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"It is great to see you again magical armored friend Tess... did Unrak just call you Tessticle? Is that what Tess is short for? I apologize friend Tessticle, for never giving you the honor of speaking your true name. I will make this up to you by praising the great name of Tessticle across the land."
Unrak blinks, then chuffs out a snort before holding it back with his hand.
Normally he lets Aygrym's misunderstandings go, but he suspects this might be the time to correct it.
Augrym...no. I did not call her "Tessticle." Her name is NOT "Tessticle." Do NOT call her that, do NOT praise that name. Like, EVER. If you do, I'm all but certain it will end badly for you.
He turns to Tess apologetically. More fool me for not predicting that.
"Unrak is, of course, correct. You even heard your great leader say my proper name: Tessaria. But I know pronunciation can be tricky so, please, just call me Tess."
She then looks at Bytor, her face sympathetic. "The hardships of an adventuring life must truly be hard on bards. To forget the that I came out here before, to find you of all people, and then to have gone back to Oppara with your friend... I suppose that naga had some truly powerful magic at her disposal!"
Tess turns her attention back to Taranis. She has not forgotten who leads this ragtag bunch. "Milord, if you have need of my services then I am happy to give provide them. I know that you reward your group with an equal share of the spoils, and honestly... I was beginning to get bored. Dealing with armies are a challenge I'm up for. Though, do you not have an army yourself?"
The meet-and-greet among old faces and new continues into the evening, over a fine meal of roast pheasant and summer corn at Abel's Inn, and over the next several days as the town grows increasingly crowded.
Within the week, the newcomers are given first-hand experience with holding court. Tatzylford's small, fortified town hall, the temporary western seat of the Marchlands, is a rather cramped space with courtiers jostling for position and a long line of petitioners stretching out the front doors.
Three audiences in particular concern your immediate decision-making. The first is Mayor Loy Rezbin of Tatzylford, who comes forward with a proposal to extend the partially-built road from Tatzylford all the way to Wyvernstone Bridge. "...if this unpleasantness with Fort Drelev can be resolved, and a serviceable roadway established, I believe that Tatzylford and the Marchlands can benefit extremely from trade with the river traffic on the East Sellen, both north to Brevoy and South to the Mivon, Tymon, and so on."
The second is a courier from John Fletcher, the commander of the Marchland Shields occupying Wyverstone Bridge. He wishes you well and asks after his sons---particularly Gozrek---but writes that he feels unable to adequately fulfill his more clandestine duties in the capital and eastern reaches of the Marchlands while he and the Shields are actively deployed in the field. As such, he begs that you will find a suitable replacement.
Third, old Oleg Leveton comes hesitantly forward, encouraged by smiles and small gestures from his wife Svetlana. "My lord Duke, I'm come to ask that you might find another treasurer. I'm getting on in years, and I'm more 'ccustomed to running a shop than a duchy. City life don't agree with me, and though this here Tatzylford is homely enough, the trees make me a bit uncomfortable. I want to go back to the open plains and open sky around my trading post... though I still hope you'll consider that part of your duchy someday too."
Upkeep Phase
Step 0 - Ruler: Declare the Duke's modifiers (Economy, Loyalty, or Stability).
Step 1 - Stability: Roll Stability Check. If successful, reduce Unrest by 1 (to a minimum of 0).
Step 2 - Consumption: Consumption has been deducted from the treasury. See "Ledger" tab.
Step 3 - Magic Items: .
Solasgaard:
Solasgaard: Cathedral Minor Potion Lesser Minor CL1, L1 Common Potion of Magic Fang
Solasgaard: Cathedral Medium Potion Lesser Medium L2, L3 Uncommon Oil of Obscure Object
Solasgaard: Cathedral Medium Wondrous Belt Lesser Medium Belt of the Weasel
Varnhold: Temple of Erastil Minor Scroll L1, CL1 Scroll of Cure Light Wounds
Step 4 - Modify Unrest: Roll Loyalty Check to reduce Unrest, if desired (cannot be reduced below 0). Failure incurs permanent -1 penalty to Loyalty.
Edict Phase
Step 0 - Spymaster: Declare Spymaster's modifier (Economy, Loyalty, or Stability).
Step 1 - Assign Leadership: Assign new leadership or fill vacancies, if desired.
Step 2 - Claim Hex: Claim up to 4 new hexes of territory, if desired. All hexes must be fully explored to be claimed.
Step 3 - Abandon Hex: Abandon any number of hexes of existing territory, if desired.
Step 4 - Build Terrain: Pay for up to 7 terrain improvements in existing territory, if desired.
Step 5 - Settlements: Found up to 2 new settlements in existing territory. A site must first be prepared for settlement. Additionally, pay for construction of up to 10 new buildings in your existing settlements. The construction of a single house, tenement, noble villa, or mansion does not count against this limit, but must still be paid for.
Step 6 - Army: Raise up to 2 new military units (less any new settlements founded this month), or upgrade or repair existing ones, as desired. Pay any recruitment costs.
Step 7 - Edicts: Issue any new edicts as desired.
Feeling a weak spot for John and his tragedies, Taranis gives the matter some thought. He seeks out Tess, "Tess, we are in dire need of a new Spymaster. I often had to directly manage John when he was spymaster. While his loss is acute, the reasons are more personal. Are you willing or interested? You can have as much autonomy as you'd like. These are the Marchlands after all."
Similarly he asks Oleg to share a mead with him to inaugurate his retirement. The duke invites Delnin along not only for introductions, but to see if the nimble halfling has an interest.
Upkeep Phase Summary
Edict Phase Summary
The halfling is quite impressed by the level of organization. When he was part of the BellFlower network he only dealt with a small group at a time.
Delnin does his best to learn what needs to be done. He also starts planning a personal project of building a new apiary somewhere.
Oleg heartily accepts the Duke's mead and asks only that Svetlana be permitted to join him. The revived trading post feeds the economy, and the disused caverns beneath the Old Sycamore tree provide a convenient place to stockpile grain, store arms, and provide shelter in times of trouble.
"Need me to step in, boots first? Very well, milord. I can do this, though you can definitely expect that I will approach the job different from John."
With some downtime available to them, Tess forgos her own personal projects to dig into the new job. She moves about Tatzylford, finding various people of influence within the town and trailing them a bit from the cover of invisibility. When she needs to be seen she conjures a magical disguise to appear as someone else. Occassionally, she uses magic to detect the surface thoughts of key individuals, attempting to get a feeling for the general disposition of the people.
Income Phase
Step 1 - Withdraw from Treasury: Withdraw resources from the treasury for personal use, if desired.
Step 2 - Deposit to Treasury: Deposit personal resources into the duchy's treasury, if desired.
Step 3 - Sell Items: Sell up to 2 personal magical items to benefit the treasury.
Step 4 - Roll an Economy check for tax collection.
Event Phase
Income Phase Summary
As you wind down your courtly duties for the month, a missive arrives from Satinder Morne in Fort Drelev.
Most noble of clients,
Word reaches my ears that the great barbarian still roams in the north, and my hall, though calmer of late, is full of talk that he may yet turn south to clamber over our unfinished walls. Perhaps you might look into the matter sooner rather than later? I would so hate to see your name fall from its high esteem here, and get dragged through the mud before hearts and minds are securely won.
Yours truly,
S
You gather for council on 8th Erastus.
While Delnin had enjoyed getting to know how things worked behind the scenes, this was the action he had been waiting for. Looking for trouble in the wilds was what he was waiting for.
Taranis puts the letter down on the massive map in the meeting hall.
"Tess, Delnin. We could use your immediate help with a problem. That problem's name is Armag. If we want to actually free the people of the Fort, and even to bring them into our fold, we need to complete some unfinished business. We tried and failed to bring down a ruthless barbarian named Armag. We need to see this through. We should make our way there anon. If we can see through some other unfinished business on the way, that too would be good. What say you?"
Weirdly... Taranis isn't trained in any of that.
"I have another thought. I am now connected with the land enough that I may be able to commune across lifetimes to learn more. The ability requires my attention for quite some time. May I suggest that whilst I am sequestered, you each prepare? Think of our difficulties of late* and see if you can secure gear to help."
I update Taranis pretty meticulously.
Delnin has spent some time in swamps and marshy areas. Swarms can be deadly, he looks for some alchemical supplies.
Delnin has spent some time in swamps and marshy areas. Swarms can be deadly, he looks for some alchemical supplies.
The halfling hopes that such an expensive piece of equipment will be worth the gold. While he isnt a greedy person he does think of the lovely ingredients he could buy and the amazing food he could cook with such money…
Not wanting to be overwhelmed like last time (especially since our foe expects it), Taranis takes some time to see what the world itself knows of the man....
"Gentleman, I will be out of commission for upwards of a week and a half if I connect myself across time and space, but I think it may be worth it. This is a power I've never used, and is only available to Druids of the 8th Circle."
Taranis sets himself up to use Secrets Across Lifetimes and Retreats to his Druidic Grove.
Augrym looks at Taranis as he explains this power he plans on tapping into and it confirms that he truly has made the right decision making this man... this demigod... as his leader.
"While great leader brother friend Taranis does time travel, I will keep my ears to the ground and check in on the city."
"I will leave you to your preparations, milord. Though before I do, this Armag... Is he someone you've met before? Can a likeness be drawn up if so? If someone can provide me with a silver mirror, I might be able to scry upon him. If not, it's fine. We can do this the more conventional way."
Delnin starts to be impressed by the impressive power of the druid. But then he puts his mind back to more practical matters. Like what meal would Taranis enjoy after his commune with nature…. He makes a mental note to ask the brother what the druid would like to eat
The halfling does some hunting and scouting in the immediate areas. He also talks to some local craftsmen and/or carpenter about building some bee boxes.
After collecting the material components to raise and restore Gozrek, Taranis spends some time communing with nature. To reset Gozreh's balance is no small thing, and cannot be taken lightly. The duke studies the leaves of his grove with the same intense concentration as he studies the map of the Marchlands. Determined to protect the flock, he meets with Jhod to see it through....
Suddenly it is light. It is cold. It is warm. It is still. It is a flurry of everything. It is memory... The PAIN!
Gozrek's eyes snap open and he sits up with the gas of a drowning man's first breath of air.
His mouth opens and closes with no words coming. He sees the beared face of the Duke. He grabs hold of Taranis's shoulder without thinking, but the druid does not pull back. "I.... live! Cayden's codpiece! I live!"
"Indeed my friend, you do. You have crossed back to us here, and you have a long road ahead of you still. Take time and find peace. Find purpose. Come let us talk about what you and I have been through..."
The Duke knocks on Gozrek's door, and enters when invited. He finds the lad reading a spellbook while doing some stretches. Perhaps he is ready to return. This is a delicate time, I must not push too hard, not push too little.
"Are you up for a safe trip within the Marchlands?"
"Enter!"
I see in his face that he's still worried. I must allay those fears. Being cooped up is worse for my health than pushing too hard.
Gozrek listens to the instructions. They're simple enough, and he nods with a smile, "You know Your Grace, I'm ready for more. I know you're planning to take Armag out once and for all. I'll do this, and when I return, I want to be at the planning meetings."
Gozrek puts the carefully packed wings in his haversack, and heads out to Borzaki of Erastil.
Augrym hears some chatter about a tribe of strange, intelligent insects known as bog striders that live in the Hooktongue Slough. They are said to be at war with the region's much more prolific boggard tribes---perhaps they might be a useful ally.
He also gets the impression that many of the more moneyed individuals in the court are tiring of the table, lodging, and entertainment to be found in this backwater town, and are complaining that the Duke insists on keeping this temporary seat with the war to the west so well in hand now.
Delnin has no trouble finding a carpenter for his bee boxes, though he does get an earful about how kleptomaniacal the bears are in the Narlmarches.
Tess learns that none here have met Armag. He is known only by reputation.
Gozrek, eager to prove himself and to banish those unsettling vestiges at the edge of memory, of standing mute and miniscule before the discerning eye of a pale woman seated on an immense throne of bone, hurries off to find the cleric of Old Deadeye. Borzaki is ecstatic to see the wings. "So fresh! And remarkably intact, too. These are just what I need!" He urges Gozrek to return the next day. When he does, the priest presses a shimmering, gossamer cloak into his hands.
Meanwhile, Taranis retires to his secret grove, searching for the wisdom of elders...
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Taranis retreats, alone, to his secret grove. The stones loom tall above him, casting long shadows onto the stretches of bare earth between the trees. In their center, the duke settles in, letting his bare toes dig into the cool grime of the forest floor and feeling the light tug of playful winds on his sweeping beard. He drinks in the waning sunlight, the warmth of the summer air, the endless creaking stillness and furtive life of the teeming forest.
He waits.
The hours pass. The stars circle overhead. The woodland nightsongs hum their cries and calls at the edge of hearing, but the duke pays no mind. By now he hears little but the thrum of hidden power that pulse through the stones, letting their rhythm direct his attention where they will, when they choose to call.
Light begins to grow in the east when the first vision comes. A woman robed in black, a cowl covering her face but not the bloodshot eye that hangs on a chain beneath it, flees a camp lit by fires and familiar stars, a nude babe clutched desperately in her pale arms. Drums beat, and cries fill the air. The woman deftly slits the throat of the first who tries to stop her flight, splashing deep red blood on the child's face. Two more figures rush forward towards to contest knife, but another black-robed woman slips out of the shadows to cut them down, then follows her sister into the dark cover of night.
The vision fades. The sun has crested the treetops, sending blinding rays into the druid's gaze. He heeds them not.
Three black-robed women stand behind a young man, no older than Gozrek. The man, clad in furs and leathers, holds a long blade with ease in his powerful grip. Blood runs slowly down the edge, dripping onto a shattered corpse at the young man's feet. The man lets out a cry of rage and plunges the blade into his enemy's chest, then hefts a mighty boulder and slams it into the corpse's skull. Blood and bone shrapnel spray into a crowd of stunned onlookers. The three women all speak one word, with pride: "Armag."
The sun approaches its zenith. A deer cautiously approaches the grove, but the twig-snap of an owlbear creeping closer allows it to scurry off. All that Taranis can hear is the thrum, growing louder with each passing minute.
Years have passed. The man, longer in tooth but still in his towering prime, stands before an assembly of mighty warriors. Scars cover his body, deep and hard-earned, marks of pride. Red banners marked by three pale stripes twist in the wind all around. The man wears a magnificent cuirass of ancient make, thick bone with scrimshaw carvings on every face. An iron crown in the likeness of thorns rests on his proud brow, and a belt of thick iron studded with blood-red jewels circles his barreled waist. Two black-robed women look on as war drums beat and Armag raises his sword.
The shadows grow longer, the earth warmer with the heat of the failing day. The thrum is weaker now, nearly spent. But somewhere, just before the sounds of the forest push the thrum beyond the limits of hearing, he hears an echo of that drumbeat one final time.
But this vision feels different. The man at its center, though similar in stature and strength, bears a different visage and walks under unfamiliar stars. Fires rage all around him, illuminating the countless fallen that litter the battlefield in every direction. Blood flows freely from the man's dozen wounds, and though he strides forward with confidence and pride, an immense grey-green greatsword held raised and ready, at length he falters and stumbles. The last thing that Taranis sees---almost at the limits of vision---is the faint image of a gaunt ashen-skinned lady with wild white hair glowering to one side of the fallen champion, a dagger held at her side, while opposite towers a grave figure armored from head to toe in jagged iron, two red eyes smoldering like witchfires from within his helm, an immense blade planted firmly at his feet. At the same moment, the steel on both sides flicks forward at lightning speed---
Sight comes back to Taranis. Night has fallen. An owlbear sits patiently before him, watching him curiously. After a moment, the creature lumbers to its feet, pads over, and nuzzles against him. The stones, still looming in the moonlight, fall silent.
Taranis gives the yet unnamed cub scritches. He speaks to the cub as if capable of conversation, "Well girl, that settles it. This is definitely something we need to do. When I return I'll channel a bit more of Nature's Might and ask you what your name is."
grave figure armored from head to toe in jagged iron, two red eyes smoldering like witchfires from within his helm Gorum?
Taranis steps into the old oak tree in the courtyard, and steps out of the tree near the castle. He sends messengers to the others to gather.
It is time.
Taranis gives the yet unnamed cub scritches. He speaks to the cub as if capable of conversation, "Well girl, that settles it. This is definitely something we need to do. When I return I'll channel a bit more of Nature's Might and ask you what your name is."
After a moment, Taranis remembers the name: Khrabryy.
grave figure armored from head to toe in jagged iron, two red eyes smoldering like witchfires from within his helm Gorum?
"Gentlemen, we have a quest that defeated us the last time, and we had the element of surprise then. This time we have Tess and Delnin though. Still, it will take all our efforts."
He opens chests and the armoire, "Arm yourselves."
"Also, Tess, can you tell us what [b]this rod does?"
Unrak rumbles Hmmm...I remember that ring, powerful. I'm already wearing 2 so someone take it!
The looks at the ring, but shakes his head, I dont need it. But Evasion is powerful. Im sure someone here could use it.
Presented with a strange rod, Tess takes a moment to study it. She then casts a quick spell, opening her mind up to the hidden sights of magic within the world. She attempts to decipher the tangled auras around the item...
With the help of Bytor and the Duke, Tess determines this long rod of smooth iron to be a lesser silent metamagic rod.
Taranis looks at his brother.... "Stealth isn't really our strong suit. Mayhaps we could trade it in the city proper?"
"If we're going to strike Armag's camp, we need to pick a solid route there. I suggest we take the road northwest." Taranis traces a line on the strategic map with a sprig of holly. "Normally I advocate for exploration whenever we leave, but we should save it for the return home. The last thing we need is to find ourselves bogged down, which once happened literally. We take the damned man out, then after victory, we visit Fort Drelev, exploring on the way home."
Two days' travel on the road brings you past the burnt watchtowers on either side of the East Sellen river and the Marchland Shields encamped on the west side of Wyvernstone Bridge. Jon and Gozrek Fletcher share a long embrace, and father and son talk long into the night. You also hear the reports of Jon's scouts: the Tiger Lords are still camped in the Glenebon Hills to the west, and have made no sign of preparations to march either east or south.
In the morning you make your way westward, first through the cloudberry fields dotting the plains and then up into the Glenebon. At the end of the third day (12th Erastus), as night falls, you see the campfires of the Tiger Lords spread out in the hills to the west.
Delnin is pretty confident of his stealth abilities and being able to shoot in the dark. But he looks to the Duke to see how they will proceed
The big wolf isn't as quiet footed as his small comrade but he is sure he can tear the throat from most things
With the help of Bytor and the Duke, Tess determines this long rod of smooth iron to be a lesser silent metamagic rod.
Unrak smiles. Let me borrow this for our current strike, then we sell it when we come back.
Taranis spends his personal money:
Taranis collects money from everyone on:
He reports back to Tess that
is available if she'd like.
Late afternoon through the vesperal hours, Taranis reconnoiters the barbarian camp in the form of a mid-sized passerine. He's looking at numbers, readiness, and any regular guard changes. This is after his daily habit when ranging abroad of casting Commune with Natural in place of Fire Snake. On the day of recon he focuses his senses through the land to detect the number of people, the presence of unnatural creatures, and the general animal population.
As before, there are hundreds encamped here, spread out across the hills in smaller gatherings. With night coming on, most are engaged in preparation for the evening meal, and the inviting smell of roasting meat wafts in your direction. Many are armed, and a few seem alert to the surrounding hills, but this vigilance seems no more than a gathering encamped for months without incident might mount.
The animal population is thinner in these hills, an account of the hunting parties that have fed these tribes for some time, but it is still quite healthy---enough to sustain this force some while yet.