30 Pharast, 4711 A.R.
The morning greets you with a chilly embrace, cloaked in black clouds and the jarring rumble of thunder. After a quick breakfast, a thin drizzle of rain begins to fall as you pack up your camp, slowly soaking through your cloaks and adding to the wind’s chill. With your mule giving only token brays of insolence, you manage continue your trek along the South Rostland Road and toward your destination.
The weather had been fine when you left Restov a week ago; spring’s thaw was well underway, and the gods seemed content to smile upon your journey. It was such easy going that you passed up both the village of Nivakta’s Crossing and Fort Serenko without needing to stop for supplies, and as Rostland’s rolling hills gave way to the Stolen Lands’ grassy plains, it seemed your journey would be a fortuitous one.
Unfortunately, this morning’s rain proves otherwise. The Stolen Lands are just as inhospitable as they’ve always been, and all the royal charters in Brevoy can never change this.
The storm abates after an hour, and the remainder of the morning’s travel is a drier one. A mile off, a squat wooden fort rests along the road, dwarfed by the expanse of bright green grass that surrounds it. A darker green line lies much further to the southeast, likely the forest known as the Narlmarches. A thin stream of smoke rises from the fort, all but imperceptible against the bruise-colored clouds.
As you press onward, you note that the fort is surrounded by a wooden palisade that stands about 10 feet high. At each corner of the palisade are 20-foot square watchtowers, each topped with a catapult. From here, you can spot one entrance through the palisade—a 30-foot-wide wooden gate fitted with tall double doors, wide open. The gate is topped with a large oak log, lying lengthwise over the doors.
The unmistakable smell of cooking bacon and baking bread comes from within.
In her heart, Tityanna was grateful to her companions, whose superior sense agreed that setting out directly after receiving the charter was folly. Tityanna remained in Restov, aware that any attempt to travel home to visit with her mother was likely to end with a thrown shoe or a lame steed. Winter was particularly harsh in the Gronzi forest, and the village where Leila had raised Tityanna was remote. Tityanna wrote her mother only the once and as she pressed her grandmother’s seal to the wax Tityanna registered the finality of the gesture.
Tityanna marveled at the opportunity to travel with a merchant caravan for the majority of their travels. Safety was to be found in numbers along the ways, and she found great comfort in Coren Lawry’s direction. She appreciated his instruction, and noted his attention to his kit while she and Mister Remiar addressed Puck’s needs in the evening. Ranging had never been her strong suit, but Tityanna made certain to give every impression that she was eager to learn from any who would teach her, not wishing to be viewed as a hindrance to her group for her inexperience with such things.
The further Tityanna traveled from Restov, the further her troubles seemed. Amidst the grass and the plains, removed not only from Brevoy, but the environment which she called home, Tityanna’s perspective on the affair was challenged. The mischievous twins lent no small amount of assistance in this regard. In the moment, she had been angry that her abilities were so easily by her father. Watching the children interact with their parents, Tityanna recognized that there had never been such an understanding between herself and her father. Kole and Lina’s relationship highlighted the radical difference the home that Tityanna had been reared in and a full family. As women, Leila and Tityanna both had been betrayed by her father, and it seemed as though that was all they would have in common now. Her childhood home was barred to her now, she realized, and the longing for it she had held in her heart at court ceased almost immediately.
The rain that morning was welcomed, Tityanna felt that the good Lord Erastil had blessed her with the shower, washing away the vestiges of her childhood and providing nourishment for growth. Despite her faith, Oleg’s trading post was a welcome respite from her reflections. For days she had wondered at the condition of their destination, fearing that she would find nothing more than an ill constructed lean-to attended by some manner of rake, completely devoid of any vestige of civilization. The presence of catapults, complex machines of war, reassured her of that once order had existed here.
”Well then, gentlemen,” she says to her companions. ”Shall we be sociable and introduce ourselves, or continue to menace without?”
As the trading post comes into view, Haldaval notices Shadow raise his head a bit higher and his hooves pick up the pace slightly.
"Oho, there, Shadow. A bit eager for a stable to rest in, are you?" He laughs and looks towards his companions as well as the caravan they have been traveling with. "Shadow here is all for making ourselves as welcome as we can quickly. I'm sure the good Oleg will be happy to have our added protection around." He urges Shadow forward into the lead to enter the trading post in the lead. "Come fellow adventurers, it is time for us to begin!"
Coren Lawry strides to Tityanna and Haldaval and stands before them, almost at attention. He clears his throat and rests his hands on his hips, regarding them with a scowl. "Hold, Medvyed! Shantral! Do you think your duties with our band are finished? Hold, and await instruction!"
Coren's scowl remains for a few seconds, then crinkles into a wry smirk. "You will accept payment for your mercenary services. Hands . . . OUT!" He unties a belt pouch and begins measuring coins into his palm. "Although we fought no dragons or bandits, your company has been most pleasant. Particularly yours, Medvyed."
He offers Tityanna a warm smile. "You'll do fine as an explorer, given your love for detail. Keep Puck brushed, and he'll keep you unburdened."
He walks to each of you, counts out a sum of silver coins, and hands them to you, each time referring to you by your surnames.
Tityanna considers the silver that Master Lawry placed in her hands. My very first bounty, she muses, and tries not to frown. A high lady no longer. I relinquished my title when I signed my name to the charter.
Tityanna raises her eyes to Master Lawry and smiles. "My thanks, sir. It was a pleasure to travel with you, and your recommendation is well received. I know that you will continue to protect the children, if only from themselves. May Desna bless and guide your journey, sir."
After depositing the coin into her purse, Tityanna advances into the fortress.
Tanner chuckles, shaking his head. After Coren pays you, he approaches Coren and claps his shoulder. "How very generous of you, considering the coin originated from my own purse!"
Coren's scowl returns, although mirth dances in his eyes.
The caravan master laughs again, then regards the five of you. "I've no doubt we'll meet again, perhaps when we return next Lamashan. We'll conduct our business, Oleg and I, and then the Greenbelt's all yours for exploring."
After shaking each of your hands, Tanner cranes his neck, looking out at the assembled caravan. "Look lively, Kole! Send Den and Dan over with the cart, so Oleg can look at our wares!"
Harsk tromps along the path behind the caravan having accepted rear guard duties as a slower mover. Grumbling to himself he was sure that rust would set in along the buckles and welding of the scale armor's frame after the rain fall. He had not anticipated such heavy wetness and had not prepared his armor accordingly. I suppose I'll need to find a barrel and some sand or a sharpstone…maybe I'll get lucky on the inside and I can rack the armor fast and get to drying it…maybe get a drink… Harsk nodded at this plan of action. Every task was bearable with a drink. The other races thought this was a peculiar sentiment of dwarves, Harsk knew it to be good sense. Why be sober and miserable when doing menial work?
The spring melt had come fast and Harsk had met the caravan eager to do good work in the eyes of Torag (even a simple caravan needed protection) and relishing the opportunity to be too busy to socialize outright but not busy enough to not watch his new companions. There were a lot of gods interested in charting the Stolen Lands. Harsk used the time on the road to meditate on acceptance as he knew conflicts of faith would only stifle the success of their task.
Harsk had kept to himself but always aided when he could. He needed his companions to know he was reliable but he did not want to air all his being on the road like some bard song. They were on a quest, twas true, but the idea of people who met on the road and were suddenly some grand adventuring group seemed naïve and silly. Torag taught that relationships, like all the world, required solid foundation. These people would be known to him and and he they, Harsk knew it would be on the road free from caravans where this would happen.
Moving to the front of the group, Harsk's attention wanders as some of the group chatter with the caravan leader. The smell of bacon makes the dwarf's stomach grumble slightly. Eyeing the building as the others talk Harsk cannot help but notice that work has been done, They've repaired this place recently. Harsk says it more to himself than anyone in particular.
Haldaval approaches Tanner before entering the compound and extends his hand. "It has been a pleasure traveling with you and your caravan. Should we survive these wild lands, we will surely greet your future visits with joy."
Tanner grins, clasping Haldaval's hand and giving it a vigorous shake. "I thank you, Haldaval! Surely a paladin can do great things here, in these forsaken lands! When you see Oleg, would you mind sending him out? I fear the twins have decided to disappear, and I've something he'll want to see."
He turns back to the caravan, standing briefly on his toes before sighing and tromping towards Kole's cart. "Those damnable twins . . ." he mutters as he walks away.
|
"Harsk noticed it too, huh?" Ray thinks as he looks at the repaired part of the building. He'd been open with his new companions for the most part, telling them a disagreement had forced him to leave home, but with the spring thaw Ray had become a bit withdrawn. It would be time to prepare for planting soon...
More than once he had help to get the caravan out of the muddied road though, and the latest rain had not helped matters, so now his only wish was to introduce himself, get some of that delicious bacon he was smelling(he'd eat week-old mutton and savor it after all the trail rations they'd eaten on the way here), and set about to getting the mud from his clothes. Maybe tonight he would see if the prayer... He's broken from his thoughts when a bag of silver is thrust into his hands.
"Well, Tityanna, what do you say we got get Puck stabled?" Ray suggests as he unconsciously traces the silver marks hidden under his sleeves.
Tityanna smiles. "Aye, Ray. I believe he will be quite pleased to be relieved of his burdens a while," she answers, and pets Puck's nose lovingly. "Perhaps our host has some oats or S.U.G.A.R we might reward him for his efforts?" Tityanna spells out the word like Leila would spell out the contents of the small gifts that she would arrange when Tityanna was a child to maintain the mystery.
Harsk grunts slightly. I hope they have some B.A.C.O.N. I am starving...
The inner fort is largely open to the sky, save for several rectangular wooden buildings. A cart covered with oilcloth sits in front of a large stable to your left; its large wooden door is ajar, and gentle whinnies come from within. Directly to your right is a somewhat smaller building; sounds of hammering come down from the roof. Further ahead is a fenced storage pen with a narrow gate-door and a flat roof, and next to it a much larger building looms, built much like a house, with a double-door entryway.
A market yard of sorts dominates the fort’s center. Just south of the house, a pair of large tables stand on either side of a firepit; a black pot boils within its cinders, and next to it, bacon strips sizzle upon a flat spider-legged pan. A couple loaves of steaming bread rest upon the near table, while the far table is set with bowls, spoons, and mugs crafted of wood.
The main house’s doors open, and a woman wearing a red kerchief and a pale blue dress steps out to the near table, uncorking what looks like a bottle of wine. She sets the now-open bottle at the table’s center, clucks her tongue, and quickly turns to the spider-legged pan. The woman manages to wipe her brow with a forearm and simultaneously flip the bacon strips over with a long, blackened fork. The sweet smells of stewed vegetables, frying bacon, and baked bread fill the air, awakening the hunger in your bellies.
She looks up suddenly at you and, startled, cries out: ”Goodness!” After a moment, she sets the fork upon the far table, wipes her hands on her apron, and briskly walks toward you.
The woman, not much older than Tityanna and pretty in a small-boned way, offers you a broad and easy smile. ”Aye and aye, you gave me a start! I welcome you to our humble home, I do! Aye, sit and kick the road-dust from your boots, and I’ll stable your pony while you wait for breakfast.” She gives each of you a once-over with bright blue eyes, and motions to the table. ”Sit, please, and make yourselves comfortable. And forgive my rudeness; where are my manners? I’m Missus Oleg Leveton, but you can call me Svetlana.”
"Stay, Goody Wife," Tityanna replies, and raises her hand to forestall the woman, her smile broad. "I am quite capable of stabling my Puck," Tityanna says, and pets Puck's muzzle again. "I believe my companion had a strong desire to sample your breakfast, and Master Rezbin wished to display his wares to your husband."
Tityanna colors after a moment, recognizing that she has yet to identify herself as well. "I am Tityanna, if it please you, Goody Wife. Formerly of New Steven," no longer of Gronzi forest.
Svetlana nods to Tityanna. "Aye then, and pleased to meet you, Miss Tityanna. You'll find plenty of empty stalls in the stable, and oats to feed him. Don't pay Claptrap no mind; he's a jittery one, but nice as a horse can be. Give him a pat, would you? So he'll not be lonesome?"
She looks gravely at Harsk. "Master dwarf, I'd have you kick up your heels and loosen your belt, for I've a mean meal for you. And my bacon's just this side of crackly, it is, the better to use your hands if you're hungry enough." Svetlana hurriedly fills a bowl for Harsk, going heavy on the bacon.
"Ah, Svetlana, it is a pleasure. Please allow me to get Shadow here settled in the stable, and then I shall be ready for proper introductions."
Haldaval will take a fair amount of time getting Shadow settled, comfortable, and fed before heading out to find and introduce himself to Oleg.
Tityanna offers a salute to the good wife, and after sparing Ray another, clicks her mouth quietly and begins drawing Puck towards the stables. Once inside, she pauses outside one of the first stalls, and rises on the tips of her toes to see where the other horse Svetlana mentioned, Claptrap is. Tityanna knows better than to approach an uncertain animal, so she clicks her mouth again and leads Puck into an unoccupied stall.
"Be at peace, Prince," she soothes, and begins unbinding the saddle from around his flank. "The Good Wife is kind, and you'll have company," she adds, noting that Haldaval has arrived with his steed.
Tityanna's hushed whispers cease when the warrior enters the stable, and she begins working on removing the bulkiest of the items from Puck before she can remove the saddle from him completely. She places the tent against the wall across from the stall, and then returns for her personal kit, and spares a smile for her companion.
"It was very kind of Master Lawry to pay us a wage for the privilege of traveling with his company, was it not?" she remarks as she works Puck's grooming kit from the saddle packs, wishing to initiate a conversation. "Consider that we did nothing more than share their heat and food. I have a thought to purchase something that Kole and Lina need for the children."
Harsk takes a moment to look around, noting that the elf and the farmer seem quiet. Watching the elf and the woman move their animals to the stable, Harsk rocks on his heels for a second then makes his way toward Svetlana.
Well met Svetlana, I am Harsk. From...hrhmm...here. No sense dwelling on the past. Servant of Torag... Harsk looks about the yard and purses his lips, his mouth full of food. This is delicious! Hunh...I should probably sit down... Harsk moves off to a seat realizing how odd he must look stuffing his face.
"It was very kind, indeed. I wanted to refuse, but I don't think the good Coren would have let us go without accepting." Haldaval pauses in the unloading of his many weapons from Shadow to give Tityanna a smile. "I had thought to try and hide a couple of bottles of wine where they might find them later, if Oleg has any to spare."
He resumes the lengthy task of settling Shadow in for a rest. "Tell them to save some food for me, I'll just be a few more minutes. Shadow here seems a bit excited to have a semblance of civilization again. I'm afraid he's in for a bit of a disappointment while we explore all the lands around us."
Tityanna nods and offers the Haldaval a smile. "I will ask Ray to assessment of Puck's shoes," she says and fits a feed bag to Puck's face. "If you've a better way with animals, will you try to calm the draft horse? I would, but I do not fancy being kicked for my troubles,"[/b] Tityanna chuckles nervously.
"I will try to see that Master Harsk does not consume all the bacon. I will gladly give you my share if that is the case," she assures him brightly, and exits the stables with her kit in tow.
Tityanna assumes a seat across from Harsk, and graciously thanks the Good Wife Svetlana for any food she is willing to share. She does not touch the bacon that she has been given, having promised it to Haldaval.
"Good wife, my companion and I were wondering if you and your husband keep a... store of wine for trade? I've a bit of coin I can spare and have few needs of mine own."
Svetlana, busy adding a packet of herbs to the pot of stew she's stirring, lifts the ladle to her lips and tastes the stew, her brow creased in concentration. She nods to herself and replaces the ladle, stirring the pot in several slow circles before turning her attention to Tityanna. "Nay, for the time. This bottle I brung is the last of our wine-stock, til my husband makes nice with old Bokken again. They're stubborn as tatzlwyrms, those two. Bokken'll likely forget he's mad in time, since he's a touch soft in the head at his age. Anyways, we've this bottle for you now, to wash some of that dust from your throat. We'll likely have more goods to sell, now that you've come to aid us."
She leans down to meet Harsk and Tityanna at eye-level. "I know not all your party's gathered here yet, but I'm glad you came when you did. I was starting to think you'd not get here by tomorrow. But here you are, and I'd wager you've got plans a-plenty for the lifting of our taxes, as it were. I thank you, truly, and I'm sorry we've no more wine for selling."
"Taxes?" Tityanna repeats incredulously. "Goody Wife, what manner of creature has been spinning dread yarns in your ear? Taxes are collected by courts to supplement their ability to hire trained men to provide services to the people. We have been given no authority in that regard."
Tityanna extracts the charter she was given from a pocket in her cloak, unrolls it and furnishes it for Svetlana to read. For a brief moment, she considers the appearance of her surname Medvyed in her signature, but recognizes that it would be disingenuous to continue to omit the truth concerning her ancestry, especially in light of the woman's concerns.
"The bearer of this charter," she highlights for the Good Wife, "has been granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt.
"I do suppose that settlement is implied within the text," Tityanna allows, "but amongst those powers granted to us by the throne, I see no mention of the ability to collect taxes."
The hammering from atop the smaller building near the fort's entry ends, and a gray-haired man rises into view from the roof, stretching, his hands on the small of his arching back. He climbs slowly down a ladder propped near the building's only door, and stares at the travelers assembled at the tables. Although his hair is the steel-gray of middle age, the lack of deep face-lines place him at perhaps a bit younger than his hair might imply. He's sweaty and red-faced, breathing heavily, his bearded jaw set with an undiscernable expression.
He nods to the party, grunts, and begins walking purposefully toward the front gate and through its great doors.
Svetlana smiles haltingly at Tityanna's response, and squints down at the charter as Tityanna reads aloud from it. "Aye. I thought Oleg'd made it plain in his letter to Restov. 'Taxes', the bandits call it, though I'd sooner call it thievery."
She snaps her fingers, her eyes brightening in realization. "I'm thinking you've not seen the letter we sent; the Swordlords would've read it themselves and only told you what you needed to know to help us! Aye! They'd have called it strongarm threat-theft, or some such."
Haldaval finishes unloading Shadow's burdens and spends some time rubbing him down after the lengthy journey, checking him for any injuries. He finishes just about the time he hears the hammering stop outside.
"I expect that will be Oleg joining the group, Shadow. I must go make myself known. I will see you in the morning, friend." Shadow responds to his master's farewell knowingly, and gets serious about a meal himself.
As Haldaval exits the stable, stretching his own aches from the journey, he notices the post's proprietor heading towards the gate.
Sense Motive:
He can't quite make out the man's expression, but as he is headed out to talk with Tanner, Haldavel watches him go, and then joins the others for dinner.
Svetlana, having noticed Haldaval return from the stable, leaves Tityanna's side and heaps stew and bacon into a bowl for the half-elf. She hands it to him with an awkward curtsy. "Please, lord, sit and ward off your hunger. It's simple enough fare I've made, but it might just do you fine." Her face reddens at this last part, and she averts her eyes before abruptly busying herself at the firepit once more.
Tiyanna is grateful that the Good Wife has left her, for when she hears the title lord fall from the woman's lips Tityanna cringes. The sour look on the elder man's face is one that she has seen before, she believes, but cannot place his intent without context, and grunts do not provide context. Having served its purpose, Tityanna attends her charter and returns it to the pocket of her cloak. She whispers a prayer of thanks to the Good Lord Erastil and asks for Him to bless the hearth and the families and companions gathered here before receiving nourishment.
Haldaval laughs heartily at Svetlana's address. "Please do not call me Lord! I have certainly done nothing to deserve that title! Thank you a great deal for the food, I'm sure it will satisfy me." He winks at the kind woman, while eying his companions. "Hold on there, good Harsk. Make sure and leave some for out hosts!" He chuckles good-naturedly at the dwarf while starting to consume his own food rapidly.
Harsk's eye narrow at Haldaval's comment about the food. Taking up his last heel of bread and pointing in the paladin's direction, Ya know, what is this, make fun of the dwarf being hungry day? I think I heard Tityanna make a similar comment. I'm not eating more than my share and the good woman offered it to me without any prompting. Harsk pauses a second to dab up grease and other trappings with the last of the bread and puts it in his mouth before he starts to speak again. I'lf telf yof what. Whenf ouf twf stop prattlun on about your fretty flittle poniefs and rubbingf thum downf or whaf notf, I'll "reign" in myf feating.
Hask stands and throw the last nub of his bread at Haldaval, and snorts as it falls short. Swallowing the last of his food and sitting down his empty plate, Harsk strokes his beard, Ha! See what I did there!? "Reign" in my eating! It funny cuz you like horses! Who says dwarves can't be funny! Nodding to himself in satisfaction Harsk barely catches the passing of Oleg Leveton. Taking on a more serious expression Harsk looks back at Haldaval and makes a short "seems angry" gesture.
"I meant no offense, Master Ironback," Tityanna cries in her defense, her olive skin coloring slightly having been rebuked. "I did not wish for the Good Wife to feel that her efforts to lay a meal for us were for naught when Sir Haldaval and I attended our animals."
Haldaval bursts out laughing at the dwarf's joke. "Very funny indeed, master dwarf. Never shall I let anyone tell me a dwarf can't be funny again." He chuckles again, taking another couple of bites of his own food. His laughter gets the better of him and he almost chokes. He smiles at the dwarf and olive skinned woman. "Naow iff youve exfuse me. i neeg do get to my ovn feedbag," He continues eating heartily, winking at the dwarf conspiratorially.
Hearing the commotion of a new caravan, and having made his obeisance to Saenrae, Malaswyn is delighted to join the party at Svetlana'a table.
Well met, fellows, and the blessings of the dawn be upon you.
I look around the group with a cheerful smile.
I've only been here a short while. The land here is good, I think: full of verdant life and rich soil.
I pass around the room, clasping arms in greeting with Haldaval and Hark It is good to see you again and then taking Tityanna's hand I politely brush my lips against the back of her fingers, after the manner of my people. And you, young lady.
Svetlana gives the newcomer a radiant smile. "You're welcome here, you are, and your blessings along with you! There's seats a-plenty, and food to match, so don't be shy about having your fill. I'm guessing you've a charter from Restov like these others. I'm happy the Swordlords've sent such as you to protect me and Oleg, I am, and I'd wager the lot of you will teach the brigands the long and short of their wickedness!"
She brings Malaswyn a steaming bowl filled with vegetable stew and bacon, as well as a chunk of bread. "In case you're wondering, I'm Missus Oleg Leveton, Svetlana to my friends. We've wine for you, too, if you've the taste for it. It's a bit strong, but it's easy going down. I'll bring you some, should you want it. And if you'd give me the honor of knowing your name, I'll do it with a wink and smile, if it does you fine."
perception
Hello, Svetlana. I am Malaswyn, Malaswyn Tyddewi. I smile cheerfully at the friendly hostess.
Wine would be appreciated. It is good that we should break bread in style this first time
Svetlana's smile brightens as she drops Malaswyn a wink. "As promised, Malaswyn Tyddewi; I'm a woman of my word, I am! Yours is a goodly name, and sounds like a summer rain, it does. I mean that in a friendly way, in case my explaining falls on the wrong side of bard-song."
She pours a mug of wine and sets it near the elf. "Aye, breaking bread is always a pleasing way to meet new friends, as my da used to say to me. That, and knocking back a few belts of wine or cider." With another wink, she turns back to the firepit, humming a simple melody.
Turning to Tityanna, Harsk grunts You've not had your hand slapped young one, let the color fade and stand tall. T'was a simple jest. Just remember that a rare dwarf comes along who can hear sharply and notices more than the rocks at his feet. I do eat a lot and drink a lot...and do all manner of things that dwarves do, so I am used to the concern. I just think it fun to throw folks for a reeler.
Harsk greets Malaswyn with enough cheer as he can muster, still reserved in his judgment about the mix of the group but finding the anticipation of the journey ahead enough to lift his spirits.
Approaching Svetlana, Harsk motions with his plate and flatware as to where it should go. I see you've done some recent repairs. Trouble come often or is the building simply old?
"Indeed, Brother Tyddewi, the soil is very good here," Tityanna adds to his assessment. "The first rains of spring have only just arrived, and the color of the grass is already so strong. Issues of transport not withstanding, one would likely benefit from keeping livestock in these lands." she remarks casually.
Tityanna accepts Malaswyn's kiss with an air of tact, but she is hardly comfortable with being treated in such a delicate manner.
...
"Your talents have been noted, Master Ironback. It has been... several years since I have traveled among such a dedicated party, and never with one so diverse," she says, a splash of color still remaining on her face.
Repairs on this fortress? she wonders when Master Ironback inquires after them. Is Master Oleg an engineer?
Svetlana places two more filled bowls upon the table, then turns to Harsk, nodding. "Aye, me and Oleg've done some fixing. This place is old--threescore years, I'd wager--and used to be one of Rostland's border forts. We've repaired most of it, though we've not gotten to fixing the catties. We've had since last Lamashan to do it, but mostly fixed the indoors during the winter."
She glances out toward the front gate. "Trouble's less about fixing and more about taking, if you ken it. Those bandits've left the Post itself well enough alone, but they've been taking our stock as 'taxes' these past three months. So, harm done is harm done, even if they leave our buildings standing."
After a pause, her eyes widen as she regards Harsk with curiosity. "Didn't the Swordlords tell you all this in Restov? They'd tell you some about the job they're sending you for, or am I mistaken?"
Haldaval finishes a large mouthful and waves his bread around indicating the area around them. "We heard something about bandits we'd have to deal with in the whole of the land, but I'll admit I did not expect them this far north. Do they come here frequently?" His tone turns serious. "I assure you, they will be dealt with as the law requires."
She turns to Haldaval, reddens, and becomes suddenly fixated on an unraveling apron-thread. "They come at the month's start, every month for the last three. I'm sorry for pressing you about it . . . I thought you knew."
Svetlana turns an even darker shade of crimson and rubs her chin absently, now looking Haldaval in the eye. "My husband'll be unhappy to hear the news, I'm sorry to say. The Swordlords've been giving us the runaround, in his thinking."
The middle-aged man walks in from the gate, giving each of you a glance as he passes. He grabs one of the bowls Svetlana had prepared and takes it to the far table, where he sits and begins to eat. After a few bites, he looks up at the party, his face unreadable.
"I'm Oleg, if you've not already kenned it. Lana's been hospitable, no doubt, so can you fill my ears with your plan as you've filled your bellies with her cooking?"
"There is no law here, Master Haldaval," Tityanna responds. "No authority save the charter each of us carries. We are to strive against banditry, yes, but the language suggests only that unrepentant banditry is to be punished by rope or sword," she emphasizes the distinction.
"While I cannot say for certain, my knowledge of administration suggests that it is far more likely that the Swordlords simply have yet to hire a team qualified to defend your home," Tityanna defends. "Our charter was not a blessing to them," she continues, slightly softer, color returning. "The Lords of Rostland were never eager to be beneath the yoke of Issia's machinations, and lesser still assembling a party to promote their interests at their borders, I expect."
Tityanna quiets and studies her slender fingers, which Brother Tyddewi previously kissed in the courtly way that seemed to mock her slight stature, dark complexion and impoverished household each time she received them in New Steven. I came with the intent of escaping these conventions, and yet find myself bound to them still.
Oleg pushes back from the table and stands, his bench scraping against the ground. He glares at Tityanna, his teeth clenched. "If you're done cleaning your nails, lass, I'd have you answer something for me. Are you saying you haven't been sent to deal with our problem? Is that the long and short of it?"
Haldaval stands and walks to stand next to Oleg, his hand outstretched.
"My good trader, Oleg. We have not been sent for the express purpose of dealing with your problem, but I assure you, we will deal with these bandits."
Diplomacy:
"There may not have been law here to this point, but we will carry out the law with regards to banditry as is laid out in our charters. It will be the sword or the rope for these bandits, should they not abandon their ways. You have my word, good sir."
Tityanna meets Oleg's eyes calmly, and impassively. Short of stature, and weak of arms, she was intimidated by greater and more able and less cultured men in the fields during her failed ranger training. Her experiences at court have inured her to assaults on her confidence, allowing her features to remain impassive when she addresses Oleg's hostility.
Endurance overcomes all.
"It is as you say, Master Leveton. Your kindly wife just now informed us of your troubles," she replies. "Which is not to say that we are disinclined to assist you. However, with so little information as 'they come to steal our goods' I cannot see how we are to plan as you suggested. If you calm yourself and speak to us rationally, I am quite certain that we can determine the best course of action to prevent further assaults."
Oleg turns his glare to Haldaval, breathing heavily through his nose. He looks him up and down, fists clenched, but says nothing for half-a-minute. Finally, with another withering glare at Tityanna, he unclenches his fists. Throwing his hands in the air, he swears loudly in Hallit and storms away toward the main house.
Svetlana, after her husband slams the doors behind him, steps next to Tityanna and places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry you've seen him like this, I am. Gods know he's got a temper, but he's just not been himself since the bandits started coming. Just give it some time, and I can lead him out of his tantrum. I've my ways, if you ken."
She offers Tityanna a weak smile and squeezes her shoulder gently.
"If my husband hasn't angered you overmuch, would you indeed help us? He'd not admit it, but we'd not survive were we to fight them on our own. I know it's much to ask, and you've been treated rudely, but I pray Oleg hasn't whipped the goodness from you, and that you'd help us out of kindness."
Svetlana casts her gaze down, her chin quivering slightly.