DM Black Dow's Kraljotvorac - Skromni počeci (Inactive)

Game Master Black Dow

Some flavour by Mr Kipling... draw from it what you will... ;)

The King's Pilgrimage - Kipling (1922)

Our King went forth on pilgrimage
His prayers and vows to pay
To them that saved our heritage
And cast their own away.

And there was little show of pride,
Or prows of belted steel,
For the clean-swept oceans every side
Lay free to every keel.

And the first land he found, it was shoal and banky ground -
Where the broader seas begin,
And a pale tide grieving at the broken harbour-mouth
Where they worked the death-ships in.

And there was neither gull on the wing,
Nor wave that could not tell
Of the bodies that were buckled in the life-buoy's ring
That slid from swell to swell.

All that they had they gave - they gave; and they shall not return,
For these are those that have no grave where any heart may mourn.

And the next land he found, it was low and hollow ground -
Where once the cities stood,
But the man-high thistle had been master of it all,
Or the bulrush by the flood.

And there was neither blade of grass,
Nor lone star in the sky
But shook to see some spirit pass
And took its agony.

And the next land be found, it was bare and hilly round -
Where once the bread-corn grew,
But the fields were cankered and the water was defiled,
And the trees were riven through.

there was neither paved highway,
Nor secret path in the wood,
But had borne its weight of the broken clay
And darkened 'neath the blood.

Father and mother they put aside, and the nearer love also -
An hundred thousand men who died whose graves shall no man
know.

And the last land he found, it was fair and level ground
About a carven stone,
And a stark Sword brooding on the bosom of the Cross
Where high and low are one.

And there was grass and the living trees,
And the flowers of the spring,
And there lay gentlemen from out of all the seas
That ever called him King.

'Twixt Nieuport sands and the eastward lands where the Four Red Rivers spring,
Five hundred thousand gentlemen of those that served their King.

All that they had they gave - they gave -
In sure and single faith.
There can no knowledge reach the grave
To make them grudge their death
Save only if they understood
That, after all was done,
We they redeemed denied their blood
And mocked the gains it won...

KRALJOTVORAC ACT 1: SKROMNI POČECI (HUMBLE BEGINNINGS)

1st Calistril, 4713 AR

In contrast to the bleak late winter that hangs, pall-like o’er the nation of Brevoy, the meeting chamber deep within the Lord Mayor of Restov’s mansion is warm and opulent. Tapestries drape the walls, their stories of the Rostland region’s history retold in rich colour and thread.

In the corner a fire glows bright, its heat providing welcome warmth to bones and spirits, while torch light makes shadow’s dance to a flickering jig. Underfoot the room’s lacquered timber floor bears detailed carvings of beasts and fey, each hallmarks of Brevic craftsmanship and tradition.

A finely wrought oaken desk finishes the room; each of its four stout legs a carved vista of snapping wolves chasing dancing fey. Atop its surface sit five pewter drinking mugs, each steaming in the room’s low light. Their unmistakeable bouquet confirms their content as Grzaniec – a potent mulled wine of Restov. A calm subtle voice cuts through the eve’s silence;

“Please, please do not stand on ceremony my friends... drink... drink... Let the grzaniec warm your bones.”

Leaning forward into the lamplight reveals the owner of the rich, crisp voice as a woman, lean and angular; perhaps some thirty winters old. Her night black hair frames a face noteworthy for the two pale scars that run from lip to crown; mementos to her martial profession. You notice she is dressed in fine russet robes of imported Tian silk and wears a fine cloak of ermine; all declarations of her status.

At her hip sits an icon of Brevic culture; the signature razor edged duelling blade of the famed Aldori Swordlords.

Idly the woman plays with a silvered letter opener; a miniature doppelganger of the sword she wears, as her eyes scrutinize each of you in deliberate measurement. Whether her gaze is one of the experienced soldier weighing up new recruits, or that a Katapeshie lioness weighing up its next meal you cannot yet distinguish...

Nodding as if the solution to a silent question had revealed itself, she finally speaks:

“Dobrý...Good... Anando seems to have picked adeptly for this particular endeavour we all embark upon.”

Her eyes glance to the leather journal open before her; the self-same journal in which the aforementioned Halfling scrivener “Anando” had judiciously noted names, professions and finer particulars during your initial selection regarding the venture. A venture that many had answered when Restov’s petition requesting “Privateers and Pioneers of a discerning nature, who seek expansionist profit and intrepid adventure” had been first issued to guilds, churches, taverns and upon placards. Yet now only you five stand...

“Ladies and Gentlemen, for those of you who do not know me - I am Swordlord Jasna Aldori, and will act today on behalf of my blade brethren and of course the City of Restov’s Lord Mayor Sellumius, to whom we all owe a debt for the warm hospitality on this cold winter eve”.

Those of you familiar with the nation’s language note the woman’s first name. In Old Brevic “Jasna” meant “clear or sharp”, an apt forename for a Swordlord; men and woman renowned throughout the Inner Sea for their duelling prowess in both the political arena and upon the battlefield.

“To business then, let us see what our astute Anando made of you all...”

Dot... post tonight.

The heavy set and young man shuffles into the room haltingly, and folds back the hood of his cloak with one hand. His sunken eyes and black hair show his mixed background, and the worn equipment he bears show he does not come from money. His eyes widen at the swordlord, and he gives a stilted bow and fumbles over his words "Milady... I.. am.. I.." clearly flustered as he shakes his head and moves to where the tankards sit.

Reaching out, he trips over himself and accidentally knocks one of the mugs onto the ground - spilling the fine grzaniec over the wooden floor. Muttering under his breath Niklos kneels and pulls his cloak from one side to mop up his error. This exposes the blackened cudgel hanging from his belt. The wood of the weapon is smooth and black as pitch, and despite bearing a protective layer of varnish... it does not reflect any light.

Similar to the man entering ahead of him, Aran's clothes and equipment are clearly stating that he was not coming from a rich background. And yet, most of his equipment, although it was showing signs of wear, was of adequate quality and still functional obviously.

He was clad in very typical outdoors clothes - drab and thick linen shirt, pants which were once blue, obviously of very sturdy make, an undetermined light green piece of clothing which resembled overcoat, and a heavy brown cloak, patched in several places. Each and every piece of clothing had at least one, if not several pockets, and it was obvious that some of these were stuffed with minor items. He carried a large rucksack on his back, filled to the brim, a quiver with dozens of bolts was firmly tied upon his left thigh and he carried what might be considered a very large crossbow made of yew.

Surely I will stick like a sore thumb among these fine dressed and behaved people - he thought - I look more like a porter, than a would be explorer chartered by the Swordlords of Rostov.

The moment he thought that, Niklos managed to trip and knock the mug on the ground. Thank you Old-Dedeye, that it was not me!

He hurries ahead, almost slipping on the now wet lacquered timber floor. He crouches next to Niklos trying to help him fix the ruckus, while flashing a very confused and sincere smile to Lady Jasna.

"Aran...Aran Innatven, of the Medvyed family, your...your...highness?"

Niklos gives Aran a brief look of thanks as he helps to staunch the liquor upon the floor.

Keara enters the room walking slowly and with confidence. She is dressed in common traveler's garments: sturdy leather boots, a plain leather skirt, a white shirt, short gloves, and a dark cloak. Despite their simplicity, her clothes seem immaculate, as if brand new, and cut in such a way as to emphasize every curve of her body, without actually showing any more skin than the norm.

Her eyes locked on Swordlord Jasna, she listens attentively to her speech, smiling broadly when offered the expensive wine.
She takes a small sip from the steaming mug, forcing herself not to show her discomfort when the strong drink burns her throat, striving to seem at ease and in control.

Don't screw this up, don't screw this up! Remember what Ma always said: even if you're scared to death, act confident, and they'll belive you are confident! Very well, I can do this... Calm down... Calm down...

When Niklos knocks his mug to the ground, she forces herself to suppress a giggle. Oh my, and I thought I was nervous! Uhmm... Better clean this mess up before lady Jasna loses her temper.

With a flick of her wrist and a few unintelligible words, the pool of spilled wine starts receding, becoming smaller and smaller till it disappears completely, the floor once again spotless. As if on cue, the knocked mug raises itself from the floor, slowly levitating till its once again on the table.

Keara casts Prestidigitation to clean up the mess and levitate the mug.

Keara offers a candid smile to the other guests, glad she was able to help. Then, still smiling, she turns towards Lady Jasna and finally introduces herself.

"Milady, my name is Keara Caradas. Its a pleasure and and honor to be here today, and I give you my most sincere thanks for your gracious hospitality."

She bows slightly, then waits for Jasna (or anyone else) to say something.

Diplomacy (to make a good first impression) 1d20 + 9 - 1 ⇒ (20) + 9 - 1 = 28

Seleste had been sitting by herself waiting for the proceedings to begin. When the opportunity seemed to come for her to approach, she got to her feet with a muttered and exasperated, "All right, all right".

A tall and lithe farmgirl, with wide shoulders and strong hands, but also some of the grace and sharp features of an Elven heritage. Her long white hair as pale as her complexion fell down to her waist. She wore a ornate boiled leather cuirass, angular and ostentatious in style that has been out of favor for generations. And although she had the size, she did not have the frame to fill it. The wooden kite shield on her back bore faded painted swallow surrounded by scrollwork designs, similar to the faint designs etched into the armor. On her hip hung a sword that by the breadth of the hilt must have been a broadsword, equally out of favor among the thin, quick blades of the Swordlords.

Well worn boots clacked on the floor as she crossed to those already at the table. The tip of her scabbard occasionally adding a 'tap' to her accompaniment, as it trailed behind her. Reaching the others she stood slight apart, avoiding shrinking puddle of wine, floating goblets, and swapping applicants. She makes no attempt to partake of the offerd refreshment. She pauses a moment as if in consideration and then give a large formal bow. Upon straightening, in a matter-of-fact tone, Seleste states, "I am Seleste Talyn my Lord. Formally of what is termed the Stolen Lands. I have answered your call." She gives a small nod as if agreeing that she was in fact done with her introduction.

Niklos has not spent much time around those with the art, and so is startled as the spilled drink resolves itself and the mug levitates to its original position. Blushing red, he stands and removes himself to a wall which he slumps against and tries to not cause injury to anything else around him.

Stowed under at work - will post big juicy continuation tonight folks

Will presume Leithbridge keeps a low profile – feel free to recon me if necessary Drayen :)

Of the final member of your company, there is little forthcoming. The man stands quiet but composed; floppy weather-beaten hat sitting low over his face, plain cloak draped over his lean form.

He tips his hat subtly towards the Swordlord before answering succinctly;

”Mistress. Leith of Brevoy.”

Jasna reacts to your introductions with a mixture of amusement and patience. At the spilling of the Grzaniec by Niklos, followed by his and Aran’s frantic attempts to mop up the wine, draws a chuckle, before Keara cleanses the spillage with magick;

”I trust you will spill the blod of your enemies with equal aplomb! And you Mistress Caradas will be as unsoiled in all endeavours...”
Using the tip of her letter opener Jasna flicks open the journal before her. The swordlord reads aloud providing a commentary to the notes as she glances up to acknowledge a sign or reaction from the subject of the scribes anecdotes;

”Seleste Talyn of Rostland, formerly of the Stolen Lands. Herbalist, Bounty Hunter and Sage... You also seem quite the talent Mistress Talyn, albeit one with the air of antiquity...”

The swordlord smiles at her jape before continuing; ”Anando notes you have qualities both striking and disconcerting. He also comments you are of Vilikrev... Elf... blooded. Interesting...”

She flicks the next page, noting a small letter which she slowly reads before counterpointing with the scrivener’s notations;

”Niklos Bogdan. Hailing from Port Ice no less, a militia man and pathfinder by trade. I see you have the... “benefaction”... of the White Manor itself for your sins and we welcome your capacities to our endeavour...”

The Swordlord takes a sip of her mulled wine before continuing;

”Ahhh. The enchanting Mistress Caradas. Simply a Brevic adventurer Keara? I doubt that... However Anando found you most gracious and polished, which while the wilds of the Stolen Lands are no place for a genteel woman, the long game we ultimately play will indeed have a place for one such as you...”

Jasna smiles before setting her gaze once more upon the page;

”Mmmm another letter bearer... this one I have read already Master Innatven... Once of Prodan, now scion of House Medvyed. A hunter and guide, who is a “deadeye” with your flatbow... Indeed I do trust you endure all challenges set you...”

The Swordlord taps the table with the miniature sword hilt as she mulls over the notes read and company assembled;

”Indeed I hope you all endure my friends... and now we are all an open book, perhaps my friends it would be prudent to move to the matter at hand?” With that she deftly flicks closed the leather journal with the tip of her diminutive blade, then reaches inside her robe, producing a slender, dark and somewhat unremarkable scroll case.

Opening the case, the Swordlord first empties, and then purposefully unfurls, two matching sheets of waxed parchment. Briefly she then casts her eyes over the ornate writings presented before her.

“Perfect... truly Anando is a master with the quill.” She then reaches for a candle and carefully drips crimson wax upon each sheet. “Our charter: Your future.” Then shifting forward, she presses an ornate signet into the wax upon each before sliding a copy of the newly sealed charter towards your group;

“Mistress Caradas would you do me and your comrades the honour of reciting the charter for all to hear?”

You know me too well... You nailed Leith's personality.

Keara gracefully extends a slender arm and takes the document the Swordlord is offering, giving a slight bow at the same time.

"With pleasure, Milady." She smiles, politely clears her throat, then proceeds to read the charter aloud for everyone to hear. She reads the document clearly and without haste, trying to give each sentence the right weight; her warm, pleasant voice loud enough to be heard by all present without sounding pompous.

When done, Keara smiles to her 'audience', and patiently waits for Lady Jasna to continue.

Niklos can only offer a wan smile at the Swordlord's words before listening to the charter. He took in the mention of banditry and unconsciously put one hand on the hilt of his wide bladed sword. Still too out of his depth to want to sully the air with a misspoken speech he waits for Jasna to continue.

Listening with care to Kaera's clear voice, Aran is timid at first. Memories of incident with Brinian Alderson were still strong, and expressions like "authority", "office" and "Dragonscale Throne" produced a strange feeling within him, a kind of adversity towards authorities which he mistakenly connected to nobility.

But as Keara's pleasant voice continued to fill the room, words like "wilderness" and "exploration" brought him images of open space bellow the stars and moons of Golarion skies, and he envisioned adventures, challenges and possibilities. By the time handsome Taldan girl finished reading, he was ready to charge an ogre, and it was clearly shown on his face.

"By the Old Deadeye's beard, we shall triumph in the face of adversity..." - caught by the magic of the moment, Aran exclaims loudly before he was even aware of what he is doing. He feels his cheeks blushing and his pulse pounding in his ears.

He bows slightly, making a short step back - "Pardon my...outburst mylady. It shall not happen again"

Selete stares at the Swordlord, awed by her grace. When addressed directly, Seleste blushes a bit while looking side to side. She manages a small nod of her head in acknowledgement. She is a glad...but a bit taken aback, that she was indeed selected.

Later as Keara reads aloud their charter, Seleste ever-so-slightly pulls her sword in its scabbard and sends it back roughly with a small <clack> at mention of unrepentant bandits, clearly indicating her preference.

The final charter member remains silent throughout the exchange still keeping his head down, hat brim covering his features with the cloak closed at his front.

Finally! Let us begone from Restov and into the adventure of the wilds.

Seleste looks back over her shoulder at the obvious fighter still against the wall. But is quick to return her gaze forward and down at her feet. Under her breath she mutters, "I SO could have remained sitting over there."

At the conclusion of the charter proclamation the Swordlord smiles at your group's response before continuing her counsel;

“Dobrý. It is our earnest wish that you truly appreciate the potential that this venture represents for us all my friends. Should you successfully explore the territory in question, and purge the bandit threat that infests it, then you will have proved yourselves most worthy and trusted... associates."

Jasna allows the poignancy of the last words to sink in before progressing;

"A tamed wilderness with such competent... landlords would invite support from many quarters indeed: Settlers, soldiers, merchants and of course the moneyed gentry, would all see an opportunity to build, fund and fight for something better...”

Sitting back in her chair she speaks again, but with more edge to her eyes and voice...

"Remember my glorious chosen, in this most delicate of ventures, we cannot be seen to openly support you. We have provided hirelings as befits such a deputation; Anando will act most capably as your Steward and has already secured a porter and pack animals to assist..."

"However that is where our aide ends... Let me be frank here... There are some who have the ear of our Regent upon his Dragonscale throne, who orchestrate a reign bountiful in both paranoia and subterfuge. Were they to hear of our mutual endeavours they would likely surmise we folk of Restov seek to build our power base with insurgence in mind. We have, of course...” she again smiles wryly, "...no such intentions Master Bogdan, but you know how easily tittle-tattle spreads in fair Brevoy”.

The Swordlord pauses for a moment, again allowing the implications of her words to be fully digested by each of you.

“However be warned; in accepting this particular duel always be on your guard, for the first cut always invites a counter-strike..."

The Swordlord spins the miniature sword defty betwixt her thumb and forefinger;

"There will be indigenous challenges; threats as yet unrevealed; and the jealous eyes of The River Kingdoms petty lordlings will doubtless turn your way should... when... you accomplish something of note."

Seleste tilts her head slightly as she takes in the Swordlord's words, but as the realization sinks in, a cold demeanor overcomes her and her voice, "So, we are to be solitary, I am comfortable with that...prefer it even. And with an eye to the task ahead, a pruning always seems harsh, but it produces the most healthy of growth. Weed out the bandits and trim the native thorns, what remains will bloom. And to those that come to pluck my roses will meet my steel....<ahem>." Seleste ends with a small cough, a look of slight surprise on her face and a bit of the return of blush to her cheek. She takes a half step back and a deep breath to recover from her small exultation.

Leith quirks an eyebrow, albeit from under the cover of his floppy brimmed hat, at Seleste's mention of plucking her rose.

Niklos listens and grows uneasy... he had hoped for a simple task where there was little need for politics or challenge. Perhaps a simple scouting mission into the wild, where he could enjoy a relative solitude... but this was more than that. Blind to the opportunities that might come of kingship, he thought only of hardship. Jasna's aside was also lost to him, as Niklos was unaware of how high within the family his patronage was generated.

At his side, the blackened cudgel seemed to grow heavier, as though the words and potential spoken soaked into it's tannin stained surface. Nikos shifted position to clear the discomfort and replied "So Master Anando acts only as steward? - we are to have no master over us?"

Jasna eyes Niklos intensely for a moment, then nonchelantly shrugs her shoulders;

"Anando is indeed merely your steward Master Bogdan... a helping hand in matters more be administrative. You and your comrades are of course masters of your own destinies."

Jasna leans over placing the second copy of the charter before you all.

"One for you to carry and this one... for our records here...”

She smiles frivolously; an expression you all find uncomfortable on this most capable of killers;

“It is so nice not to have to worry about Taldan bureaucracy... You know when I was campaigning down in Taldor, they insisted on at least six copies of everything... Most tiresome I’m sure you’d agree? I digress... all we require you to do is sign both copies, and then it's perfectly legal, and you can set out tomorrow morning charter in hand..."

She traces the miniature blade through the air following the route on an imaginary map;

"Make South East for Oleg's Wilderness Trading Post along the Old Restov Trade Road. This path will take you through the woodland thorp of Levoča, your last stop before the rough country... However tarry not there o'er-long for your destiny lies in the Greenbelt Wildlands... Regardless the journey is around a week’s travel at this time of year and with the gods blessings you will have all of spring and summer to show what you can do..."

She then taps the diminutive duelling blade against the inkpot and quill waiting at the edge of the table, once again her wry smile playing across scarred lips;

"After you all sign, of course..."

Moving with a sudden alacrity, the silent member of the company moves to the swordlord's desk. Extending his left hand from the cloak, he takes up the quill, dipping the nib into the inkpot and hastily scrawling his name on the parchment.

Niklos hesitates for a few moments before realising that he has little other option anyway. He shuffles forward after Leithbridge and makes his labored mark upon both writs.

Seleste takes the quill next. It takes her moment to complete her signature in the ornate script she uses, the 'S' and 'T' in particular we're worthy of a monestary folio.

"I will need to go get supplies for such a trip. It did not seem prudent to make such acquisitions before being selected."

Listening to the swordlord's words, Keara feels her head start spinning...

Untill now, she thought this expedition would be an exciting adventure, sure, from which she could've gained fame, fortune and maybe a well placed connection with some grateful noble... But to be a Landlord!? Would the brevic nobility really allow them to claim the freed land as their own?

By Shelyn's blessed glaive! So many possibilities! Once the Greenbelt is clear of bandits, we could call in settlers, and establish farms, and build a safe road for traders! and... And... So much more!

Completely overwhelmed by the prospective, and with barely a passing consideration about the dangers and difficulties that surely such an ambitious project would meet, Keara steps forward, approaches the table, and in short order her elegant signature is placed on both documents.

When she steps back from the table, her pearl-white grin is so wide she could blind people with it...

Unlike others, Aran approaches the table very reluctantly. He has only learned to read and write short time ago, and while his reading was OK, in his line of work writing was not really needed much, so his writing was very sloppy and slow.

He takes special care trying to write all of the letters in the correct way, and hoping that it was not readily visible that he was barely literate. Having finally completed the signature, he retreats one step, makes a small bow to Lady Jasna, and then joins the others.

With the signatures all in place, Jasna nods approvingly;

”My most exploratory associates before I bid you Búcsú és sok szerencsét or fair-thee-well and good luck in the Old Tongue, is there anything else you would ask of me before you set forth?”

Seleste looks to her left, perhaps at Aran...perhaps not, but then shakes her head in the negative.

Niklos shakes his head at the question, clearly there was little else that he could think to say. Instead he began to sidle closer to the door, eager to be away from the intimidation offered by the Sworldlord and the finery of the room.

Leith began to sketch a formal bow to the swordlord, but caught himself halfway through, hastily turning away and heading for the door.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, Aran seemed (or at least that was what he thought) that he saw someone glancing towards him. He glanced back, but could not see anyone specific. Seeing that most of his "compatriots" were either leaving or ready to leave, he was ready to follow suite, but he changed his mind in the last moment. Standing straight, he clears his throat and proceeds to address Lady Jasna.

"Thank you my-lady. Do you happen to know what might expect us ahead? Any specific news of the region? Some special threats or things you want us to deal with? And finally - any last piece of advice you can provide us with?"

Still quite dazed by her own romantic vision of the group's future exploits, Keara barely gives a passing thought about the swordlord's question, and most politely assures her she is quite ready to depart.

Her only question for Lady Jasna is, should the need ever arise, exactly through which channels she would prefer to be contacted.

Jasna listens intently as both Aran and Keara politely ask their respective queries;

”Master Innatven, with regard what lies ahead… Why… adventure, opportunity, and glory await! Of course the Greenbelt is a wild, contested landscape, to which your compatriot Mistress Talyn can surely attest… As such this endeavour will not be without it dangers… both men and monsters… native and outland…ish…”

She nods as if an inner monologue prompts her further;

”As the Charter indicates your initial priority is the banditry and bringing regulation to a realm lacking in such. Others bearing similar Charters will be sent to neighbouring regions; the Gorumites known as The Iron Wraiths have been dispatched to the Glenebon Uplands to… contend with the barbaric Highland tribes residing there and establish communication with the realm of Pitax... A large group of diplomats and soldiers under Baron Drelev have been sent into the Slough to ensure the trade route remains open and secure... And finally our own Maegus Varn leaves today with his company to bring the Nomen centaurs to heel…”

The swordlord’s eyes narrow and scarred jaw sets a little as she continues;

”As for communication, we will send couriers with decrees and rewards but rest assured they should not return empty handed to us… information is after all a valuable commodity…”

She mellows once again with her parting remark:

”And as for lasting advice? I gift you the maxim of the Aldori Swordlords: Never lower your guard... Now go! Anando, and our futures await!”

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

Leith is ready to go.

Niklos does not tarry, and moves into the mansion proper when Jasna finishes her words... wondering if Anando would be waiting or if they would meet on the morrow when they set out. At any rate, he'd have enough time on the road to grow acquainted with his charter-bound companions. Niklos aimed to make for the stables, unless held back by words.

untrained Knowledge geography check: 1d20 ⇒ 11 I believe it is allowed to do an untrained Knowledge check up to DC 10

Pursing his lips, Aran thinks for a bit trying to remember any of the mentioned regions. Noticing finally that he was the last in the room, he bows slightly to Lady Jasna, and follows his fellow "charter holders" outside. Catching up with them he shares what little knowledge he had of some of the regions mentioned.

"I believe we all heard of Numeria - a few vast cities and a lots of empty plains between them, while Pitax is well-known as smuggler haven. Although it is also a trade hub of a kind in the River Kingdoms."

Looking at no one in particular (although Keara with her almost unnatural beauty does attract quite a lots of young ranger's attention), Aran asks: "So, where to next?"

Moving things along as I'll likely be busy most of tomorrow, but feel free to retcon any reaction/conversation relating to successful Knowledge checks above

As your group leaves the meeting chamber you are surprised to find another quartet of individuals outside being attended to by a familiar Halfling scrivener.

As you exit one of the group, a well heeled and handsome warrior politely speaks out;

”Willas get the door! There are ladies present in their group man!”

The “Willas” he refers to is a scruffly attired Ulfen; Tall as a Brevic pine and thin like a spear; the man lopes toward the door casting a baleful glare in the direction of those who tore him from his cups.

With a mock courtesy he mans the door and bids your group walk through whilst muttering through clenched gap teeth in his mother tongue.

Thá græna hendur! Mun ekki endast einn dag í torfærur!

The rest of the waiting men merely smile wryly and shake their heads, whilst their leader apologies for his man‘s apparent bad manners;

“Apologies friends. Willas is most at home in the mountains and hills with snow for company hah! I am Maegar Varn, once of Brevoy, currently of Taldor and these are my companions... Father Caspar Morgarion of Old Deadeye’s church and the one with the scars is Howin Gurney, one of the Phalanx’s premier pikemen... Just the man you need to make those Nomen centaurs come to heel eh?”

As each man is introduced they nod an acknowledgement and greeting. Both seem as open and friendly as their leader (and in stark contrast to the lanky Ulfen outdoorsman).

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18
Untrained Knowledge:Local: 1d20 ⇒ 2

With practised ease, Aran sizes all of the man present noticing their equipment and weaponry. Since they were not familiar to him, he just mumbles: "Aye, nice to meet ya folk." As Keara and some others already demonstrated better abilities in the field of diplomacy, ranger promptly "transferred" those duties to them, awaiting their reaction.

Perception DC 10: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11
Knowledge (local) DC 10: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

Quickly exiting the audience room, Leigh brushes past the other group without so much as a glance before they have time to react to the presence of the women coming out behind him.

Niklos initially backs away from the Ulfen, but runs into Leithbridge who was following him out. Catching himself with one hand to the doorframe while the second falls onto his hip... and the handle of his cudgel. As though instantly drenched the caution and nervousness fades from his countenance and Niklos straightens to his full height. An air of intent settles around his body and he slowly moves forward. He draws to within inches of the Ulfen and looks upon his with impassive defiance streaming from his deadened gaze.

Pausing for a few moments with eyes locked, Niklos then slowly moves on past the northerner. Breaking his gaze with an evident dismissiveness, as though the Ulfen had been measured and found wanting by the half-Kellid boy.

Will wait on the input of our ladies before moving on...

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (14) - 1 = 13
Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Keara gives Varn a warm smile "There is no need for apologies, kind sir."

Then, turning towards Willas "And my most sincere thanks to you, master Willas", with just the faintest trace of mockery in her tone. Then, mimicking the man's actions, she makes a courtesy of her own, slowly and gracefully, bending her body just at the right angle to give the man a nice hint about what exactly lies under her tight shirt, then she quickly snaps back up, stares him deeply in the eyes for a few seconds, a knowing smirk on her face, and turns back to Varn and his group.

"I'm Keara Caradas of Brevoy, and these are... Ah... My companions: Aran Innatven of Rostland, Leithbridge Gravenhurst of Brevoy, Niklos Bogdan of Brevoy, and Seleste Talyn of Rostland. It's a true pleasure to make your acquaintance." Smiling brightly, she offers Maegar her hand as a friendly gesture.

Diplomacy (if needed): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Please note that if no one says anything, Keara automatically assumes she is the group's spokesperson, and will act accordingly from here on out. I'm afraid she is a little bit vain like that!

Seleste paused while looking at the Ulfen. She tilted her had as if unsure if he was being nice or in some way insulting them. When the handsome swordsman called out, turned and watched the men ignore him. A strange expression comes over her face and she starts to say something, but Keara steps forward and gives a proper introduction.

By the door, in a softer yet stilted voice meant only for the Ulfen, "I am to inform you that your manners are appreciated. There." She nods her head as if successfully checking off a completed task from a list.

Willas backs away from the youth, eyes darkening... his hand wavers near his belted hunting knife for a split second, then he thinks better of it...

When Keara and Seleste address him with first honeyed mockerey and then sincere strangeness, the lanky Ulfen stands baffled and more than a little cowed.

His master, Maeger accepts Keara's offered hand and places upon it a gentle kiss before continuing;

"My Lady. Alas you seem destined for the Greenbelt... you would provide far more gentile company than my companions or the Nomen... A pity indeed..."

Behind him Varn's companions raise their eyebrows, but say nothing.

"Ahem"

The diminutive scriviner coughs out an interruption;

"Bearers of the Greenbelt Charter... please follow me... when you are finished being charmed by Lord Varn of course... Ahem."

Young ranger was on very unfamiliar ground for a few moments. At first, he wanted to follow their somewhat strange and very quiet fellow Charter bearer with a floppy weather-beaten hat (Leith), but then the situation developed around him and he was quite unsure how to understand it. He was not very familiar to "social contacts", and for a moment the advances of Lord Varn seemed like offensive. But Keara seemed to be very friendly to them, and Seleste, while a bit "detached", offered what Aran considered a normal response.

Thankfully, Anando appeared with a request to follow him, and Aran started towards his direction, making clear his intention to go after the scribe.

Niklos' stalk is arrested by the call of Anando, and his swagger is once more curtailed. He falls in behind the scriviner and awaits to be led off.

The scriviner curtly beckons for your group to follow;

Unless anyone has any parting dialogue they wish to impart to Lord Varn and his colleagues?

The diminutive bureaucrat does not tarry as he scampers along the familar corridors of the Mayor's Great Hall.

Sombrely lit, the flickering candlelight only hints at treasures, portraits and tapestries that line the corridors of power...

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Niklos follows after the determined steward, finding that even with his longer legs he need hustle to keep up.