The day dawns utterly windless. It snowed lightly during the night, unseasonable this late into the spring, but the temperature rises quickly as the sun does the same, and by noon there's only patches of the fluffy white stuff in the deepest shade.
But the narrator is getting ahead of himself. As soon as there was light to see by, rugged folk were breaking the ground with hand tools, digging holes in which to bury comrades and enemies.
The casualties of last nights battle are gathered and wrapped in blankets. The kobolds bury there own. The mites, however, are vehemently against anyone touching or moving their corpses. Apparently it's miteish custom to leave a corpse where it falls, so that it can attract arthropods in a manner most unsanitary. The humans are less than thrilled with this development, but after the concept of a funeral is explained to him (along with the germ theory of disease), Viceroy Dragonfly reluctantly agrees to burying his dead. The other mites are somewhat more enthusiastic about it, giving speeches and telling stories and ignoring their leader's grumbling about cultural diffusion.
Akiros is as good as his word, burying people in plain sight of Iorskan with heavy and widespread implication that no one here plans on digging them up to eat later.
Eventually, the dead are all buried, nothing but thirty-two mounds of earth, cleared of snow, and thirty two wooden grave markers marred with names like "Numer Man-Gutter" and "Jex the Snitch".
Tales are told, speeches given, tears shed (though none for Jex the Snitch), and time spent. The sun's reached it's apex in the sky by the time all the dead are buried.
Awn wanders between the various rites, noting the lost and and maimed alike, consigning to his dendritic memory the tales and stories of these folk, mundane and mystical alike.
So many tales here ended, and here began. Our story however, merely continues, and we with it.
Mostly, the woodborn watches the wind and listens to the sky, wondering how his own folk fare, and what the next days will bring. He finds a shawl-cum-poncho to wear, more out of an "improvement" of civilisation than a need for warmth, and shuffles to Abaos' position.
"Well my friend, we have progressed beyond our mandate, whether that of our original employer, or that which we devised for ourselves. We have ensured a peace...of a kind. We have treaties and alliances with mites, with kobolds, with boggards and with humans."
Awn scans the furrows new-made, of varying sizes and quality, housing the empty and soulless vessels of those yesterday's warriors.
"What now? For them. For us." he asks the purple eyed adventurer.
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Abaos smiles a little smile. "I prefer to think of it as.... a more efficient means of completing our contractual obligations," he laughs. "We've recruited new allies, yes, but that just means we have more time and more people to finish exploring, as per our clause."
His face turns serious, and he stares at the dead mounds, unblinking. "What would you have me do with them, Bright Awn? I've always valued your opinion, and now more than ever, with the damned dice rattling in my head like never before, am I in need of it. If we use them to help finish our mandate, it buys us time; but it also makes it that much easier for Restov to come in and claim the area. They'll kill these people, wanted as they are, until these Stolen Lands all are filled with markings such as these. I cannot allow that. Not now."
Jen approaches Garess and gives a small nod. "Captain," she says, "I didn't expect to see you here." Glancing sidelong, she gives a brief smile with the promise of a future conversation in it to the green-cloaked halfling cavalryman beside the captain, before turning back toward Garess.
"Today is a day of morning, and I wish I had been here earlier to lessen the bloodshed." Remembering, suddenly, that things are different from when they'd last met, though, her voice grows sharp and bitter as she adds, "Then again, I'm sure you believe I would have made the bloodshed all the worse."
Abaos, Bright Awn, and anyone else who wants to be part of this scene (like y’all have anything better to do) notice Captain Garess (flanked by either a tall hobbit or a short dwarf and a mustachioed one-eyed blond) just as the blue-colored arcane caster you rescued last night strikes up a conversation with them.
“Undrell.” Garess seems surprised to see the tiefling here. ”I’d say it’s nice to see you again, if it were.”
She turns to Abaos and Bright Awn. “Where’d you find her? Last I heard, she was reassigned to the reserve forces, on the off chance that the Dragonscale Throne ever needs a wizard with a reputation for ruthlessness, and getting people around her killed.”
“With a reputation,” the bearded halfling protests, “for terrible, terrible luck.”
Garess is unconvinced. “She’s left a trail of devastation behind her longer and broader than the Shrike River.”
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Awn wastes little time wondering about the possibilities of Restov's political ambitions or territorial desires. The woodborn smiles, and places a hand on Abaos' shoulder affectionately.
"We build strength, and walk forward with that strength. You wish for peace, I can see you desire no bloodshed, though it follows you like a cloud Abaos. Also because Guthruc and Iorskan eat people, but mostly... it is a... metaphorical cloud. Of blood....[here Awn trails off a bit, attempting to get back on track] The point is, we can make something here unique, much like mine own people - a gathering of the like-minded, an alliance of opportunity and safety in numbers that can become more than the sum of our disparate parts.
Awn fixes Jen with that unutterable stare again. Then turns to Captain Garess, yet seemingly addresses the halfling, still for some reason staring at the captain with a wide open face and eyebrows raised.
"Terrible luck. Terrible. Luck? This I must see. The problem with luck is that it always has more than two sides, and the viewer distorts it by the very act of viewing it. I imagine you feel lucky not having Jen with you. Probably best to give her a wide berth." he adds with his characterisitc gickshit-eating grin.
Guthruc, only half-listening because he happened to be in the area, punching the stone to build strength and constitution, chimes in with a much different view on the matter.
"Luck? Luck!? Luck made for man. Man want luck cause man think it strong. No. Luck is sad try at strong. Unluck is when man no see how weak is. Excuse for weak. If think blue girl unluck, then you more weak than think. Guthruc no need luck, Guthruc strong. Never unluck, just need more strong."
Guthruc storms off to his previous stone wall and continues to bloody his knuckles, just with more force this time around.
Auch's task for the day: fill the fire trench we dug with new dirt. Guthruc did not provide a shovel.
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Jen looks back and forth between the bantering Garess and Abaos and makes a sorry attempt at a smile that ends up more like a grimace. "I thank you for the blank slate you've offered, then," she says. Her tone is sincere, conveying some measure of her weariness at how far her reputation has preceded her. "In fact, I would be happy to help create something new, if you would have me. However..."
Elminster has pulled his lead long and tight as he ranges out to find particularly chewy bits of flower. Jen tugs on the lead, hard, and, letting out a snort, the donkey moves back towards her. "I'm afraid I don't gamble," she finishes, apologetically.
And then Guthruc yells about weakness and storms off. Jen watches in apprehension, backing away ever so slightly as she's never been quite comfortable around large, violent people aroused to anger.
and he's no longer addicted! yay!
The captain purses her lips as Bright Awn and Abaos talk. “I don’t know what to think about you,” she admits. “You’ve gathered these people together, I suppose in light of last night’s discussion,” she nods at Abaos, “I should say you’ve gathered us people together. And it seems possible to me that us people here, we’re the beginning of something . . . spectacular.”
She shakes her head. “But there’s two sides to the we-accept-everyone coin. And the other side of it, I suspect, has something to do with people gaming a very hands-off system. If you’ll trust absolutely anyone to hold themself accountable, you’ll wind up with more than a few who won’t do anything of the sort.”
She waves one arm in a sweeping gesture that takes in convicted murderers, sadistic fey, cannibals, a diabolic boggard, a gullible ogre, and Jen Undrell. “I think I could point some of them out.”
Awn blinks as the captain speaks.
"Well said Captain Garess. I guess in making the rich tapestry of life our patchwork runs quite ragged. Perhaps you shall be the darning needle to keep the warp and weft aligned." mangles the woodborn gently.
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“I think I could point some of them out.”
Iorskan waddled in, in a way that he was sure was quite regal.
”I am told that as a lord I should be here to speak for my people.” He said, completely oblivious to the fact that he was interrupting. ”My kobolds fought and bled. They want assurances now that the new Stag Lord won’t steal their turnips. They also want to new Stag Lord is going to be. My chieftain also wants to know if this army is staying, and if so, what it will be for.” Iorskan was less than pleased with having actual responsibilities. Life was so much better when other people did all of the thinking. But Chief Sootscale was worried. Worried that mites would steal his turnips and out of work bandits would turn his people into boots. Or that Guthric would start eating his people. And a nervous chieftain made for nervous kobolds which made for annoyed dragons. And as such...here he was! Forced to do his job.
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Something in Captain Garess' words trigger something in Abaos. A small, still voice begins to speak, and before he knows what he's doing, eh begins speaking.
"You're absolutely right- some people will game any system, any way, and how, that they can. It's not our place to judge strange behaviors, but rather to fix and instill a goal and motivation to make them do as we please."
Somehow, that sounds wrong, but he continues, already into the speech. "If we give incentives towards behaviors that we wish, then we can be assured that most, if not all, will follow as we desire."
He gives an involuntary smile, and finishes "It's not about gaming the system to be taken advantage of- it's about gaming the system so that we take advantage of it."
And with a force of a thousand ill wills, he's suddenly back to the present. Embarrassed, he recalls what he just said, the spark of knowledge he's not certain from where it came. "I, uh, someone told me that, once, I think" the normally composed gambler states.
And with a small bow, he slowly begins backing away, excusing himself.
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And then Ioskan buts in. The headstrong young dragon's zeal for his people brings a smile to Abaos' otherwise panicked face, and he finishes speaking. "I'll talk to them, Iorskan, if you'll translate for me. I'll answer all questions tonight."
He turns back to Captain Garess. "Is there anything else, Captain? I've a speech I must prepare."
He stands on the balls of his feet, quite ready to spring away at the first sign of agreement.
“I’ve voiced my concerns. Good luck with your speech.”
Ozzy sleeps through all of this, having claimed the bed of one of the stag lord's fallen men. The thin, lumpy mattress stuffed primarily with horse hair is the softest thing she has ever slept on.
Guthruc, punching the wall, begins to think about more beings he could enlist into his expanding warband. He had boggards, giants, and a half-orc; he needed something stonger, something more terrifying. He is reminded of the creatures sneeg had commanded down in the cells, how powerful could they become if trained properly? He then recalls that Jen had spoken to Sneeg with the same tongue he spoke to the demons.
He rushes over to Jen, ignorant of any semblance of conversation she was trying to hold. He grips her shoulder with his blood soaked hand, dripping a decent amount on her clothes.
"Blue girl speak demon? Guthruc need speak demon. Teach Guthruc? Guthruc need demon for warband."
He grips her shoulder with his blood soaked hand
Jen would've tried to maintain focus, at least for a moment, on Garess' censure of her character. This is impossible for her as the giant orc claps his hand onto her scrawny shoulder. Her frame literally shakes for a moment and she lets out a noise as she instinctively drops Elminster's lead and whips her head to face Guthruc.
(Elminster delights in his newfound freedom and makes a beeline for a patch of daisies)
"Uh" she manages to get out, and then, "You... really... don't want to meet, or talk to, or interact with a demon of any sort, they're... really nasty creatures." Her face shifts for a moment to an expression of disgust as she thinks on the demon an Academy instructor once summoned and the foulness of her distant ancestor's conception.
"Although,' she says, quickly, her tone shifting back to one of timidness, "I can teach you if you really want to, of course, I was never saying I couldn't...
Ozzy sleeps through all of this, having claimed the bed of one of the stag lord's fallen men. The thin, lumpy mattress stuffed primarily with horse hair is the softest thing she has ever slept on.
When Ozzy slowly comes to, she realizes that Viceroy Dragonfly has been standing at her bedside, who knows for how long. He leans casually on his lance, the dangerous weapon a perhaps unconscious reminder of how vulnerable the young summoner is in her sleep, without her eidolons to protect her.
The Viceroy's face is inscrutable.
"Ah, my liege. Welcome back to the land of the wakeful. I trust your dreams were pleasant?" Dragonfly begins to pace. "Mine aren't, of late. Everything I have striven to achieve for these past four years, I have achieved, in these past few weeks. Grabbles the tyrant is dead. I command a larger force now than ever I have. There is no conflict of interest with the mites, no mutual hatred to fuel a feud. But these achievements ring hollow."
"Everything," the mite says, finding his polearm's center of balance and holding it aloft with one hand, "teeters on an edge. On the one side, a sheer drop. On the other, something that lasts." Unwittingly he echoes Captain Garess's concerns, concerns about whether this coalition can hold itself together. "For generations, the glue that held the Tree's society together was unending war. Hatred of each other was cast aside, hatred of the reptiles took precedence. We don't have that, anymore." He seems nostalgic, almost morose, and that alone speaks volumes about mite psychology, about the malice beneath Dragonfly's airs.
"My mites are drunk on murder. Riding the high from our success last night, they will seek another. They need direction. My plan is to focus them outwards, towards small, chaotic bands of mites, distant from the tree. We have collected crossbows from the slain for this purpose. I can build up my mites' fighting experience, with little risk to our numbers, replacing those we lose to those we defeat."
He fixes his still-groggy "liege" with a hideous bug-eyed stare. "Is this acceptable to you?"
"Drunk on murder?" Well, it wouldn't do to have them murdering our new allies... Ozzy yawns widely, then looks thoughtful for a moment. Yes, go unite as many of the other mites as you can. Don't kill those you don't have to... (he clear implication is that killing those who refuse to join is acceptable) but now that we are trying to build a nation, I'll need you and your people to contribute in ways other than killing people.
Ozzy wipes the sleep from her eyes and looks into Dragonfly's speaking with sincerity. I saw some really neat inventions back at the tree. Your people are clever and industrious. You should cultivate those skills. I want you to leave a few of your group's best inventors here, and hurry back with any others you find who show particular skills for crafting. Our new nation will need them, and I want to ensure the mites' place in it.
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After a few moments, Abaos emerges from a tent in the back. He calls everyone over, and stands at the highest part of the former bandit castle.
After a moment of calling everyone over, he begins to speak.
"I just want to thank everyone for what they've done to help. And I want to thank each and every one of you who's been my my side, since the beginning. It means a lot that we can not only come together to make the region safer, but that we can come together and prove that, despite our past, despite our differences, we can succeed!
[b]But our work is not done! We came to end the threat of banditry from Oleg's, yet there is still exploration to be found. For any of you wishing to stay, we will be offering payment for exploration of the Stolen Lands.
If you will stay, we will be forming you into groups. Several groups, heading out in different directions, to explore, investigate, and map the region. Then, after a precluded set of days, you will return. If none has heard form you in several days, we will set out after you."
For the exploration efforts, myself, Bright Awn, and Ozzara will be heading this up. Fo your payments, well, the good Captain Garess will be providing that." He gives her a quick wink.
Anyone still here by sunup tomorrow will be assumed to be staying, and thus put into an exploration team. I thank you for your time, cooperation, and sacrifice, and hope you will stay to help."
With that, he slowly begins heading down the dias, to talk to Akiros, Bright Awn, and Bokken.
With that, he slowly begins heading down the dias, to talk to Akiros, Bright Awn, and Bokken.
Before he gets there, Garess is at his side. Grabbing the purple-eyes man by the arm and spinning him about to face her, she looks as angry as Abaos has ever seen her.
“We seem,” she tries her level best to keep her best voice level, face distorted with rage/panic/exasperation, “to have a failure to communicate.”
Awn sidles close, drawing T'lass ever so slightly from its sheath.
"My captain. I seem to understand you clearly. In front of all, you have grabbed Abaos. Kindly let go or your Captaincy ends with your last breath."
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Abaos keeps his face level as he is confronted by the angry Captain Garess. "Have we? I don't believe so. You agreed; staying behind to help watch and observe these men was a wise course of action. You've also brought concerns that people may shirk their work or responsibilities since we accept everyone and give them a clean slate. Well, what better way to do watch than to act as the paymaster for good work done? After all, you are the senior ranking member of Restov, here, and this is being done in Restov's name."
To Bright Awn, he whispers "Thank you, Bright Awn. But this is between me and the Captain. I'll handle it."
“Have we? I don't believe so. You agreed; staying behind to help watch and observe these men was a wise course of action. You've also brought concerns that people may shirk their work or responsibilities since we accept everyone and give them a clean slate. Well, what better way to do watch than to act as the paymaster for good work done? After all, you are the senior ranking member of Restov, here, and this is being done in Restov's name."
“Pay them with what?” she hisses, dragging Abaos along to a slightly more private locale, where she can raise her voice if she feels the need.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Abaos,” she seethes, “these ostensibly repentant and or cowed highwaymen have no source of revenue. You just told half a hundred convicted criminals that I’d be signing their paychecks without first consulting me,” she stabs an accusatory finger at the luckbringer, ”so I could tell you the idea was unworkable, and now one of us or the other will have to admit that there is no money forthcoming. Did you think this through at all?!”
Awn sidles close, drawing T'lass ever so slightly from its sheath.
"My captain. I seem to understand you clearly. In front of all, you have grabbed Abaos. Kindly let go or your Captaincy ends with your last breath."
[dice=Intimidate]1d20 + 3
Garess takes her gauntlet off Abaos’s arm and instead places it on her scabbard. “Overreaction, much?” she says in a falsely cheerful voice, adjusting her footing slightly.
Awn nods absentmindedly at Abaos but keeps his steely gaze on the human woman. He replies easily:
"No. You seem to have unhanded kind Abaos. Don't forget, Captain, just who is actually in charge here, who killed the Stag Lord, who brought you here safely and who keeps you alive amongst half a hundred convicted criminals who aren't the most dangerous things here within half a thousand feet of your present location."
He smiles his characterisitic grin.
"As you were."
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Abaos purses his lips slightly. "i think telling them that there is no money might be an unwise idea," he says slowly, calmly. "However, I think you may have forgotten a few things yourself."
He slowly raises one finger on his hand. "One. You are in fact the senior most ranking member from Restov, here. Why not simply use that position to ask for funds? After all, this is being done in Restov's name." He smiles.
"Two. You are, in fact, a member of one of the royal houses. I'm certain that there comes with this a certain amount of..... prestige, and wealth. Why, based on how well outfitted you are, I do not think you are hurting for funds. No,I don't think so at all."
"All in all, Captain, I think this is a small price to pay to convince Restov that not only have you explored and mapped the Stolen Lands, but that you have cowed them and made them secure, as well. Imagine what that would do for your career, Captain, being able to hand them the Stolen Lands on a silver platter?"
He holds out his hand, as if to shake.
Captain Garess (of House Garess) seems to collapse in on herself. Realizing that she’s been perhaps unintentionally maneuvered into a no-win scenario, the weight of being the one sane person in a house of cartograconquerers settles down on the captain’s shoulders.
“It seems,” she begins again, in her best long-suffering voice, “that we’ve had a failure to communicate.”
“I can try to requisition funds from Restov. Failing that, I could even go over the Swordlord’s heads and ask Brevoy. It’d probably work, too - once. Or . . . I could try to set up a permanent military presence here, to justify the constant requests for money, but that would cause more problems than it would solve.”
“And I can’t pay for this out of pocket. House Garess might be rich, but I’m not. I work for a living.”
She shakes her head in frustration. “This could have all been avoided if you’d just told me what you were planning from the start.”
"We did. At the start. Which is now." adds Awn helpfully.
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Abaos tsks slowly. "I think you underestimate yourself, Captain," he says slowly. "That horse of yours is going between 60gp-80gp, while the money required to keep them well fed and paid is something akin to 10gp a month, give or take? I'm certain a one-time offer of a few hundred gold will be enough to satisfy them?"
"It's either that, or for both of our sakes, I hope we find something rich in that forest."
Unsure whether she's more affronted that Abaos suggest she sell her destier or that he so grossly underappraised said destrier, Garess merely glowers and says she'll try and bum a few hundred gold pieces off the Swordlords. She leaves to go draft a formal request.
Guthruc approaches both Ozzy and Iorskan, whom he considers somewhat of friends at this point. "Guthruc and Anura know next place conquest. Hooktongue Slough. Guthruc recruit boggard warband. Allies meet and talk about with Guthruc and Anura." He kind of just expects the rest of the party to get notified and for plans to be made.
After bringing up his plans for continued conquest, he searches for Jen to annoy her about his "Demon speak" lessons.
If we're gonna go find a bunch of boggards, we should bring some ear plugs!
Akiros puts together what the bandits know about the surrounding hinterlands, which is to say, not much. Few of them have ventured beyond Tuskgutter lake, rivers requiring forging and monsters requiring avoiding served as deterrent enough to stay at home. The adventurous spirit, though, is easily stoked with promises of money, so they're willing to explore the Greenbelt - within certain parameters.
Early on in the Stag Lord's territory grab, he (and, to a far greater extent, his underlings) learned that the Murque River (invisible from your current view of the map) might as well be fire rather than water, it'd serve the same purpose as an impassable boundary. Beyond it are territorial lizardfolk, at least one wyvern nest (empty now, due to a daring wyvern heist (but that came back to bite them, now, didn't it?)), and elvish rangers. The elves, best as the Stag Lord's men can figure, are very much opposed to human bandits killing and/or robbing anyone in their general vicinity - Brod the Menace and Nightmare Norman were strung up as a warning to others. The old management was content to leave them well enough alone, and while Akiros points out that no one making maps ostensibly intends to commit any acts of banditry, he still hopes the new management won't change policy in this regard.
Anura has been meditating on the edge of the Tuskgutter since last night.
As her former Captain and current disparager moves to exchange angry words with Abaos and Awn, Jen makes no attempt to follow her. Instead, she heads towards Ozzy and Iorskan, where she listens to the boggard-hunting plans they're hatching.
"I've been reminded that I'm not quite welcome back in Restov, so I'd be willing to accompany you on this search, if you'll have me," she says. "I'm sure I'd be quite useful in lizard geno-"
She has a sudden coughing fit. "Removal" she finishes with an unconvincing smile.
Jen listens to Akiros' debriefing and, with the mention of wyverns, she is reminded of the wyvern egg she still carries on her person. She wonders when it will hatch and covertly examines it for some sort of a clue.
Jen’s never read a first hand account of a humanoid raising a wyvern, though she knows it’s been done and they’ve been written. She has, however, read Ergis Surtova’s excellent Sink or Fly, My Life Among the Wyverns, which, besides being the memoir of Brevity’s one-time Dragonscale Tegent and detailing a fascinating personal philosophy, almost incidentally details the living habits of wyverns in their natural habitat.
Wyvern eggs typically take three or four months to hatch; they incubate fastest in warm conditions, but can survive temperatures at or below freezing early in their development. Wyverns tend to lay their eggs in the early spring, hatching in the early summer.
Wyverns, when close to hatching, make noises and move inside their leathery casings. In Sink or Fly, My Life Among the Wyverns, the author wrote that mother wyverns sometimes help their hatchlings escape their eggs by way of their claws and teeth, but speculates on whether this is even necessary; most of the young wyverns seem to do the job fine themselves.
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After finishing with Captain Garess, Abaos immediately changes plans. "I'm going to go find Ozzara," he tells Bright Awn. "Let's get on it, shall we?"
He does so, and drags her off to the side of the camp. He proceeds to quickly fill her in with Captain Garess. "In short," he finishes, breath rushing out of him like it does after a long night of calling dice, "I need to know exactly what she writes to the Swordlords. Can you or your bird do that for us?"
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As Abaos is filled in by Akiros, Abaos nods. "I assume that means you'll be stayoing with us, then?" he asks the reluctant ex- bandit supervisor. "If you are, I'd really appreciate it. The men look up to you, and we need someone with your capacities for organization."
He pauses, looking at the crudely drawn map that Happs had provided. "I'm not seeing the Murque River on here; either way, I think it best to trust to your wisdom. We might want to send a team out there from time to time, to make certain nothing's crossing onto our side of the river."
Awn seems particularly interested in the existence of elves on the border of bandit-known territory.
"These are my people, kinfolk - I am to them as a leaf is to a tree, our branches intertwine and our roots are one and the same. I would go to them and entreaty them to recognise our natural mandate."
Brevity’s one-time Dragonscale Tegent
He does so, and drags her off to the side of the camp. He proceeds to quickly fill her in with Captain Garess. "In short," he finishes, breath rushing out of him like it does after a long night of calling dice, "I need to know exactly what she writes to the Swordlords. Can you or your bird do that for us?"
When Abaos says "bird", a previously unnoticed shadow across Ozzy's shoulder spreads its wings and flaps them indignantly.
Hmm... Ozzy lets out a yawn as she ponders Abaos' request. How does she send them? Then, thinking for another moment, If we know when she's writing them, he could just sneak in and read over her shoulder....
Garess said that she was leaving to go write the request, so if Mr. Winky sneaks up on her to see what she's up to, he'll catch her in the act.
May 12th, 4710 AR
Swordlord Eleder, I hope this finds you well.
You'll be happy to learn that the self-styled Stag Lord is dead and will trouble Brevoy's southern expanses no longer.
Your local experts
May 12th, 4710 AR
Swordlord Eleder, I hope this finds you well.
You'll be happy to learn that the self-styled Stag Lord is dead and will trouble Brevoy's southern expanses no longer.
Your team of local experts have built themselves what can only be described as a cult of personality. Earlier I wrote you that they incited a civil war among the Stag Lord's followers - it proved successful. They've since absorbed the remnants of those within the Stag Lord's fortress, including two of his former Lieutenants, one of whom obeys them only under false pretenses and duress.
May 12th, 4710 AR
Swordlord Eleder, I hope this finds you well.
You'll be happy to learn that the self-styled Stag Lord is dead and will trouble Brevoy's southern expanses no longer.
Your team of local experts, eccentricities aside, performed admirably. Earlier I wrote you that they incited a civil war among the Stag Lord's followers - it proved successful. They've claimed the Stag Lord's fortress, and from it stage expeditions to map the surrounding hinterland, above and beyond their charter.
It's my wish to remain stationed here, to patrol the area and keep an eye out for the bandits who survived the battle. I worry that they might organize in enmity of those who killed their leader.
To replace damaged equipment, to train and equip local woodsmen who have expressed interest in enlisting, and to maintain our operations in the notoriously inhospitable Stolen Lands, I predict a necessary nine hundred gold pieces beyond regular salary.
With advance thanks for your magnanimity,
Captain Kassah Garess
Garess said that she was leaving to go write the request, so if Mr. Winky sneaks up on her to see what she's up to, he'll catch her in the act.
Assuming Abaos informs Ozzy of these details, she'll whisper to Mr. Winky, who will disappear in a flurry of shadowstuff and go observe Garess's writing. Mr. Winky will inform Ozzy of what the letter says via their link, and Ozzy will in turn inform Abaos, with minimal editorialization.