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Hmmm. I seem to be standing on a featureless white plain with nothing in sight. How very odd :-)
In that case I should create a defensive position. Snow fort!
Garian is a Wood Elf. He's 5'8", 127 lbs with blond hair, green eyes and fair skin. He's dressed in a green and brown travellers outfit over hide armor and armed with a long bow and elven curve blade. His well worn pack is stowed under his seat. He hasn't been talkative during the trip so far. He's answered direct questions politely enough but has done nothing to encourage further conversation.
Kuraj is a hulking orc from the Black Souls clan. He is 7'1", 250 lbs and has long black hair in a braid down his back. His eyes are jet black with no whites and his skin is a light grey shade. He has a tattoo on his left shoulder of two crossed axes dripping with blood, however a wide scar runs through the tattoo marring the image. On his back is a heavy shield and a long heavy blade. His armor appears to be from the scraps of various pieces of metal, overlapped in a scale like pattern. He refused to ride in the coach with the others and instead rides along side on his horse, Za-Hren. Za-Hren is a big horse but not huge, he is dark black with the only difference in color being a long scar down one side. A thick lance with a heavy cruel looking tip is strapped to his side, resting on his saddle bags. Strangely Kuraj seems to comfortably ride him without a saddle, preferring instead to ride against the horses skin directly.
Frunthpyllin dresses more conservatively when away from the city: brimless top hat; simple gold stud earrings; an ice blue vest with glass buttons; caramel brown pants; ankle high boots; multi-colored belt of braided strands whose ends can be tied together in a variety of knots; dark blue and white striped shirt; a dagger in a leather sheath bearing the carved image of a chicken. Stowed with his backpack is a rapier. He is 5'11" and 121 pounds. Thin frame; doesn't look physically powerful.
Interpreting the wood elf’s brief answers as a desire not to converse, Frunthpyllin stops asking him questions.
He wears leather armor, over his Artisan’s clothes. A short bow and quiver are at his side in the event of an attack. A signet ring with an empty mount. His hair is blond.
Frunthpyllin speaks in Elvish, the words sounding like a mix of birdsong and wind chimes, ”Cousin, forgive me for not speaking Wood Elvish. My schooling included High Elvish and Yazik, but not Wood Elvish. I hope you are not offended by my ignorance.”
He smiles and switches to Yazik, looking at the others in the carriage, ”Let us both speak in Yazik so none may feel excluded. Did you make your longbow? It is a well-crafted weapon.”
"I don't speak the city elf tongue so Yazik would be preferable."Garian replies courteously in Yazik,"I did not craft my bow, though it is a serviceable weapon."
He pauses for a moment considering, "I am named Garian. I would like to ask you a question, but I do not wish to give offence."
"Ah! Garian!" he attempts to pronounce it in the same manner as the wood elf.
"Frunthpyllin is my name. Please speak freely," he says as he braces himself against a jolt from the carriage. "If anything it may distract from the punishment this road is inflicting."
He wears leather armor, over his Artisan’s clothes.
"Why do you wear your armor over your clothes?" He asks curiously. "It looks rather uncomfortable and it must make it difficult to retrieve items from your pockets. Again, please don't take offense. I'm sure that it will be me that stands out here in the city. I do not have your sense of... style."
Kuraj Has said little to the driver save for a few muffled words and some grunts. He pays little attention to the farmers actions.
Asim sets quitely for much of the journey listening and reflecting on the time he saved Boris. Not sure why he wants to see me, wonder if these others knew him as well. Guess I should try and make nice, no reason to be rude.
after hearing the others talk Asim speaks up.
I am Abd-Allah Asim Asad, you may call me Asim. So you knew Boris Ribalka? I met him in my travels once. I saved his life. I fine it odd to get this letter. I did not think us to be good friends, but my curiosity is peaked.
Asim is a medium build, but seems fit. Stands around 5'8" and 160lbs. He wears a white overcoat black pants and black boots. A royal blue sash is worn around his waist. He pulls off a black mask that covers from his nose down from his face before speaking. The hood of his coat is back revealing his fiendish heritage in the form of two small horns. His eyes are dark blue and he has jet black hair.
Frunthpyllin studies Garian for a moment and then the others in the carriage. Smiling he answers, "While this does hide the finer details and overall style of my clothes, it's a temporary measure as we travel. If I wore armor underneath my clothes, my clothes would need to be made larger to fit properly. When not wearing the armor, which I rarely do in Wynthellin, my clothes would appear ill-fitting, like I was wearing a sack. Nice material and good colors, true, but a sack nonetheless. Though perhaps when I return to Wynthellin I will talk to my tailor and get a traveling suit, strictly to be worn over armor.”
He nods, ”A pleasure to meet you Asim. You speak Yazik very well. I am sorry I don’t know Iftarin.” He winces as another jolt shakes the carriage then displays his signet ring, two bands of silver and steel with an empty mount. ”I met the Boyar a few years ago. You will see the beautiful window he commissioned from the Wynthellin Glaziers’ Guild and which I helped to install.”
Riding out ahead of the caravan is a solitary Knight. He hold's his lance in parade rest position as he trots through the driving rain. A long pennant flaps intermittently in the wind. It's marked with gold and black, the family colors of the minor noble house Gniewom, In the center of the Gold and Black fields is the holy symbol of Dazhbog.
The rider sits straight in his saddle, broad shouldered and tall. His blond beard sticks out from below his pointed helm. On his back, is a great warhammer, scarred and dinged from battle.
He hears the rest of the companions speaking in Yazik and decides to join the conversation. Pulling up on the reigns, he allows them to catch up.
"Asim, you say you saved the Boyar's life once? In what campaign did you serve with him?"
Ah sir knight? I have given you my name, but you do not return the courtesy. I fogive this as I know little of you. The Boyar was no stranger to travel. Many years ago he found himself in Iftar looking to aquire some of our alchemical supplies I assume for trade and what not. As wealthy men sometimes do, he made some enemies and it wasnt long befor the Shabad were contacted and a price was put on his head. Fortunatly word of this came through some of my contacts, I found the Boyar first and offered my services as a guide while in our lands. The assassin was careless and and attacked one night under the illusion of the Boyar and myslef being well inebriated and finding ourselves in a dark ally. The rest well I don't fell I need to discuss the further details, but the Boyar was gratefull. This mush of been ten years ago or so. I was surprised to receive this letter, I have had no contact with him since he left Iftar. You Sir Knight? How did you know him?
Asim will enter and partake in the refreshments before sitting. He will continue to chat learning how the others knew the Boyar, not asking himself, just assuming others will jump in on the conversation.
Frunthpyllin studies Garian for a moment and then the others in the carriage. Smiling he answers, "While this does hide the finer details and overall style of my clothes, it's a temporary measure as we travel. If I wore armor underneath my clothes, my clothes would need to be made larger to fit properly. When not wearing the armor, which I rarely do in Wynthellin, my clothes would appear ill-fitting, like I was wearing a sack. Nice material and good colors, true, but a sack nonetheless. Though perhaps when I return to Wynthellin I will talk to my tailor and get a traveling suit, strictly to be worn over armor.”
"I suppose it would keep the travel dust off as well" Garian answers noncommittally.
Garian nods politely to Asim, "Garian, an elven Ranger."
Well met Garian, Enlighten us on how you came to know the Boyar if you would be so kind
Asim sits back and enjoys the tails of the others until arriving at the mannor.
Garian makes a slight grimace, "We met some years past on a dark matter best not spoken of." He shakes his head before asking with apparent interest, "You say you are from Iftar? Who are the Shabad?"
Kuraj enters cautiously and stands against a far wall, obviously not feeling comfortable at the table.
Ah the Shabad are evil men not to be messed with, they rule Marakaresh. They are bad news, I dare not speak on them any further. So it is as I thought then, we all new the Boyar in some manner of way? I am saddened to hear of his passing, but still do not know why I was summoned. I guess we will see shortly.
"My apologies Asim," The young noble says. "It is not often that a Bannerman has to introduce himself in the lands of his cousins. I am Ser Vuk Gniewom, third son of Boyar Gniewom, Bondsman of the Ribalka family. It is an honor to meet a man who saved the life of my lord."
As he rides with them into the manor, Vuk dismounts and sends Loral with the servants to be stabled. Along with his luggage and his lance. He keeps his warhammer and a small satchel around his neck.
As soon as he enters the hall and is offered food, he whispers a short prayer of thanksgiving to the Gods for safe travel and ready hospitality and then takes a bite of bread and a swig of vodka.
"Will the new Boyar be greeting us soon? My father has asked that I speak the words that will renew our oath of loyalty to our Lord."
Ah, a knight in service to Ribalka family. I see. I accept your apology Ser Vuk, it is a pleasure to meet you.
--“I have called you here on a strange errand but one that is of great importance to my late father. My father it seems was a man of many secrets, and his will is full of bizarre bequests, and strange conditions. There is no question of me violating my dying father’s final wishes, but I confess I am very much in the dark as to the reasons behind his eccentricities.
--He pauses for a moment, and his eyes sweep over each one of you carefully.
--“Whether you knew my father as a personal friend, or a business associate is hardly important. For some reason my father saw some competence in you, some ability to right what he called “an ancient wrong”. Towards the end of his illness, my father babbled, almost incoherently about some terrible curse that he had unleashed. He seemed insistent, and lucid, but refused, or was unable to elaborate."
At this point the Boyar pauses, and he seems weary, his hands shake with emotion, and his voice is strained.
--“My father passed away in the night, and was unattended, he died in his sleep, but a bizarre, or perhaps horrible thing was found. He was clutching in his hand a locket, which contained a miniature, a painting of a young girl, of five or six years of age. I had never seen the object before, and had never heard mention of it, nor of any daughter. I have no idea who the child is, and though my Father was a man of rather amorous disposition, and sired a few children out of wedlock, most were sent to university, or the church, or some other profession was arranged for them. I’ve checked the records, and he had only one daughter by a peasant woman, who is now a nun a convent in the Capital City
--The boyar hands the party a locket on a silver chain, which contains a miniature of a young girl, perhaps five years old. She is strikingly beautiful, with black hair, and a face that reminds you of a feminine version of Alexi.
Assim stand silent taking in the young man's words before taking a look at the locket.
After once overing the locket he looks up to Alexi.
Boyar Ribalka. If this is a daughter of the late Boyar, what do you wish of us? OUr letters requested us here. Did he wish us to track the girl down?
In the great hall, Frunthpyllin nods with approval at the sight of the zakuski and blini. He takes small portions from each dish, savoring each bite. After biting into the pickled Dwarven mushrooms he laughs in delight. ”Splendid!” He takes a single drink of vodka, then nibbles at the Elven cheese while he analyzes the room’s two paintings.
In the library, he gives Boyar Riblaka his undivided attention, listening in silence while keeping his hands folded together on the table. When the locket is passed to him, he turns the image upside down, examining the compositional elements, the use of color, the skill of the artist, mentally comparing it the life-size portrait of the late Boyar in the great hall. Satisfied, he rights the image and looks for any unique items of jewelry or styles of fashion that may indicate when the painting was made.
He passes on the locket and asks, ”You made it sound as if the late Boyar didn't mention her in his final wishes, yet with this mysterious locket found in his dead hands, you think she related to this curse your father spoke of?”
When the locket is passed to him Garian examines it for a moment then passes it along, "There seems a passing family resemblance. Why do you say that the locket is 'horrible'"
Kuraj looks at the locket like everyone else, grunts, and hands it along.
--The Boyar Alexi continues...
--You can imagine my shock when the reading of the will revealed a stipulation. That I was to find this ‘daughter’ and her mother. He regretted that he could not do in life, what must be done by another after his death, and that a sum of money was to be set aside for the search. My lawyers, as well as the clergy, have made it clear that I’m bound as a hereditary noble, to follow the last will of my father. Although I think it a fools errand, and the attempt of a dying man to soothe his conscience, who am I to disagree?
The boyar turns his back to you, staring out the window for a moment. The skies have grown darker. He frowns, than continues
--I have some rooms ready for you, and you can use the library to further your research. The burial will take place tomorrow morning, and you may ask my steward, Petrushka, any questions or requests that you may have. I need to go back to running the estate, and seeing to the duties my father has left me.
--He waits for any questions before bowing deeply, and leaving the room. An elderly man,dressed in a clean butlers uniform, hobbles into the library, and stands with hands clasped behind his book. He waits to be of assistance. This is obviously Petrushka, who appears to have been with the family for quite some time.
Garian nods in greeting before asking, "To start with the obvious question, do you know who this young woman might be?"
What? What wronged woman? Speak up Elf! Petryshka is at least a little, perhaps very, deaf. Perhaps a wee bit senile, and certainly less than helpful.
Garian replies loudly, showing Petryshka the locket,
Oh she's really pretty, what a beautiful little girl, is she yours? She don't look like an elf-child, no, she does not.
Garian agrees patiently,
-The elderly man winces at your words...