduce Aylene Varn, daughter of your liege-sworn bannerman Maegar Varn, Baron of Varnhold. She comes to petition for a place of honor for her betrothed, Berrin Myrdal, a man of modest birth but ample promise. As your son, I have accepted her petition in your stead."
Lord Orlovsky's icy voice echoes through the court. "Very well, my son. Your judgment is as my own. House Orlovsky will allow the marriage, should his house be found worthy to be raised. Is there a house that wishes to speak on behalf of House Myrdal?"
Lord Lebeda responds as customs dictate, though he seems to have to grit his teeth to get through it because of his innate, intense dislike of Berrin stemming from a poor impression in their first meeting. "My daughter, Jemini Lebeda, speaks on his behalf, then we shall hear from him in his own voice."
Verik's analysis of the notebook takes several minutes as he works through several well-known ciphers, including the ones that they use. He scans it for magic, finding none, and finally concludes that it is a fairly simple symbolic cipher. The notes, however, are written (after decoding) in Jistka, a dead classical language. Verik checks his book of linguistics, which has a short chapter on the language, to discern the basic meaning of the coded notes. It seems that they are tracking the strength of the guards, their patrol arrangements, and the sleeping quarters of the castle's inhabitants - including Jemini's.
Meanwhile, Akiros puts the goggles on to test them out. At first, they work well. He sees auras and can see the prisoner in the next room. However, after a few moments of use, his head begins to hurt mightily. He tears off the goggles before they cause any more injury to him as his nose begins to bleed slightly. As soon as they are off, his condition improves. Verik takes a look at it and concludes that there must be some sort of attunement process embedded in the technology, with long-term use of the goggles leading to violent illness.
The intense, dull throb that accompanies his manifestation of claws washed through Nikolai reflexively as he watches Choral. He looks at his own hands, tipped with red obsidian before the claws painfully subside.
I was neither, he begins. But now I am a champion. I am the champion of those who will not bend their knee to this madness any longer. And I am the champion of your friend, who brings grace to a realm that knows only blood and betrayal.
He looks up at Tandlara, daring to make eye contact. I have no excuses to make to you, ghost. I can only do the penance my conscience and your friend bid me. But I can make the champion of this Summer King pay for his crimes, which are greater than mine. If I cannot do that, I can give my life trying.
Nikolai waits to see if there's more, but he turns and makes some distance between the girl and himself, as if she might strike him for using her own name. I did not call myself a King, Tandlara. I said I am learning of kings and the games that would-be rulers play. If this patron has a blessing for me, then help me find it. But I am tortured by my own ghosts, and I am not yours to toy with. I have made it clear to you today - the man you hate is gone. What's left of him will only swing that blade for vengeance against Choral for what he put me through, and for justice for the people caught in this tale. If you can help me, then I will listen. But do not come to me anymore to tell me whose champion I am not. You can help me help Jemini, or you can search for a way to your ancestors.
Tandlara's fingers curl as Nikolai speaks to her. The witch clearly carries a grudge against him that will not fade soon even if he insists that he is a changed man. "Many tests await you. I hope for Jemini's sake that you are capable of meeting them. Both the Summer King and the Winter Queen are dangerous to you. They will send their champions in a proxy war against each other, with Newhaven and Sanctuary standing in the middle. I stirred in my sleep when Choral's dragons came, and I watched you all from above. I know that the leader of the attack was your own cousin Viktor. Why did you say nothing?"
If I can hear Choral, then he can hear me. I don't know if he thinks me killed at Stagfall or what else he knows. It is not the last I qill hear of my cousin, and the knowledge is sufficient for now.
Subtly, when entering, Jemini whispers a small prayer: "Sarenrae, bless and sweeten my tongue to ensure that my words find their intended mark."
Jemini addresses her father but speaks in an amplified voice that ensures her words are clear to everybody. She bows for a moment, as required, and introduces herself and Berrin as dictated by protocol, then: "Berrin Myrdal has been a boon companion in excess of a year now, I have traveled and fought alongside him and always appreciate his contribution to our endeavors. In that time have found him to be level-headed even when faced with extreme adversity that would panic lesser men. His words may now still lack the refinement of one born into privilege, but his mind and and sword arm are steady and keen - robust traits that make him well-suited to a position of leadership in a fronteer nation."
The nobles assembled to hear the petition nod and murmur amongst themselves. While the petition isn't the best they've heard, it is far from the worst. Hardly anyone seems surprised, though, as the Lebeda family is known for their skillful tongues; even at their worst, they are at least strong in their delivery and know the correct protocol. The real reason that most of them are here is to see Berrin's petition, so all eyes fall upon him.
Berrin stares scowling around the room, taking in the faces coming to watch the procession, feeling a bit like an animal in a freak show. 'Come to watch us perform?' he wonders, clasping Aylene's arm as he turns his head to take it all in. Noticing a silence ensuing he gives a small start as he realizes everybody's watching him. Meeting Jemini's eye his face grows stern as he realizes it's his turn to speak, somehow he'd expected her introduction of him to be, well, longer.
Clearing his throat he lets go of Aylene and steps forward.
"Thanks Jem... *ahem*" he starts off, realizing he'd probably broken protocol right of the bat. Flushing in the face he gives a mutted. "Right." and silently berates himself for a fool.
Gathering his thoughts he takes a deep breath and starts again. "M'lords an' ladies," he dips his head first to King Noleski and then the Lebeda's and the Orlovsky's. "I am Berrin Myrdal. General of the Newhaven army, boon companion to Jemini Lebeda and hopeful for the hand of Aylene Varn in marriage. I am brevic, born and raised in Mullivy's Crossing south of Port Ice in Surtovan lands. My fortunes have taken me far and wide over the lands of Brevoy in various endevours but most notably I traveled for a time with the Red Stripe where I recieved my training in war and battle. Over a year ago I took up the call for hands willing to explore and tame the Stolen Lands where I became a companion to Jemini Lebeda. The past year has been eventful to say the least where I took up the mantle of Steward in Jemini's absence after the Battle of Stagfall, for we never truly believed her lost to us, and subsequently was appointed General of Newhaven's Army's upon her return to us. I have strived to keep my companions and those lands safe for people to settle and I have taken my responsibilities for the populaces safety seriously and to heart. The past year has been eventful, as I said, and I hope my actions have proven my worth to be accepted into your ranks and better than any words I can offer you now for, as I said.." Berrin turns to Aylene and looks deep into her eyes and says the last softly, ..I am hopeful to be married."
And with a deeper bow to the king Berrin returns to Aylene's side.
Akiros nods to verik's explanation of his reluctance to tamper with Iomeade's restriction of his vision, expecting as much from the law abiding priest "Do not trouble yourself further about it then Verik. It was merely idle speculation on my part anyway. I have complete faith the my Goddess shall allow me to see whatever it is that I need see."
While Verik pours over the encrypted notes, working to discern their meaning, Akiros tries out the magical goggles, curious and interested in the many, and beneficial, effects. However after only a short time of use, an expanding pain begins in the front of his head, rapidly escalating in severity. His quickly yanks them off with an oath "Blood and bloody ashes! What kind of device would be given to a spy to use only to torture them in the process!"
Wiping the blood from his nose, he angrily tosses the damned goggles on his desk. Despite Verik's explaining the 'attunement' process, his now gain dark mood fails to improve. Once the Banker delivers his summation of the notes Akiros nods, the line of his mouth grim "Well, there we have it then. No question he is a spy. Now what to do with him. He'll surely have to hang, but the important fact getting from him the knowledge of who sent him. Shall you join me? I'm in no mood to coddle our 'guest' anymore. But if you feel moved to appeal to his 'good' side, should it exist, feel free."
Waiting for a response, Akiros stands and moves to the door. Once Verik has indicated his readiness, he quickly prays for the guidance of his Goddess and then opens the door, moving briskly into the next room, closing the door behind his friend. Once again, he orders the guardsmen to leave the room. Goggles in one hand, his face a mask of stone, he gestures to the notes in Verik's hands "So, your guilt and purpose here are now without question, your death, all but assured. Should you wish to spare yourself the pain of our wrath, I suggest you tell us everything about those who sent you and the full extent of your purpose here, NOW. You will not get another chance."
Intimidate: