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Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged
by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and
authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel
within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration
should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Calistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.
To the south of the city of Restov lies the thick and impenetrable forest known as the Greenbelt. The Greenbelt has thus far resisted all attempts to civilize it's expanses, though it is sparsely inhabited by hunters, trappers, hermits, bandits, and non-humans.
The bandits in particular are a nuisance. They happily conduct raids on outlying settlements, knowing that they can retreat into the forest where no organized force can follow.
An expedition has been organized to create a definitive map of the closer regions of the Greenbelt. To that end the venerable Swordlord Eleder has handpicked a party of intrepid heroes and intrepid anti-heroes and maybe even a straight-up villain or two to do so.
None of the party members knew each other before they volunteered or were volunteered for the job, and you know nothing about your new comrades except what Eleder has told you. And seeing as what she told you about each other was overwhelmingly negative, you wonder what she told them about you . . .
"Guthruc's from far south of the Inner Sea, so some of his customs might seem strange to you . . . don't worry though! I'm almost certain that he won't try to eat you. Almost. At any rate, he's dumb muscle and I get the feeling you'll be needing a lot of that."
"Iorskan . . . he's like a midgity little dragon, but smaller. That can't fly or breath fire. I've got high hopes for him!"
"So, at first we, the Swordlords I mean, thought we'd take volunteers. But there were so many of them that everyone was like, 'I'm not sorting through all that!' So I put together the team myself. Anyway, Abaos was on the list of volunteers, and I picked one at random. I guess he's just lucky."
"He's the party's guide! Show the rest of you around. That and I needed someone with a lick of common sense in the group, the rest of you are so mind-numbingly stu- cold. The rest of you are . . . cold. Numbingly cold. Maybe put a coat on? Or perhaps you're cold emotionally? Is Awn in touch with his emotions? Will he be able to help you work through your grief when one of your number inevitably dies? These are important questions, but I'm afraid I don't have the answers."
"She was headed into the Greenbelt anyway, so I figured, why not? I'm sure she has valuable skills to contribute. I just don't know what they are yet."
"I like him! He's funny. I think he's . . . a cleric or something?"
You aren't sure who you trust less, Eleder or the rest of the team she's assembled. In any case, you might as well get to know each other on your way to Oleg's Trading Post, the landmark referenced in the charter.
Iorskan, the little gold dragonling, slapped his tail in frustration. He liked Awn. Awn was the only sentient creature he had met whom he trusted not to sell him into slavery. Looking around at his other companions, he narrowed his eyes.
There was the orc...it was large. And didn’t look tasty at all. Humans tasted good, kind of like chickens. He wondered what Guthric tasted like. But the orc looked too strong to die, and if it did then Iorskan would probably be next! He hoped to meet another orc because he was curious what they tasted like. Iorksan’s stomach growled and a tiny puff of smoke came out of his mouth. He was growing, and was hungry.
The humans looked tastier though! Especially Abaos! He looked softer than the rest. But eating people was wrong. Or so his last owner had said after he had eaten a courtier’s hand. Apparently people were expensive. And eating them made other humans angry, and out in the wilderness they might even eat him for it! Especially the orc. He seemed like someone who would want to eat him. His eyes narrowed even more as he angrily slapped his tail on the ground again. Being hungry made him angry.
No! This wasn’t the time to think about eating. No matter how tasty Abaos looked. He didn’t need both hands, right? Iorskan shook his head. Stop it he thought. This isn’t helping! I need to prove my worth. Show them that I’m not just some dumb beast. I am a dragon! I am a proud, majestic being, worthy of respect and adoration! It’s time to prove my worth!
Iorskan took a deep breath. He didn’t like speaking. It felt beneath him. But he would have to if he were to get along with the group. Here goes...we’re deciding where to go. I should use my superior intelligence to guide our group to riches and adventure!
”I’m hungry.”
Damn it.
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And Iorskan, you're good on the eating people. That was a good touch, I thought!
Abaos looked around at the group of supposed "teammates" Swordlord Eleder assembled. Any eclectic group, one with an assortment of cultures. Orc, Tree, Child, what a number. Haven't seen this much diversity since the inner cities. Neat though. Should be a good group, even if we will stand out in these backwaters.
He peers again. I swear that dragon keeps looking at me.
It has been quiet since they started out, and Abaos needed to change that.
He struts over to Iorskan, the dragon, reaches out his hand, and pats him on the head. "I've got trail rations in my back, bud," he says. "Want me to get some out? He looks expectantly at the dragon.
"And maybe a card game after?"
Awn smiles as Abaos makes a greeting to his draconic friend.
He will grow to be mighty if his desires don't lead him to trouble!
"Abaos - greetings. I am Awn, a friend of the elves and ambassador for the woodlands. It seems banditry thrives beyond the edges of the Swordlords control. Perhaps we should head to the trading post and find folk who have encountered these bandits? Ozara, Shemeska, Guthruc?"
Guthruc only comprehends about 70% of what was said, but understands that there are some people in a forest that need to be gotten rid of.
Guthruc not cold! Guthruc no surrender to cold! Guthruc warm.
This Guthruc team? Guthruc team look weak, not worthy of honor. Dragon too small. Guthruc squints at Iorskan Guthruc like small dragon. Guthruc no like funny cleric. Guthruc no trust magic man.
"Small dragon, Guthruc hungry too."
"Awn want find ban...dit to kill? Guthruc agree. What is ban...dit?
Guthruc hungry. Guthruc no eat fly animal this sun.
Guthruc searches around for birds. not anything specific, just something that can fly. The closer, the better.
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There are dozens of birds flitting through the trees, the nose of their chirping is almost deafening this early in the morning. Several are on the ground, pecking at insects and tugging at worms. It's a peaceful scene.
Guthruc doesn't see any birds.
Guthruc grunts in frustration and mutters under his breath.
Shame small dragon no fly
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Abaos shrugs. "Alright guys, guess everyone's hungry. Snack time."
He unslings his backpack, and, within a moment, unloads some trail rations. He passes some out to both Iorskan and Guthruc first, then will offer some to whomever else wishes.
"Abaos - greetings. I am Awn, a friend of the elves and ambassador for the woodlands. It seems banditry thrives beyond the edges of the Swordlords control. Perhaps we should head to the trading post and find folk who have encountered these bandits? Ozara, Shemeska, Guthruc?"
"I think you're in a good spot, Awn. Best way to find the bandits is to head to the city, right?" He chuckles for a bit, then his face turns serious.
"No, you're right. We should go there, load up on supplies. I'm not certain what the plan is from there, but we might be able to figure out someone who knows them. They've got to have a fence, yes? Unless you have a better plan."
"The trading post is a city? I had no idea. I cannot wait to see the city of Oleg!" Awn replies earnestly.
At Abaos' offer of food, Ozzy raises her small hands under her chin, placing them together to form a bowl shape. Her eyes widen and her lips compress. Real food? I haven't had anything but wandermeal in days!
The short, skinny girl's flesh is completely devoid of color, as if she had been drawn by an artist who couldn't afford pigments. Her big eyes are completely white, so much so that they seem to glow faintly in the shade of unruly strands of black hair that fall over the right side of her face, where dark goggles worn up on her forehead fail utterly to to hold them back. The left side of her head doesn't have that problem. She's been shaving the hair on that side for years. She almost never slips with the razor anymore, but a close inspection would reveal faint scars that attest that it was not always so. Young skin heals quickly though, and the marks are all but gone.
Thank you... she says with a hasty politeness that no true adult could manage. She looks down at the mixture of dried berries, nuts and grains. Twisting one cupped hand to cover the other, she pulls her hands to her chest and rests them against her undeveloped chest. At least, it looks undeveloped. It's hard to tell through the layers of ill-fitting patchwork leather armor, which shows signs of hastily repaired damage everywhere. A studded vest looks like it was made for a halfling, and barely fits her skinny, 4'11" frame. It has been cut in half down the back and laced back together, like a shoe. It is patched in places and is near needing patches in others, and is augmented with numerous leather straps and bands. On her left shoulder, a single leather pauldron is reinforced with a once ornate metal dome that appears to have been salvaged from a much more expensive set of armor. It has seen better days though, and looks like it may very well have been the only salvageable piece.
She bends her head down, resting her chin above the meal as she stares down at it. She pokes at the mixture a couple of times, pushing one morsel aside to see the one underneath. She plucks out a berry and pops it into her mouth, then follows it quickly with a second one before poking at the pile again to reveal a third. She quickly adds it to the other two, before saying through a full mouth, ...and you can call me Ozzy.
With her head bent down, she strikes a particularly amusing silhouette. Her stick-like legs in long, sturdy (but well-worn) boots folded down just below her knees have their pointed toes turned slightly inward, and mirror the longer, more pointed sticks that protrude above her shoulders. The longest of them ends almost 8 feet above the ground.
The beast stands beside the girl, and leans in to sniff the food as she eats it. From behind, the creature could be mistaken for a dark grey wolf with an unusually furry neck, but a look at its face would make a man wonder how he could ever have been so wrong. It's short nose is flanked by huge spherical eyes, each easily the size of a child's head. His head swivels in place to look over at the Abaos, then back at the girl.
She reaches over to tousle his fur without looking up, then returns to picking at her food. The beast's small mouth stretches across its face to become impossibly large, and a long, reptilian tongue darts up from the corner to its right eye, licking it clean and moistening it.
Iorskan waddled over with all of the grace and poise he could manage. He sniffed the dried berries, nuts and grains. Was this food? With a claw he picked up a berry. It was like the berries on the forest, only...
”Thank you.” His stomach growled and he popped it in his mouth. It wasn’t meat, but he was starving. He hasn’t eaten in hours. This tasty looking human had given him food. And while it wasn’t good food, it was given in good faith. I like this one! I’m not going to eat him unless he is already dead. Feeling quite magnanimous, he plopped down next to Abaos and Ozzy, picked up some nuts, and started chewing.
——
And that was when he noticed the beast. The little dragon tensed. He didn’t know what it was. ”What is that? Can I eat it?”
Though somewhat surprised by the beast, Awn gathered his wits quickly.
"That may not be wise Ior. Apparently it tastes like...marsh gas."
Ozzy picks the rest of the berries out of her hand with two fingers of the other, collecting them in the palm. Without looking up, she replies, That's Mr. Blinky. He's with me. Then she tilts her head back and dumps a brief cascade of the dried fruits into her mouth.
The beast huffs and turns its head toward the diminutive dragonoid. Hullo, it says, lazily.
You see a cleanly-shaven man with shoulder-length black hair. His eyes are a deep blue, with small flecks of silver near the iris. His skin is fair and pale, indicating northern ancestry. He has small freckles on his nose, high cheek bones, and a strong jaw. He wears traveling clothes and carries an easy smile.
He inhales deeply through his nose as he walks down the road. "Ah! You smell that? That is fine country air! The mingled smell of mountain snow, green grass, wildflowers -- Why, it almost makes you forget the horrible fate awaiting all of us in the cold dark of oblivion." He bends down to pick a flower head as they walk and tucks it in his breast pocket. "Have any of you been to this trading post? I hope he carries pastries. I love pastries!"
He smiles and pats the small dragon on the shoulder... or flank, or whatever is in reach. "Cheer up, little golden one. I am sure Oleg will have something for you to eat."
He was about to respond to Blinky when Shemeska drew his attention with a pat on the side. ”Let us go then!” The little dragon said in his most regal tone, certain that it would inspire awe and fear into everyone. ”We will dine on meat in the city of Oleg!” Of everything the man said, that was all he caught. There was something about flowers and oblivion, but the little dragon had his priorities straight.
Ah yes, the burden of leadership. How do I do it?
As they fall in behind Iorskan Awn explains patiently to Guthruc.
"As near as I can tell, bandits take objects, ah.. things from other folk, with the threat or actual show of violence. Um." Awn looks skyward momentarily.
"Bad thieves?"
The innocuous enough moniker 'Trading Post' does not seem to fit, when confronted with the intimidating structure. Before it was purchased by Oleg Leveton, Oleg's Trading post was an abandoned border fort. It still boasts formidable defenses, should they ever be needed. Oleg’s trading post is surrounded by a wooden palisade that stands 10 feet high. At each corner of the palisade are 20-foot-square watchtowers. There’s one entrance through the palisade—a 30-foot-wide wooden gate. It’s a DC 15 Athletics check to scale the walls of the palisade.
You pass through the looming palisade, and look around to see a number of wooden buildings. A ladder is propped against the nearest one, and stout middle-aged man is lying on the roof, pounding on something you can't make out at this angle with a hammer. When he sees you he stops his hammering, cautiously makes his way to the ladder, and descends. He's sweaty and out of breath.
"'Ello! I'm Oleg, and this'd be my trading post." His eyes glance over the assorted travelers. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're the mercs Restov sent as reinforcements." Under his breath he mutters, "Took their bloody time about it. *Ahem.* I'm glad to have you. We'll see how the low down dirty rotten thieves like tangling with a half-orc! Hah! That'll show them." He slaps Guthruc on the back companionably, but looks uncomfortable doing so.
Guthruc is insulted, raising his voice, and grabbing Oleg's collar
Half-orc, puny man call Guthruc HALF-ORC! Guthruc, FULL orc can snap puny man like stick, unlike weak, pitiful, half-orc.
Ozzy steps forward and reaches up a hand to Guthruc's shoulder. Calm down, I'm sure he didn't mean to insult you.
"Oh god! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you! Please! Please don't hurt me!"
When Guthruc releases Oleg's collar he staggers back, rubbing at his neck. He recovers his cool remarkably quickly. "Touchy subject, eh?"
Despite his previous bravado, Iorskan was much more subdued upon reaching the trading post. The dragonling stayed as close as possible to Awn, while looking around nervously.
When the commotion with Guthric broke out, Iorskan took the opportunity to gently claw at her. It was, in a way, demeaning. But he was hungry, and was afraid that if he stepped out and made a scene then he’d be sold to Oleg, or taken by force. Once he got her attention he looked up hopefully and said in a low voice:
”I’m hungry. Can you get me food?”
Awn felt a purposeful claw on his leg, and looked down, hearing Iorskan's plea for food.
"Hmm, yes my mighty friend."
Hoping that Guthruc and Oleg had finished their introduction successfully, Awn leaned on his long curved Elven blade and addressed the trader.
"Kind Oleg - our young draconic requires protein. Meat if you have any, raw will do, though cooked might be a treat. I have some coin to offer?"
As much as Iorskan wanted to hide, now that there was attention on him he couldn’t bring himself to do so. With some hesitation he stood next to Awn, rather than behind him, and forced himself to keep his head up. He whispered as he did so ”I’ll pay you back.”
"There is no need." Awn smiles back.
After Guthruc calms down, he walks over to Ozzy.
Guthruc thank child girl. Guthruc think half-orc insult to man and orc. Half-orc weak to orc, so puny man challenge Guthruc strength when call Guthruc half-orc.
Guthruc like child girl. She help Guthruc
Now that Guthruc has walked a ways from his previous failed hunt for birds, he decides that maybe there are birds in this area.
Shemeska raises a hand in greeting. "Thank you, Oleg! Thank you for your lovely greeting, and please do not be overly concerned with our friend Guthruc. He is an orc, after all. It is in his nature. His people threaten to snap people in half as easily as others say 'good morning." He shakes Oleg's hand and leans in to half-whisper. "The trick is, you must respond likewise with an equal amount of aggressiveness. If you show fear, you will lose their respect, and if you escalate, they will take it as an invitation to violence." He releases his grip. "Now, if you don't mind, Master Oleg, we would love some food. Do you have any pastries?"
Guthruc sees birds.
I have some coin to offer?"
"There's no need for that, no need at all." Oleg looks slightly offended. "We got word you were coming yesterday, and figured you might want a hot meal. No pastries, I'm afraid, but we've got hot stew and warm bread. C'mon and follow me."
Oleg leads you around the corner of the A2 building to a fire pit. On it is a bubbling pot of stew with a heavenly aroma, around it is a number of wooden benches that would be more accurately described as logs. "Where in hell did Svet get off to . . ." he mutters, before saying somewhat louder, "it's usually pretty quiet in these parts, so you're our only visitors at just the moment. Most of the time it's just me and Svet." He takes a seat on one of the logs, grunting as he does so, and looks around at the old border fort, much too large for two people to maintain and in disrepair before he even purchased it. The pride is evident on his face. "I know it isn't much to look at," he apologizes, "but I'm glad the Swordlords sent you. We've been sending word back with anyone heading towards Restov since it started three months ago, yesterday we got a letter saying it'd be a while before anyone official got approval to come here, but they sent a couple of freelancers, one of them a little dragon and another one a tree." He nods gratefully at Awn, but not at Iorskan, assuming that the little monster is a pet (seeing as it hasn't spoken yet.) "I take it that's you. Bureaucracy. What all did they tell you about the local bandits?"
The Ozzy turns to Mr. Blinky, her eyes wide. The beast's head swivels to meet her eyes. Stew! She turns and runs in the indicated direction, outpacing the others. The Furry creature bounds along behind her.
When she reaches the bubbling pot, she stops abruptly. Clasping her hands behind her back, she leans over the pot and breathes in deeply through her nose, taking in the warm aroma of the food.
Shemeska happily accepts a bowl. "Stew! I love stew! Stew is one of the building blocks of a happy life." The wizard sits down on a log near Oleg and eagerly dips his bread into the broth. He eats hungrily, talking around bites. "Bandits? We were told they are bad men. Very bad men. Just awful. The worst. We were told we should try our very best to murder them. You know, Oleg, I'm still getting a feel for the members of this group, but from what I've seen so far, I don't think we will have any problems with murder. Or justice, if you want to call it that." He takes another bite. "Ohhh, this is really good. I'm going to need another bowl when I finish this."
Awn frowns at the proffered "stew". Not from his own hunger, which was little and which required little sustenance to sate, but for Iorskan.
Dutifully, if not practiced, the woodborn slops some stew in a bowl and drops a few pieces of bread to soak it up. He places it on the ground a little ways from the table for the draconic.
"...There's meat in there Ior. This will be it I'm afraid until we get out into the wild and can hunt some game." He squats on his haunches by the bowl and cocks his head to the side, then the other, stretching his fibrous muscles. He speaks in a low voice to Iorskan
"Just between you and I, I have a strong feeling that everyone, apart from Guthruc might frown on you treating bandits as "game". Guthruc, well you boyh might need to share the odd bandit. This will be interesting..."
Standing again, Awn thanks Oleg for his hospitality. He looks around the gort and nods, breathing in the smell of settlement.
So. Not a city. Not yet. But one day it will be...
"I foresee this fortress will grow beyond its current humble state. To greater good or rapine excess I cannot discern. But for now, the bandits concern us. Can you give us an idea of the surrounds? A mud-map perhaps of known locations or possible hideouts? There must be a road or trail and outlying settlements?"
Awn pauses.
"Without prey, the wolves starve. So where are the prey these bandits live off?"
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Abaos nods gratefully at the offered stew, taking a small bowl.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Oleg. It's a mighty fine meal."
"What all did they tell you about the local bandits?"
Abaos waves his hands dismissively. "Oh, we've heard a bit here and there. But you know how it is, one guy's stories are another man's truth, and such is as such goes. The tales vary wildly. Much like your humble city, here, though it is nice to know it is as fine as the stories say. Truly, it'll be a wonder one day. What type of work have you put into it? I'd love to hear about it sometime. Perhaps you can tell us some about it, maybe revel us with some news of these bandits that plague it?"
Abaos takes a spoon of stew and gazes with intent, purple eyes glowing.
Still keeping an eye out for any birds, Guthruc absentmindedly takes a bowl of stew, sits down, and starts eating without a word.
Guthruc catches a bird in the corner of his eye, standing up suddenly, knocking over his log and spilling a significant portion of his stew. He aggressively draws one of the five hunting knives along his belt and hurls it at the unsuspecting avian full force.
Awn watches Guthruc's reaction to seeing a bird with interest.
Luckily he must run out of knives eventually lest the forest lose its supply of pollinators, singers and rain-heralds...
Oleg frowns. "Huh. I guess the Swordlords didn't tell you much." He scratches at his chin, looking for the words. He leans in, face intense. "The bandits will be here tomorrow. Probably. They aren't kind enough to share their schedule with me, but they've been stopping by on the first of the month every month for about three months. So, it's not certain, but it's a pattern. First thing tomorrow morning, we're looking at a largish fighting force- maybe as many as ten- all mounted."
"Me and Svet've been playing along, trying not to get ourselves killed, asking Restov for help. And here you are. Hell, whether anyone came or not I'd already decided I'm not giving the lazy murderers another month's earnings . . . but here you are. This place used to be border fort, the walls are solid, though the ballistae don't-"
At this moment Oleg is interrupted by Guthruc, who with a spine-chilling battle cry lept from his bench, drawing a dagger with the same motion, and suddenly whirled around to face his foe. Stepping into the throw, putting every muscle in his body into it, face contorted with concentration, eyes ruined by over-exposure to the sun narrowed in focus, Guthruc drove his knife into the packed dirt some ten feet away.
A nearby bird fluttered away, chirping indignantly.
Awns waits patiently for the dust to settle before replying to Oleg.
"A pity the large spear-throwers, ballistae? don't work. Still, it is perhaps a possibility that we let the bandits in, and then ambush them from above? (here looks around at the fortififications) We would need to hide evidence of our arrival and current existence."
Guthruc screams in frustration whirling around to face the next bird. He draws a second hunting knife and doesn't hold back, accidentally kicking another log in the proccess.
"Me and Svetlana thought, well, mostly Svet, to be honest, maybe we could-"
Guthruc howls in rage and throws his second knife. This throw was much better aimed, and certainly would have hit a stationary target, even a diminutive one, but his earlier throw riled the birds up, and this one wasn't surprised by the attempt on it's life.
"Yeah, a surprise attack would probably be our best bet."
Guthruc lets out a roar of unbridled rage
Guthruc grabs his 6 foot tall greatclub lying beside him, readying it to strike. He charges directly at the next bird with a fury unseen before. He swings the club downward, hoping to catch the innocent thrush even if it attempts flight.
Awn watches Guthruc's continued avian prejudice with equal interest.
"A most dedicated warrior. If only we could channel it toward the bandits."
"I'm sorry Oleg, you were saying regarding Svet's thoughts? Do you have any tactical advice? I admit, hiding and attacking from above seems to be the limit of my wisdom. Can the ballistae be repaired do you think? Perhaps one of my associates is competent in such matters?"
Iorskan followed the others towards the stew. It seemed like they were enjoying it...but then he looked in. Potatoes. Small bits of meat. No bones to gnaw on. How did humans live like this? And between Ozzy and her beast...why it would be undignified to fight for such scraps.
And that is when Guthric killed a bird with a thrown knife. The scent of blood, the sound of shock and death...it was too much. He waddled over as fast as he could, ready to devour the bird. When he reached it, and had it in his mouth, he realized that maybe the orc wanted to eat it. Fighting the urge to swallow it, he let the bloody carcass fall to the ground while looking at Guthric expextantly.
Immediate Action: Use second sight to add +1 to Guthruc's greatclub attack roll.