Rolling hills pretty much anywhere you look. The Shrike River a bit to the south, flowing raging, promising a cold and wet death to anyone that would try to raft it.
But not only the river is unwelcoming. The air is cold and the wind is biting. Spots of snow still linger, defying the sun.
A dozen or so figures make their way to the west, following a path that's called South Rostland Road. Some of them are afoot, some on a cart, one of them is riding on a dog.
Most of them possess a parchment, sealed, waxed and handed over from Lord Mayor Iosepf Sellemius (or one of his servants) in the free city of Restov.
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 known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles northwest and south and sixty miles east of Oleg's Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behaviour 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 the watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.
Rumour roll:
Michael, perched on the front bench seat of the cart, shudders and pulls his winter blanket tighter around his shoulders, the cold having settled into his armour and radiating through his woollen under padding. He shakes some of the snow out of his dark hair and grins broadly over his shoulder at the hunched shivering figure of his major domo, Hobson, sitting in the cart proper. "The big man in the sky told me it wouldn't snow today, good to see he keeps his word, eh?" he salutes the clouds and nudges the cart's driver in the ribs. "Say Kay, do you think any of these good folks would like a lift?"
Before Kay can answer he stands, balancing on the slowly rocking cart, holding onto Kay's shoulder for support. "Would any of you good folk like a lift," he asks in a loud accented voice, that carries over the bitter wind, "we have room for a few in the back and just because Erastil saw fit to give you two fine legs, he didn't mean for you to use them all the time."
He beams widely, his youthful face lighting up as he looks around to see if any one takes him up on his generous offer.
Rumour Role:
Matius walked alongside Micheal's cart. Despite the biting wind and his knee high Leather boots occasionally sinking into the damp ground, his face remained calm and his stride even. He was happy to be on the road again. He was happy to be doing something. A life in motion is the only life not in shackles, he thought. His eyes were sharp as he knew predators of both the two and four legged kind might be eager to pounce at any moment. His eyes catch the sudden movement of Micheal instead and he listens as the man makes his kind offer. Matius smiles and and steps up on the cart effortlessly. Admittedly, he had boarded a carriage or two at much faster speeds in less legal lines of work. To leap upon an open cart trotting along at the will of an Ox was child's play. His youthful face glowing bright enough to rival that of Micheal's, he extends a hand towards him. " Matius Drake," He begins, his voice carrying over the wind."I'd be happy to take you up on your kind offer..." He pauses, waiting for the man's name.
Rumor mill
Queslin rides along on his horse. As fine a horse as it is, though, he'd almost rather be on foot. That way he could better see the trails left by others. But this would be a considerable journey and horseback would be better. As he looks over the group with him, he figures there's at least one scoundrel on the run from the law in the bunch, perhaps the odd looking human with the air of ale on him. In any case, they must have been given a pardon when given this opportunity and Queslin will respect that.
K: Geography
Queslin knows a little about the area they are travelling into. He suggests some good locations to stop for meals and overnight camps. He'll often scout ahead to insure all is in readiness for the groups arrival.
"A lift? That's mighty nice o' you to offer, Rube!" replies an enormously fat man (in armour made for someone half his size) who's trotting along accompanied by a gnomish woman. "Didja here that, Stubby? We'll be travelling in style! Don't let it go to your head, though; you're still wet behind the ears and don't you forget it."
He lifts the gnome aboard with one huge hand and then hops aboard with surprising grace for a man of his size. The cart groans slightly, but it seems it will take his bulk.
"My name's Big Ern, and this here is my apprentice Stubby Greenhill. You're looking to crack a few bandit skulls along with us, eh? Well, you'll need to keep yer spirits up, Rube. Try a swig o' this!"
He passes over a flask of evil-smelling rotgut liquor and grins. "That's Krakenov's private reserve, that is. Nothing finer in this world or the next for what ails ya!"
rumor mill
Walking behind Big Ern and the gnome, laughs at the large man's banter. Ever since being challenged to an arm wrestling contest by the man, Agerron has had a healthy respect for him. After all, they were evenly matched, up until 'Big Ern' called upon some hidden reserve of strength to win the match. Warriors in his tribe had the same ability, although most of the others had to use it just to match his own power. The fact that Ern could do the same, but was already his equal, moved him up a notch in Agerron's eyes.
Moving forward a bit, Agerron holds his hand out and says, "I'll try some of that, Ern, if you don't mind. Something to keep the stamina going!"
Moving forward a bit, Agerron holds his hand out and says, "I'll try some of that, Ern, if you don't mind. Something to keep the stamina going!"
Big Ern blows his nose in his fingers and then wipes them on the side of the cart. "That's the spirit, Scratches! Take a big pull and see what you think."
He passes the flask over to the tough-looking hombre with the scar above his eye.
Rumor
Majet lets out a long sigh at Ern outbursts she had long ago realised the futility in pointing out her name Was Majet and not stubby. Instead she pats her Riding dog gently on the head (Asuming it was allowed onboard)
Queslin gets up closer to the front of the cart. "If I recall, your name is Michael. It looks like we'll be working together for a while. I was wondering, why did you decide to join this expedition?"
Devlin says to his cloaked companion,
Delfey just shrugs and says
Devlin laughs and continues walking alongside the cart while introducing himself and his oldest of friends. "Greetings one and all, and Ern." Devlin grins "My name is Devlin Medvyed and this mysterious person with me is my oldest and dearest of friends, Delfey. Say hello Delfey."
Delfey,
Devlin continues, "I really must teach you another language Del, Sylvan isn't all that common of a tongue."
"It is known by enough, though. I suspect your friend will come along fine."
Michael shakes Matius's offered hand and his smile broadens as the cart rapidly fills with passengers, "Welcome, welcome aboard one and all, my name is Michael , some call me the Bastard," he grins "and these fine fellows are Hobson my Major Domo and Kay my squire" he gestures towards his companions. Taking the flask from Agerron he swigs some of Big Ern's rot gut, wincing as the bitter liquid flows down his throat he adds, with a cough, "Crack some bandit skulls? I think we just need to make them drink some of that, they will be blind with in a week," still grimacing he passes the flask onward to who ever wants it next.
Queslin gets up closer to the front of the cart. "If I recall, your name is Michael. It looks like we'll be working together for a while. I was wondering, why did you decide to join this expedition?"
"A valid question, Master Queslin?" the last part is a question as much as a statement, "But that said, I must ask who else travels towards Oleg's Trading Post at the Swordlord's request?" Michael searches through his robes pockets, hunting for a chunk of dried meat which he feeds to the dog while scratching it behind the ear, a grin crosses his face, the joy of a youth that really likes canines. "I go because my Lord Erastil desires that I travel in that direction and I fight where my Lord sends me."
After Delfey speaks, he replies:
It is a pleasure to meet you Delfey, I am Michael. If you do tire I can take your turn on foot.
Michael blinks a few times as he catches a glimpse of Delfey's face under the hood, not quite sure if Big Ern's rot gut has affected his vision already, or if the man beside him is deformed.
Rumor (managed to get the previous roll wrong
Sylvan
Majet then drops the volume of her voice so that Ern wont hear "Despite what Ern says my name is Majet Greenhill and not Stubby"
Branomonrik travels down the muddy road at the steady pace of his kind. His cloak keeping the worse of the chill from his face, but frost still clings to his well groomed beard.
As he nears a cart almost overflowing with people he overhears someone talking of heading toward Oleg's Trading Post at the Swordlord's request. Humm he thinks Abadar has seen it that he has traveled well and into the mist of others with similar goals it seems, Praise be Abadar.
Walking closer to the cart he clears his throat and calls to the travelers "Hail, and well meet. I too travel toward The trading post at the behest of the swordlord and the wisdom of Abadar." He says with a deep rich voice. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Branomonrik of the Assia clan of Brunderton, humble servant of Abadar." He says with a nod of his head "I travel southward on behest of my lord to bring civilization to the wilds of the stolen lands. my I travel with thee as we seem to be headed the same way, yes?"
Rumor
Michael orders the cart halted and appraises the well groomed dwarf "surely I could not reject the request from another warrior of his god, although the cart be cramped, I am sure we can make room for one more." He slides over on the bench seat and taps the seat next to him, "climb aboard brother, my name is Michael, Michael the Bastard."
Big Ern grins at his own bon mot.
Walking behind the cart, Agerron frowns a little at all of the others speaking a strange tongue. Not one he had heard often, although he does remember one of his tribal elders speaking it once to one of those living trees ... what was that called again? Didn't matter.
He speaks up toeveryone, and says, "And I am Agerron of Numeria. I do do not fight at the behest of a god, rather I fight for the fight itself. And with rumors of cults and bandits, it seems like the Stolen Lands will not be short of battle!"
"Michael the Bastard, huh. You seem to wear that title with pride. Perhaps I'm not familiar with human custom, but isn't that supposed to be a source of shame rather than pride?"
"Michael the Bastard, huh. You seem to wear that title with pride. Perhaps I'm not familiar with human custom, but isn't that supposed to be a source of shame rather than pride?"
"You know our customs and tongue enough to be correct," Michael's smile fades and a flash of something crosses his eye's, maybe anger, "I grew up being called a Bastard, because my father did not do the honest thing and own up to his obligations, instead he sent my mother off to the back end of no where to die in poverty," he spits on the snow covered ground. "So I wear my title with pride," he stands, steadying himself on Kay and Branomonrik and announces to the sky "I am Michael the Bastard, heir to a lost kings crown and I carry my lineage like a warrior carries his scars, it is who I am!" He sits down "besides, if I stop calling my self a Bastard, then I acknowledge his blood flows through my veins."
Pausing, Michael tilts his head to the side as if listening to something far away, "too much information for a first meeting? You are probably right big guy." His smile returns to his lips, "so what is your story? Got any king sized chips on your shoulder to share?"
"So your father's a big shot who porked the scullery maid? Great story, Rube. Now take a swig o' this, and maybe it'll put some hair on your balls, kid!"
Big Ern grabs the flask back and thrusts it into the bastard's hands.
"So your father's a big shot who porked the scullery maid? Great story, Rube. Now take a swig o' this, and maybe it'll put some hair on your balls, kid!"
Big Ern grabs the flask back and thrusts it into the bastard's hands.
"Hmmm, apart from the scullery maid part, you summed it up perfectly," Michael belly laughs before putting the flask to his lips and taking a drag, "I don't know about my balls, but its making my tongue furry!"
Branomonrik takes Michael's words in stride as he climbs onto the crowed cart, wondering just how much the poor cart can indeed hold. "Tis an important thing for a man to know who he is, Ah the name Bastard is a part of culture and thus civilization. It show alot about a man who takes an insult others throw at him and owns it, wears it, rolls in it. Dwarves have a saying, The strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire. This is true of man as well"
He cranes he head toward Agerron, fighting the bitter morning wind"If it is battle you seek Numerian, then you have chosen well. For the path to civilization is paved with blood and broken steel oft as not."
He cranes he head toward Agerron, fighting the bitter morning wind"If it is battle you seek Numerian, then you have chosen well. For the path to civilization is paved with blood and broken steel oft as not."
"That it is, friend dwarf. But to be clear, I do not seek battle; more like it seeks me. And has done so since the day I was born. Flows through my own veins, as it were. I am it's scion, in the same manner Michael is to an honorable mother and dishonorable noble. And as Ern is to that ox there." The glint in his eye and smile on his face let's Ern know that last comment was in full jest.
"Presumably that ox passed on his bloodline before someone cut his damn nuts off," Big Ern opines. To the casual observer, Big Ern's facial features -- small eyes and a turned-up nose -- resemble a hog more than an ox, however.
Jerking his dirty thumb towards Hobson, he asks: "So, you bringing someone's great-grandpaw into battle with you? I figure he hasn't seen any action since this was part of the Taldan Empire."
Jerking his dirty thumb towards Hobson, he asks: "So, you bringing someone's great-grandpaw into battle with you? I figure he hasn't seen any action since this was part of the Taldan Empire."
Michael leaps to his companions defence "Mr Hobson is my gentleman's gentleman, the man has served my mothers family for generations and now serves me as my Major Domo, I trust him with my life and secrets, he is the closest thing I had to a father as I grew up and now I see him as my trusted friend and advisor, I would still be using this axe to chop firewood in the monastery if it was not for his teachings, never judge a book by it's cover, for often the pen is mightier than the sword." he turns in the seat to nod at the old half elf in part to seek his approval for how he has handled these strangers so far.
Well that question certainly prompted some interesting discussion, Queslin thinks. Perhaps this next one will be just as enlightening.
"If we are to bring 'civilization' to the area then this group must include worshipers of Adabar. Tell me, Ern, who do you offer your most sincere prayers to?"
"Tell me, Ern, who do you offer your most sincere prayers to?"
Ern belches meditatively before answering.
"Well, last week I prayed for Cayden Caillean to either cure my hangover or strike me dead, but the coward refused to do either! Fie on the gods, if their going to be so fickle with their aid!"
Matius remains mostly quiet as the the cart sways to and fro under the weight of the accumulated weight of the diverse party. He bellows out the occasional laugh and accepts the rotgut liquor in stride when it is offered. He keeps a wary eye on The elf, Queslin. He had the composure of a law man and his profession had taught him to be wary of such men. Perhaps emboldened by the amber liquid He speaks up again." Since we shall be working together throughout this endeavor, I suppose you should know my name is Matius Drake. It is a pleasure to meet all of you."
Hobson nods silently in agreement. He knows better than to give the big jerk with the hog-face a reply. Every word spent in anger would be wasted.
"Well, last week I prayed for Cayden Caillean to either cure my hangover or strike me dead, but the coward refused to do either! Fie on the gods, if their going to be so fickle with their aid!"
Michael swivels in his seat and slowly shakes his head at the big oaf, "You forget an important fact my large friend, we serve the gods and not the other way around, so your prayer on a whim is not going to be answered when there are more important prayers to be heard, prayers from people who devote them selves to a god's teachings and who have an actual genuine not self inflicted need." His grin returns, "remember, nothing in this life is free, not even gifts from the gods."
" Since we shall be working together throughout this endeavor, I suppose you should know my name is Matius Drake. It is a pleasure to meet all of you."
Michael is glad when the silent stranger speaks, his interruption changing the conversation back onto less controversial matters. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well Master Drake." He nods a greeting at the handsome human, the distance to great to shake his hand.
"You go right on serving the gods, Rube. Big Ern doesn't serve anyone except for the Krakenov boys. There's nothing Beardo --" he jabs his thumb at Branomarik "-- can do with his miracles that can't be done through the careful application of scientific alchemical formulas. And that includes raising the dead. Ain't that right, Stumpy?" Ern hawks up a big wad of phlegm and spits it over the edge of the cart.
------
Turning to Matius, Big Ern fixes him with an appraising glance. "So what's your story, Twinkle-Toes? You reckon you're going to dance up to an army of bandits and tickle them with that dainty pig-sticker of yours? You should use a real man's weapon!"
He lifts up his huge double-bitted axe and looks at it lovingly. "Now THAT can tear a bandit from forehead to a#@*!#@ before he can say 'Bless my soul'!"
He puts the axe back and pulls out another flask of liquid. "And if that don't work..." He tosses the flask at a roadside bush and it explodes in a blast of flame! "KABOOM! That stuff ain't just for drinking, you know."
"Ahh, your an Infidel, each to his own," Michael comments with a shrug, a look of distaste crosses his face, as the big lumox senselessly burns down a bush. He turns to Branomonrik seated besides him "I wonder how his 'science' will serve him when he stands for judgement before lady Pharasma?"
*Knowledge-Religion +6 (+1 Int, +1 Rank, +3 Class Skill, +1 Trait)
30th day of Calistril, 4710AR. (Wealday)
Only some more miles lie between you and your destination. After you left the riverbank of the Shrike River the road got really boring, if it weren’t for the good company and the bad weather. Even though tomorrow spring-season should start, it has gradually gotten worse as you traveled to the west. Last evening it even looked like it could hail any minute, but thankfully all you had to endure was strong snowfall.
Today though the clouds broke up and it’s bright blue sky now. It is cold, but sunny, with no wind at all. It really looks like today winter would end.
Two hours later you finally arrive at Oleg’s Trading Post.
From afar it looks fortified enough, a 10ft. high wooden palisade surrounding it, with watchtowers on every of the four corners, complete with what looks like catapults.
What now is the trading post was previously likely a border fort.
Coming close, you can make out a figure over the palisade, working on the roof of a building inside the trading post. You also notice that the four catapults, impressive as they may seem, are in no condition to be fired. They would need an extensive repair.
Walking through the wide front gate of the post, you are heartily greeted by a young woman of twenty-some years.
”Welcome at Oleg’s Trading Post. I’m Svetlana, and up there working is Oleg. We are so glad to have you here… You can leave the cart standing there for now, but get yourself something to eat. I made stew and the bread’s just got done too. There’s even some wine for you, nothing special, but I … we hope you enjoy it.”
You have obviously been awaited.
Inside the trading post you see stables to the left along the western palisade wall; a storage den opposing the front gate, the place in front of it is probably used as a market place. In the northeastern corner is a larger wooden building with double doors, probably the home and office of Oleg and Svetlana. A fire pit and two tables are nearby, currently decorated with dishes and the meal mentioned by Svetlana. Another, smaller wooden building sits in the southeast corner.
Michael turns to Kay, "We need to stable this Ox and rub her down before we eat," he leaves no doubt, that by 'we' he means 'Kay'.
Michael steps down from the cart, stretches and walks over to Svetlana, "Greetings to you my lady, I am Michael the Ba..." he stops mid-sentance before he turns to face the man working on the roof and shouts, "and good day to you as well Master Oleg!" turning back to Svetlana he smiles, "I thank you on behalf of my self and my travelling companions, am I to understand we are expected?"he raises one eyebrow inquiringly as he asks.
"How's it going, sweetie? I'll talk to you later, after I eat. I gotta build up my strength first." Big Ern gives Svetlana a lascivious wink, and then he lumbers over to the table of food and begins to tuck in, not pausing to make any further pleasantries or ablutions.
"Overlook the godless lout, Miss Svetlana. I see you do Abadar's work here, bringing a little civilization to the wilds, may he bless your work. Branomarik says with a gesture of his hand waving toward Ern as he makes his way from the cart. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Branomarik Assia humble servant of Abadar. Those of us piled like so much wood in this cart are Matius Drake,Majet Greenhill, Queslin,Agerron of Numeria and Devlin Medvyed. You have already meet Michal and Ern. And that is Michal's manservant Kay"
Matius bows low as he is introduced, leaping from the cart and taking the lady's hand. "Tis an honor M'lady." He remarks as he kisses the back of her hand before standing upright and turning his eyes towards Oleg."Yes, Good day to you too sir!."
--------------------------------------------
Turning his attention to the food he goes the way of big Ern and smiling all the while draws his rapier. With precision he stabs it into a bit of bread beneath the large man's hand and in the same fluid motion withdraws, the bread now perched on the tip of the blade." Sometimes Ern, precision is more important than tearing one's target asunder." He remarks, removing the piece of bread from the sword and eating it graciously. He sheaths the thin blade at his waist and takes a seat, Nodding to Big Ern.
Devlin looks to see if there's a wedding ring on Svetlana while saying something to Delfey,
Delfey nods and removes its cloak revealing it's form, fold the cloak and places it in its backpack. Once done, Delfey climbs the wall and begins walking along watching for anything dangerous.
Kay nods, going to work without a word of complaint. Maybe it will get him warm a bit.
While Svetlana smiles widely at Michaels greeting, Oleg only grumbles, nailing a shingle to the roof of the bigger of the two houses.
Svetlana replies: "Yes, we expected you. We got word from a hunter that returned from Restov. The letter from the swordlord said that even though they would not be able to send the promised patrol for some more days, they would send adventurers on the next Oathday. And it's about a 6 day hike from Restov to us..."
During Big Erns greeting Svetlanas smile gets a bit wary, but she keeps herself smiling by force. This time Oleg turns to look at the newcomer that so rudely greeted his wife. He fixes his gaze at the human, hammer in hand, but still doesn't say a word.
That changes the moment the dwarf mentions Abadar and the civilization, where Oleg spits down from the roof (away from his guests, but still), grumbling audible: "Abadar. Of all gods!"
Regardless of Olegs comment though, Svetlanas smile is more natural again, including her eyes again.
Svetlana clearly blushes at Matius handkiss, giggling a little even, while Oleg grumbles again, reaching for another shingle.
The woman is a bit shocked seeing the eidolon without his cloak, but as it clearly does as it is ordered from Devlin, it's likely only half as bad.
The view from the palisade is quite good, if a bit blinding, with the snow reflecting the sun. Still, Delfey can make out the green/brown line on the horizon to the south and west, that marks the Narlmarches. Most of what the group shall explore lies within the forests and swamps there.
Majet simply polietly bows to Svletana (More to hide her embaresment at Ern's complete lack of manners) Before heading to the stable's to secure her riding dog
Devlin can't make out a ring on a finger of Svetlanas hands.
Agerron remains quiet during the religious debate. As much as he enjoyed a good sparring match, he preferred weapons to words. Besides, when both of the other sides were wrong, what difference did it make? Why should people serve a god, as Branomonrik and Michael? Without worship, the gods would die, so didn't they owe mortals their very existence? And on the other hand, you can't expect a being as powerful as a god to bow to a mortal, either. No, the best way was to respect the gods, and all of them, at that. But devote yourself to a way of life or philosophy.
Agerron just shakes his head and continues to enjoy the sun despite the cold bite in the air. When Oleg's Trading Post comes into sight, Agerron feels energized again, and picks up his pace a bit. He welcomes the warm greeting from the young woman and smiles broadly at the promise of fresh, homecooked food.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Agerron says, bowing. "As Bronomonrik said, I am Agerron of Numeria. Thank you for the warm welcome." As Agerron makes his way to the inside and the table, he shouts a greeting to Oleg. "Ho, Oleg! My thanks for your hospitality!"
"This place is the most welcome thing I've seen in at least 100 miles. My name is Queslin. Well met. I guess you know our business, but here's a copy of our charter just in case."
Queslin offers Svetlana his hand in greeting and a copy of their charter.
"After seeing to our horses, I will be only too glad to have a nice, large bowl of your stew."