The high-blooded noblewoman and priestess of Vol looks skeptical after Olyvar's self-introduction. "I do not, in fact, require an escort. We are both to escort a third. It is my understanding you will use your skills to disguise her as a fellow priestess of the Blood."
She gestures vaguely at the stage. "Your skills seem well suited for such an endeavor." That might have been an attempt at a compliment on Olyvar's performance. On the other hand, it could also have been her saying she didn't think his skills were of any other use in their upcoming mission.
Harika nods in the direction Olyvar's hangers-on had gone. "Did your companions tell you who I am, poet?"
Olyvvar smiles brightly. Only that you are a person of whom to be jealous, he quips. Sobering slightly, he continues. Alas, no. But I am keen to be enlightened. The king holds you in favor, it would seem.
She looks directly at Olyvar, her eyes dark as a night sky. "I am Harika ir'Thul, of Atur." The current and decades long-ruling governor of the large city of Atur- home of the single largest holy site of the Blood of Vol, the Crimson Monastery- is Falko ir'Thul, a man many considered one of the most powerful nobles in Karrnath outside the royal family. The old man headed an ancient, powerful, and rich family with many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. If she really was one of those ir'Thul's, she was no mere noblewoman, and had blood approaching royal precedence herself.
Her expression turns wry and she looks back in the direction she had last seen the king. "Much good it does me when Kaius turns his attention my way."
Quite true, he agrees, as he snatches a drink from a passing tray and sips lightly. So if I may ask, are you acquainted with this lady who is to make use of my coaching?
Rhorn spends the next few hours stowed away in the back of a covered wagon. The caravan travels for half a day before stopping in town to replenish its good and supplies. Peaking through a slit, he hears a conversation between a dwarf and three other men, who appear to be caravan guards. The men are a diverse group: a goblin, a warforged, and a dark elf. He listens quietly as they discuss the importance of the caravan. "Remember...take special care of that royal you know what until she gets to Wroat!" Rhorn leans back down and falls asleep.
After a few more hours of travel, Rhorn wakes as the caravan comes to a stop. He looks through the slit again and notices it is starting to get dark. Caravan members scurry around setting up camp. The three from earlier are discussing their watch rotation through the night.
Royal... That dwarf can't be serious... Now how am I going to make my way into this group I am seeing. Yes, yes time to play to superstitions of this continent...
Rhorn moves stealthy out of the caravan and moves with surprising speed...
stealth
Once he has escaped the encampment he will don his Riedran traveling tunic and prepare to make his "entrance".
I chose my feat "Speed of Thought"
As the merchants and travelers scurry around to prepare for camp, the three guards see a six foot tall man, with a bald head and darkened skin approach. He wears a simple open chested Riedran Tunic. His eyes glimmer with intelligence and he seems surprisingly "wise' for a man so "young".
"chatoor" Chetiin says, pointing to the newcomer. When the warforged and drow turn to see the approaching man, Chetiin moves around behind a wagon relative to the newcomer.
Rhorn moved forward and presses both hands together sideways over his chest and gives a slight bow, then he spoke, greetings travelers, I am Sulaan, Riedrian wander and fortuneteller. Tell me have you need the services of those gifted in the mental arts?
bluff
Arcavic just watches the newcomer quietly, moving into a combat posture, but not reaching for a weapon, before replying, "What makes you think we need some mumbo-jumbo magic from some other weird continent? I can assure you that there are ample home grown troublemakers that are perfectly capable of providing any magical assistance we may require." Arcavic clearly doesn't care about what the newcomer says, going with the tried and true reaction of trusting no one he doesn't already know.
Such distrust, however I do applaud you dark one. The suspicious mind is a healthy one.
As Rhorn speaks he works his mind to deploy a small, silent message to the dark one.
Could any of these "troublemakers" do their art silently?
Note that I am relying on you the GM to figure out/implement the "displays" in Rhorn's powers, like missive.
"Clever, but I would be likely far more impressed if you had done that after being observed for more than one minute before trying to make a claim as to your impressive abilities.. Still, it is not my decision to make; just be aware that any sudden moves will not be met kindly before any decisions are made."
Then let those who would decide come forward, I have nothing to hide.
bluff
"You wander alone in the wilderness and approach a camp at night. Either you are hiding something or you are very brave/borderline foolish. Probably a little bit of both. The only real question is whether what you are hiding matters to us or not."
The warforged simply waited and watched
"What is your business here? One would not simply approach an armed and defended caravan"
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Quite true, he agrees, as he snatches a drink from a passing tray and sips lightly. So if I may ask, are you acquainted with this lady who is to make use of my coaching?
Harika shakes her head. "While I am sure I am acquainted with her, neither His Majesty nor Her Highness deigned to share her identity with me. A surprising show of discretion on their part, given that they decided to make the arrangements during and in a crowded reception." She sighs. "We will both have to find out who it is tomorrow."
Olyvvar names a show of trying to hide his frustration. It's disguised well from a distance, but he allows Harika to observe it through a conscious effort. Speaking through a smile he doesn't feel, Of course I would be expected to give acting lessons to an absent student, he says bitterly.
A thought comes to him and he brightens, looking at Harika. I don't suppose your faith has members who have taken a vow of silence?
It is as I feared, then. Though you have an intriguing idea in disguising her as an undead. I will have to see if her acting skills are up to the task of impersonating a corpse.
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Olyvvar gestures, and another glass floats from a nearby tray into Harika's hands. He clinks his glass to hers gently with a broad smile. Milady, truer words have ne'er been spoken. He lifts his glass in a toast.
My good warforged there are things far more dangerous then armed men and I happen to be faster then most.
"You failed to answer his question; for that matter, you gave the same evasions to mine. Either state your business or move on." Arcavic is very obviously starting to get bored with this man that while clearly not a major threat is also not clearly worth spending any more time on when there were other matters and areas around the caravan that needed tending to.
I come here for the same reason you have I suspect, we both desire to line our pockets with gold, galifars, dragons what have you. You offer the talents of war I offer the insights of the mind.
One of the Dwarven merchants walks up on the conversation. He points at Rhorn, "He's one of them people from Sarlona. He probably came over with the merchandise. A large part of this caravan's cargo came on a ship from there. He must be one of their representatives or something." He looks at Rhorn and speaks a little slower in case he doesn't understand common well, " You...One...Of...Them...Mindfreaks? You...Representative?"
"What are you talking about?" the black metal creature asks
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Dwarf I understand common perfectly, I am here of my own accord. I just like you desire to make a a few galifars, I have goals and they need the fuel of gold and platinum.
diplomacy
The Dwarf gives Rhorn a puzzled look. "Oh...You speak common...You should have said that before. Our question is who gave you the authority to travel with us. I figured you were part of the Merchants from Sarlona. If not, where did you come from? Your not a bandit are you?"
I was trying to give you a reason (lie) to be here. The three guards and the merchant are supposed to be here. You are not. That is why the others are questioning you. If you were in the city, then you could use diplomacy to see if you could join then. Right now, they are surprised. They wouldn't just hire help in the woods.
Time to take a chance, the dwarf wasn't being sarcastic when he said the "royal you know what"...
Your employers sent me, they deemed that the royal was in need of additional protection... Of the kind only a trained psion can provide, now hire me. It will prevent unwanted eyes from realizing what this caravan's true purpose is...
bluff check
The Dwarf suddenly stops mid-sentence. His eyes glaze over for a second and then he smiles. "Ah...Now I remember. You are supposed to come along and protect the Priestesses we are picking up in Korth." He turns to Gyro ans speaks, "He's alright." He turns and walks away.
Arcavic just shakes his head as he mutters something too softly to make out under his breath before turning his gaze onto the stranger in full appraisal, "Next time you might want to get to the point sooner; a lot of guards I've worked with can be very jumpy, and would not take kindly to the conversation we just finished. I'll go over the signals and signs we are using later. For now, I have other things to attend to." With that, the drow turns his attention to securing the wagons for the night.
So a literal Royal I have found, whether or not to insinuate myself with the Royal... I must ponder this.
Rhorn moves into the camp and subtly takes stock of what is around him...
perception
After the close of the evening's festivities -- the details of which shall forever be the province of speculation and rumor -- Olyvvar returns to his little theater house and prepares it for his last performances before Zol arrives.
Rather than run the risk of some no-talent hack coming in and ruining his final shows, he breaks down the stage and loads up his props, costumes and accoutrements before anyone else might make use of them. As the light of dawn sheds upon Zol, the signs sadly announce the limited engagement of Olyvvar Merriman, actor, poet, legend has been cut short.
Thus, the trappings of his one-man show laden upon a pack mule he procured the very day after being handed this mission, Olyvvar moves through the streets in a plain cloak knowing that soon he would meet up with his entourage.
The construct simply watches the newcomer. This has not happened before. But if they say its fine.... but if he steps out of line he will hold them responsible for it
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The sun sets over the trees and the night air becomes chilly. Most of the Dwarven Merchants and passengers settle into their tents early. The three guards set up watch with Gyro staying up throughout the evening. The night is uneventful. The next morning the caravan gets up early and packs. By dawn, it is off again.
The caravan travels for eleven hours through the wooded Karrnath countryside. The sun is slowly setting again as you finally spot the East Gates of Korth in the distance. The White Lions meet you and check your papers. They are a stark reminder of Karrnath’s umbrella of martial law.
Once inside the gates, the caravan heads to the market district. The merchants let you all know that House Kundarak owns a Tavern nearby called The Tasty Troll where you can stay and meet your contacts.
You slowly get you gear and head to the Tavern. When you arrive, a large human bodyguard meets you at the door. "Papers?"
The White Lions are Karrnathian soldiers under orders of King Kaius. They have full authority to carry out extreme justice. Most of them fought in the Last War and can be brutal when tested.
You return to the temple late. You are barely settled in when you hear a knock at your door. It opens slightly and you see the head priest. He steps through the door and then closes it behind him. He is hooded in a black cloak and has a solemn look on his face. "I have heard that you have been invited to travel to Wroat...
Make way, my patrons in the nobility have decreed my passage.
Bluff
diplomacy
After procuring your mule, a young lad runs up with an envelope. "Here you are sir." He holds out his hand. The letter is sealed in wax. The King's mark is formed in the seal.
Chetiin remains silent at the request for papers, anticipating that they would assume he doesnt speak common. He will wait for one of the tall folk to present papers for the group.
Dropping a silver coin in the lad's hand, Olyvvar tucks the letter away for the time being, not wanting to openly read the missive in the middle of the street. After stabling the mule, he leaves through the servants' entrance. The instant he passes through the eaves, he shifts to Lord Askari and flips his cloak around, allowing a darker fabric lining to slip out and fall around his shoulders and down to his ankles. Flipping a hood up which shrouds his features, he slips out the back, a gloomy and dark presence. Moving through the side streets, he comes to a seedy tavern and steps inside. He moves to the back corner and takes a seat at a dimly lit table. After ordering a drink and turning away a couple adventurers looking for a plot hook, he slowly withdraws the note, breaks the seal with his bony fingers, and reads.
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You return to the temple late. You are barely settled in when you hear a knock at your door. It opens slightly and you see the head priest. He steps through the door and then closes it behind him. He is hooded in a black cloak and has a solemn look on his face. "I have heard that you have been invited to travel to Wroat...
Harika nods, not moving away from the door or inviting the man to sit. She hadn't invited him in, after all. "Yes, abector. Do you have a message you would like me to carry?"
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You open the letter and a very short message appears on it:
Tasty Troll Tavern...tonight.
The waitress returns. "Would you like anything else sir?"
The priest makes himself at home, sitting in a chair and crossing his legs. "The church has a job for you. The courtier you are escorting does not need to arrive in Wroat. We need to trust that you can see to it that she has an accident along the way..." He trails off looking sharply at you.