You have traveled for many days through the Yeomanry, leaving more civilized lands and entering the area known locally as the Borderlands. The spring sun shines with promise and a warm wind blows out of the east, filling the air with pollen and bits of flying plant matter. Bugs (of not terribly alarming size) flutter and buzz about. Farms and villages have become less frequent, and travelers scarce.
Rolling hills rise to either side of the rutted dirt road you follow, perhaps a hundred yards to the right a river flows back towards the way you came. Pine forest covers the hills around you, and seems to get thicker the farther you go. The wind brings you hints of something darker, a taste of stagnation and decay - a swamp perhaps? A narrow track forks to the left, leading up a rocky slope to your destination - a proud keep standing tall against the sky. Rumors of trouble and the promise of adventure, fame and wealth bring you here, to the keep on the borderlands.
*Eeagh* 'Bout time the ol' keep showed its face. Why couldn't ya darned surface dwellers have put yer castles closer together?
Eh, elf boy, ye still awake?
Dara lifts one eyebrow as she looks over at the dwarf, "'ey, now. Some o' us like t' have a little breathin' room."
Her grin turn a bit wicked as she continues. "Plus it really cuts down on t' incidence o' plagues. And with less people droppin' went t' Davy Jones' locker, you have a chance o' findin' a beauty who isn't hirsute."
She leans forward to pat the neck of the big horse. Her voice drops a little, softer, as she addresses the animal, "Don't worry darlin', we will get you some nice hay and water in just a bit."
Anden lets out a "Hrumph" from atop his stalwart little pony and lets it meander on.
*Eeagh* 'Bout time the ol' keep showed its face. Why couldn't ya darned surface dwellers have put yer castles closer together?
Eh, elf boy, ye still awake?
Alavar deigns to glance down at the short, rotund, stocky dwarf (whether he is or not, that is how he is being thought of) on his short-legged, little pony. He smiles, though it is not a particularly pleasing smile, "Us surface dwellers prefer to be able to stretch our legs. We have all the room in the world to bloom and grow instead of being encompassed in hard, claustrophobic stone." the right corner of his mouth twitches slightly, "think of it like a fish in a fish bowl. Those above ground have learned that the sky is the limits and they are free to grow, while those below have obviously been stunted by there limited surroundings." Yes, his smile almost seems like that of a cat playing with a mouse. Not very nice at all. "and yes, Grampa Little-Dwarf, I am awake." Since they have been traveling together for a while now, although Alarvaryar's tone and demeanor are more than a little abrasive, Arden is likely able to tell that he actually has some fondness for the dwarf. He just absolutely refuses to show it as much as possible.
He glances at Dara, at her horse and then back again, it is not quite the look of a brother to a younger sister, "Do not worry yourself, SeaSprite, she is doing just fine. Though I'm sure she will be happy for the respite when it is available."
As you turn your mounts and head upslope towards the keep, back to the southeast you can see a large swampy area, contained by hills to the south and by bends of the river otherwise. As you ascend the rocky track, a sheer stone wall rises to your left, while a near vertical drop is on your right.
As you reach the wall, the path widens. A natural fissure makes for a formidable moat, and while the drawbridge is down, so is the portcullis. Blue liveried men-at-arms bearing halberds and crossbows line the walls, all peering down at you. A pair of similarly accoutered men stand behind the portcullis and address you before you step onto the stout wood of the drawbridge. "Halt! State your names and your business! Their crossbows are cautiously ready, but pointed at the ground rather than your chests.
Arden Ironfist, alaghor and adventurer
Dara pushes back her black tricorn a bit so that the guards can make out her oddly golden eyes. "Ahoy there." Her smile is wide, deceptively friendly. "I be Dara," just the hit of a pause, "Dara Turner."
She motions with her head to elf, "'n th' point-eared one be Loke."
Her grin grows a bit, lighting up her eyes with passion and mischief. "We be here to seek fame 'n fortune. We heard ye might have some troubles that need lookin' into."
Her shoulder roll up and down in an easy shrug, "Figured it'd be a help to ye all.
The elf's eyes roll towards Dara with an amused smile. He stands in his stirrups and doffs his cap in an exaggerated, but strangely elegant bow. "As the lady says," he nods, "at your service. Sirs." the bit of irony in his voice, probably lost to the distance between them. Now, whether she notices the admiration in the simple rolling motion of her shoulders is entirely another matter. Perhaps a question of whether she has eyes in the back of her head and can see through a tricorn hat.
*Eeagh* 'Bout time the ol' keep showed its face. Why couldn't ya darned surface dwellers have put yer castles closer together?
Eh, elf boy, ye still awake?Alavar deigns to glance down at the short, rotund, stocky dwarf (whether he is or not, that is how he is being thought of) on his short-legged, little pony. He smiles, though it is not a particularly pleasing smile, "Us surface dwellers prefer to be able to stretch our legs. We have all the room in the world to bloom and grow instead of being encompassed in hard, claustrophobic stone." the right corner of his mouth twitches slightly, "think of it like a fish in a fish bowl. Those above ground have learned that the sky is the limits and they are free to grow, while those below have obviously been stunted by there limited surroundings." Yes, his smile almost seems like that of a cat playing with a mouse. Not very nice at all. "and yes, Grampa Little-Dwarf, I am awake." Since they have been traveling together for a while now, although Alarvaryar's tone and demeanor are more than a little abrasive, Arden is likely able to tell that he actually has some fondness for the dwarf. He just absolutely refuses to show it as much as possible.
He glances at Dara, at her horse and then back again, it is not quite the look of a brother to a younger sister, "Do not worry yourself, SeaSprite, she is doing just fine. Though I'm sure she will be happy for the respite when it is available."
Who are you to be callin' me old, yer a darned elf! You could be my pa an' then some
There is softness in Arden's voice, there is likely a longstanding argument between them on the relative merits of elves and dwarves.
"Now, ain't that tha truth. Boy." Alavar responds with a knowing smile.
And I'll take that over twenty years as a blubbering baby
"And perhaps you are more aware of the lives and lifestyles of my people, the Erlini, than I?" He continues switching from dangerously playful to a tone almost akin to a school marm lecturing her student and back again as it suits, "Perhaps you are thinking of our noble brethren the Loari or Linaeri. Then again, perhaps not. Who knows what passes for knowlege in the dusty, underground tomes of those who rarely emerge to greet the sun. What real knowledge could they have without daring to venture forth and actually live it. Is that what you are doing, oh most brave and stalwart member of the great Dwarven hide-from-the-sun-'cause-we-might-just-get-burned-if-she-sees-us clan? Are you here to learn what the fearful outdoors and forests truly contain so you can correct those moth eaten grimoires?"
Dara gives Buttercup his head, letting the horse pull ahead of the dwarf and the elf when they start to bicker like an old married couple. Then, and only then, when they can't see her face does she let eyes roll in amused exasperation.
"And perhaps you are more aware of the lives and lifestyles of my people, the Erlini, than I?" He continues switching from dangerously playful to a tone almost akin to a school marm lecturing her student and back again as it suits, "Perhaps you are thinking of our noble brethren the Loari or Linaeri. Then again, perhaps not. Who knows what passes for knowlege in the dusty, underground tomes of those who rarely emerge to greet the sun. What real knowledge could they have without daring to venture forth and actually live it. Is that what you are doing, oh most brave and stalwart member of the great Dwarven hide-from-the-sun-'cause-we-might-just-get-burned-if-she-sees-us clan? Are you here to learn what the fearful outdoors and forests truly contain so you can correct those moth eaten grimoires?"
** spoiler omitted **
An' I just might, only god knows why else I've stuck with you for so long. The words seem more as a taunt than an expression of true feeling, the dwarf has an honest fondness of you but, like you, refuses to admit to it.
The guards at the portcullis seem satisfied with your declarations, and call back into the courtyard "Raise the portcullis!"
With a rattle of heavy chains, the iron portcullis slowly raises, granting you access to the keep. The short ten foot entrance tunnel is pierced through the ceiling with murder holes, and walls with arrow slits. Awaiting you beyond in the courtyard are a small group of men. Centrally is an official looking man with close cropped brown hair, wearing plate, carrying a shield with a sword and dagger belted at his waist. His expression is faintly grouchy as he watches you approach. He is next to an unusually tall older man in green robes with wispy white hair, holding a book and quill. They are flanked by a man-at-arms on either side.
The shorter man remarks to the taller, "Scribe Deorsig, are we expecting ahd-ventoorers today?" Deorsig in his green robes continues to watch you ride in. "DEORSIG! The tall scribe turns to the shorter man, "Did you say something, Watch Corporal Tyalo?" Tyalo takes a deep breath, and turns back to you.
"Greetings ahd-ventoorers, welcome to Kendall Keep! My name is Tyalo, and I am Corporal of the Watch. This means that keeping the peace and safety of the people here is my job. Keep your steel sheathed and we will not have any problems." He waves forward 3 young lackeys dressed simply, but well, and they come running forward. "These boys will take care of your mounts."
The area behind Tyalo is taken up by a long line of stables with crenelations on its 80 ft long roofline. Continuing the long building is what appears to be a warehouse extending another 60ft to your left, with matching crenelations. Standing at the far end to the left is a 20ft tall square stone building with a similar roofline, from which a plume of smoke and the sound of metalworking faintly comes.
Dara slides off her horse, tossing the reigns to one of the 'boys' with a broad grin. "His name be Buttercup. Got a bit o' a temper and he will bite if you call him lass." She reaches up to rub down the horse's neck, murmuring softly to the animal, before pulling her pack off the big animal.
Her hand moves quickly, pulling something from within her clothes or maybe in the bag.
Very obviously pulling a gold piece from her hip pouch, although she still does so with flair. She flicks the coins to the kid, "Make aye he has some carrot or apple along with t' normal feed. I promised him.
She turns next on Tyalo. For just a moment her companions can hear the insult in which she normally addresses non-ship officers, but she manages to just barely skip over the foul braggart. "Would ye be gift us a look spy wit' ye eye around th' keep. So we can get our bearin's?"
The wood elf likewise dismounts. He catches one of the boys eyes, holds it for a moment, then flicks him a piece of coin as well, wordlessly motioning to both his mount and the dwarfs. Only then does he mutter, "Arquen" under his breath while patting his horses shoulder and giving the slightest of nods in his direction.
Three young lackey's run up, deftly snatching your spinning coins out of the air. Producing bits of fruit and such they bribe your horses into submission and lead them to the stables.
The Corporal's demeanor seems to soften when he lays eyes on Dara Turner, even as her dialect throws him.
"If it's gear you're seeking, then between Voynich at the Smithy, Hiram the Provisioner and the Trader Affram, you should find what you need. There's The Green Man Inn, where you can bed down for the night, and the tavern, The One-eyed Cat for food and drink. Also a good place if you're looking for local rumors. Also the keep has a moneylender, and a chapel to St. Cuthbert if you are inclined."
Alavar glances at the positioning of the sun to check the time of day, then around at the stables and the yard to get a general idea of how many visitors, if any the keep actually has in residence. "I think I'm going to look around to see what this place in stock." his eyes to move to his stocky companion, "Shall I assume you will be in the half-blind...feline when I'm done?"
The wattage of Dara's smile creeps up just a little at the answer. "Thankee sirah." She looks up, judging the amount of daylight left.
"Maybe a little early t' tie one on, but I've got t' constitution o' a hollow leg, so that seems t' best place t' start lookin' for what be happenin'.
She looks down then up at her companions, "'sides I have a fondness for cats especially one so bold as t' have managed t' lose an eye."
Nods at Loke, "See you thar." And she starts heading off in the direction that it seemed like the Corporal was indicating when he spoke of the One-Eyed Cat.
The One-eyed Cat is a single story peaked roof tavern, kept quite clean at all times by the family who own and run it. There are 11 patrons at the moment, a couple of whom look like they could handle themselves in a fight. A menu is posted on the wall, the drinks look tall and the food smells good. A few of the patrons look up as you enter, both Dara and Arden getting looks, for different reasons.
Dara takes a moment to read the menu before she moves deeper into the establishment. She slides onto an avaliable stool in front of the bar, smiling gamely at the person working the bar. She motions over her shoulder at the menu with a thumb. "T' grub look good, what'n ye be havin' if ye were t' orde? And can I get a large mug o' rum?"
I'll have an ale an' a [insert slab o' meat menu item]. Before plonking himself down on the nearest empty seat and placing the coin on the table. Having fulfilled his obligation to order and pay, he begins talking to the patron next to him. So what flavor of adventure is there ta be had o'er here?
The tavernkeep, a stout, red-faced woman in a well-worn apron serves you (respectively) an earthenware mug of dark rum, a large mug of ale, and a great platter of steaming cow. "Name's Wanda, welcome to the keep. Nice hat hon'. You should try the bird, it's particularly good today." Wanda winks at Arden as she moves off to serve an off duty man-at-arms.
A somewhat inebriated trader peers blearily at Arden and replies "I hears, zat 'ere are hordes, HORDES of tiny leetle dog-men in the deeper caves to the norf'."
A traveler chimes in from from his nearby table, "If you're going out there, you should keep a sharp eye out. A friend of mine was gathering herbs in the forest to the north and run into a crazy hermit living out there. Talking all kind of nonsense, the man was totally insane! My friend had to flee for his life!"
After picking up some items, Alavar meets the pirate lass Dara and his stocky brother from another mother at the tavern."Good day, Ma'am." he says tipping his cap to the tavernkeep. "Could I have a mead, please. And do you have any pastry?"(intended to be a venison sandwich) He sits next to his companions. "So, learn anything interesting while I was gone?"
The tavernkeep, a stout, red-faced woman in a well-worn apron serves you (respectively) an earthenware mug of dark rum, a large mug of ale, and a great platter of steaming cow. "Name's Wanda, welcome to the keep. Nice hat hon'. You should try the bird, it's particularly good today." Wanda winks at Arden as she moves off to serve an off duty man-at-arms.
Dara pushes up the brim a bit, "Present from me mother. Said t' remind me about where I should end up." She slides a coin across to the Wanda, "T' bird if'n you please. And, I be Dara" Then takes up the mug and swallows down the dark liquid, hoping like hell that it is half-way decent.
A traveler chimes in from from his nearby table, "If you're going out there, you should keep a sharp eye out. A friend of mine was gathering herbs in the forest to the north and run into a crazy hermit living out there. Talking all kind of nonsense, the man was totally insane! My friend had to flee for his life!"
The man's voice catches Dara's attention, turning on the stool, keeping the mug of rum firmly in hand. "T' crazy old man be a recent addition t' this parts? Or be t' man a old swagger and just t' crazy be new?" Her voice low, just a tad to intense for normal conversation, her golden eyes trying to pick out any details of the speaker.
Dara finds the rum to be a bit weak compared to what she is accustomed, but all in all, not bad. A mug of mead is served to Alavaryar along with a small plate of assorted flaky bits, both sweet and savory. Wanda curtseys a bit unsteadily, clearly a bit uncomfortable but indeniably fascinated by the presence of a rare elf.
The traveler, a stout man with a bushy black beard in contrast to his shaved head replies to Dara "Well miss, it wasn't me who encountered the madman, but I do hear that he's been about for some time now - no one seems to know who he might be though."
A serving wench chimes in as she passes with a trayful of empties "I'd be stayin' clear of that one, if'n I was you. I hear'd he done attacked a hunter last season. For no reason, no reason a'tall!" She then notices Alavaryar for the first time, and nearly drops her tray in astonishment. "Cuthbert's Cudgel! An elf! Prettier'n the last as well. I always wondered what'd happened to that scar-faced prick - oh, sorry m'lord I meaned no offense to you. The other elf lord, High elf he always said, Caelmaran I think his name was, went off into the marshes, never did come back." The wench trails off there, and red-faced, heads into the kitchen with her burden.
A mug of mead is served to Alavaryar along with a small plate of assorted flaky bits, both sweet and savory. Wanda curtseys a bit unsteadily, clearly a bit uncomfortable but indeniably fascinated by the presence of a rare elf.
Alavar smiles, actually trying to keep most of the condescension out of his expression, achieving something probably along the lines of amused tolerance, but at least with a touch of compassionate humor. He does pay for his meal and adds a healthy tip to boot.
She then notices Alavaryar for the first time, and nearly drops her tray in astonishment. "Cuthbert's Cudgel! An elf! Prettier'n the last as well. I always wondered what'd happened to that scar-faced prick - oh, sorry m'lord I meaned no offense to you. The other elf lord, High elf he always said, Caelmaran I think his name was, went off into the marshes, never did come back." The wench trails off there, and red-faced, heads into the kitchen with her burden.
The serving wench has Alavar's attention, once she mentions the high elf, "No offense taken. High elves are pricks." he chuckles. "So, the marshes you say?" he turns back to the tavernkeep, "and about how long do you think the Lord's been missing?"
The traveler, a stout man with a bushy black beard in contrast to his shaved head replies to Dara "Well miss, it wasn't me who encountered the madman, but I do hear that he's been about for some time now - no one seems to know who he might be though."
A serving wench chimes in as she passes with a trayful of empties "I'd be stayin' clear of that one, if'n I was you. I hear'd he done attacked a hunter last season. For no reason, no reason a'tall!"
Dara's forehead furrows with concentration and not a little confusion. "So this daffer shived a matey and no one did anythin' about it?" She looks around to see if anyone might have more information or specifics, "Did you all really dislike t' orion mate or did was it somethin' else?"
The serving wench has Alavar's attention, once she mentions the high elf, "No offense taken. High elves are pricks." he chuckles. "So, the marshes you say?" he turns back to the tavernkeep, "and about how long do you think the Lord's been missing?"
Alavar favors the cheeky lass with a glance and almost a smile of amused tolerance.
Wanda smiles at the elf self-consciously, "Well M'lord, I don't recall for sure but I believe last spring, twas. If you're thinking of sussing out the marshes, I'd recommend caution - lizardmen are known to hunt the marshes to this day."
The bearded traveller continues to Dara, "Well tis not that ol' Gort was not well liked, more that the Castellan felt'n was not worth of dispatchin' troops for one crazy hermit."
Alavar nods continuing the conversation, "Anyone else come in with stories of strange creatures or other things they might have seen or come across? Anyone else gone missing?"
Dara's mouth quirks slightly at the thought of leaving someone dangerous to keep hurting people as being the better option, but she keeps her piece. Actually she takes a large swallow of the rum in order to keep herself from saying something that will get them in trouble with the local authority already.
After giving Wanda a friendly smile to offset the intensity of the elven lord, Dara leans back against the bar, picks up a little of the bird with her fingers and waits to see if anyone else will volunteer more possible ways to get into trouble.
An off duty man-at-arms adds, "They say to be wary of mysterious altars in the Caves; nothing good can come of them."
Another looks up from his drink and exclaims, "I hear'd that a fair maiden with hair like the summer sun -" but is immediately shouted down by just about everyone in the tavern.
Wanda exclaims "That's the same bloody rumour you spit out everytime someone new comes in! Your fair maiden has been kidnapped for 4 years now! Mayhaps she's settled down with the dog-men and had a brood of her own by now, eh?"
-laughter from all around-
-which dies as a new voice speaks over the rest, young and serious - "You want a rumour adventurers? I'll give you one."
All eyes turn to a young blonde girl, no more than 13 summers old, in a pretty blue dress, flowing hair and icy blue eyes. Her face is drawn and the dark circles under her eyes are at odds with the steel in her voice.
"A kind merchant and his wife, fair both in deal and disposition have not returned from their journey to a nearby village to visit their parents, leaving behind their young daughter to see to their affairs. Rumour has it that the kind merchant and his wife are captives in the Cave of Chaos, to the northwest of the keep. While not of great means, the kind merchant and his wife, if rescued, would no doubt be generous with their reward. Were there anyone brave enough to venture into the Caves to save them."
The girl finishes her tale, leaving the room quiet, all looking with sympathy at the girl. A voice in the room says softly "Now Cora, -" but is cut off as the girl snaps "Don't be "reasonable" with me, you coward! You all hide behind your walls here! What if the fair maiden really was being held captive, and all you yellow-bellied louts did was tell stories about her, abandoning her to the creatures that took her? There are REAL adventurers here - real heroes. And they aren't going to abandon my parents to the Caves."
Cora turns her face to Alavar, a silent plea in her eyes, and a fierce set to her jaw. "Their names are Wilvan and Rowena." She hands you a parchment, upon which is a drawing of a couple and their child; a stout man with a friendly face, a thin, beaming woman and a serious little blonde girl. "Will you and your companions help me Lord Elf?"
Dara carefully places her mug on the bar before pulling her hat down enough to hide her expressive eyes. Before she manages the task, the sympathy for the almost-woman's plight is clear in the golden orbs.
But also the annoyance that everyone always assumes the elf is the one in charge. Quietly, to Wanda, she asks, "The 'Caves of Chaos' are the ones with the odd altars?"
Taking her eyes off the child and drying her tears on the hem of her apron, Wanda nods "Thass right, or so the stories go. Altars to the worship of dark gods and evil spirits alike. Lone survivor of a band like'n yourselves a few seasons back, barely made it to the keep. Just 'fore he died of sommmat kind o' poison, he was ranting about altars and evil gods - or so's I hear'd."
Cora turns her face to Alavar, a silent plea in her eyes, and a fierce set to her jaw. "Their names are Wilvan and Rowena." She hands you a parchment, upon which is a drawing of a couple and their child; a stout man with a friendly face, a thin, beaming woman and a serious little blonde girl. "Will you and your companions help me Lord Elf?"
Alavar looks down at the young lass and can't help but feel sympathy for her and yet be impressed at her pluck for sticking up for herself and her parents, he stands and bows to her formally. "Of course, fair maiden, I, for one, would be most honored to accept this quest of yours. Now come" he leads her to an open table and seats her in it, "and tell me anything you know about who might be holding your parents." he turns to the assembled room, "Do any of you have any information that you know to be true about the Caves of Chaos?"
Throughout the discussion, Cora sits patiently with her hands folded in her lap, listening intently.
"And how long will it take to get there? And Cora, would you like anything to eat or drink? Wanda? Do you have a hot chocolate?"
and after a brief conversation and unless it is close and/or it would be better to wait for morning Alavar is ready to head out.
Wanda replies "Well if it's nary a league up the road you should be thereabouts in an hour. 'Fraid we got nothing fancy like that out here m'lord."
Cora shakes her head respectfully "It's just as well Lord Elf, my parent's absence has not left me bereft of food or drink, and in any case I have no appetite presently. I look forward to your triumphant return!"
The little girl favors the trio with a wan smile, stands to curtsey, and leaves the tavern. The patrons all breathe a quiet sigh of relief washed with a bit of shame after being dressed down by a young slip of a girl.
Several sets of eyes are upon the group, waiting to see what will happen. A lean, bulky shouldered woman with rough cut shoulder length black hair, fair skin and a patched dark green cloak stands and addresses the trio at the bar. "Name's Yanna, and if you want another sword with you into the caves I'll fight for you - for a price. Say 4 coins a day or a half share of whatever we carry out, better of the two."
Alavar favors the woman with a glance and almost a smile, "What would you say to 2 coins a day or a half a share?"
Yanna straightens a bit taller and retorts, "3 coins or a half share, and no less."
Alavar nods solemnly, turns to the Pirate lass and her dwarven sidekick, "What say you? Having an extra sword arm around could prove useful, especially if she actually already knows the land."