Jason arrived in the city at the orders of Commander Snow, not sure why, but it wasn't his place to question orders. The Commander also ordered him to 'take some time to relax.' What did he mean by that? The young Pastar Warrior wondered. With a shrug, Jason headed to the nearest inn, The Silent Bard. Entering the sparsely crowded inn, he found a table in the corner and ordered some roasted chicken and water.
Shifting his weight, so as to better grab his shield if trouble arose, the bare chested man replied, "No, just arrived." And went back to eating his food, eyes scanning the room constantly. "One can never be too cautious, always be aware of your surroundings." His Father had said.
Jason finished his current mouthful and said, "Another? I hadn't heard of another war brewing. Where did you hear this?" The young Half-Orc took a drink of water while waiting for a response.
"Now that you mention it, I have had the nagging feeling of a storm coming." Setting down his drink, he continued, "The name is Jason Argus, son of Daxos and Oona. And whom, may I ask, are you?"
All things considered, this was one of the best moments of Sylas' life. Here he was speaking confidently on a subject of his expertise. His rapt audience having no care for his heritage, concerned solely with the knowledge and experience he was eagerly imparting. It was a perfect moment...almost.
Sadly, the faces looking back at him were not those of critically minded scholars but the rough, scarred faces of the Wodmarch Sapper Corps. Hearing Sylas would be in the capital, Colonel Winter's had asked him to speak to some of the newer recruits about the shaped charges he had developed to facilitate the flawless final assault on Shapedstone Fort as the Wodmarch armies drove the last of Lochlannoch's forces from the Vollyr Plains, as well as the tiefling's thoughts on alchemical adaptations to warfare in general. Sylas had naturally jumped at the opportunity.
Thus far things had gone extremely well. While he was disappointed by the overall IQ of his audience, Sylas had to admit it was refreshing that his comment about "blowing the miserable bastards out of their little hole" was met with approving grunts and dark grins rather than sparking a philosophical debate about the morality of taking sentient life during wartime. Things were going so well in fact, that he decided to finish up by talking to them about some of his more...experimental areas of research. More specifically those concerning the alteration of one's physiology for a variety of benefits.
So excited was he about his breakthroughs in this area it was a full fifteen minutes before he looked up to realize that his audience now consisted solely of faces filled with confusion or disgust.
Sylas sighed...and just like that he had lost them. Pausing for a moment, he looked around the room one last time before simply saying, "That will be all..."
As the soldiers filed out of the room uncomfortably, Sylas set about packing his things. Idiots, every one! But he didn't need them, in just a few hours he was to be acknowledged by the king himself.
Smiling to himself, he set out from the barracks. There was just enough time to run one last experiment back in his room at the Silent Bard first...
Having spent the last week in the city staying with his parents. Willem decided to get out for the day, heading to the Silent Bard inn, a somewhat respectable place, out of the way of the upper class. Upon entering Willem spots a couple of somewhat familiar faces. Willem decides to approach them somewhat hesitantly..
Lord Nachtlicht? please e-excuse me. It is such an h-h-honor to to meet you sir! My name is Willem von Doggenbúrg, we f-fought alongside one another in the assault on Shapedstone fort.
And upon seeing the slightest recognition from the knight at the mention of his name..
And in your company, I b-believe you must be none other than the fabled Jason Argus, the champion of the 16th battalion. You probably remember, but I healed you of multiple m-minor wounds after you returned from raiding the enemy s-supply lines. It makes one feel safe to be in the presence of such fabled heroes. P-please don't let me disturb your evening any further!
Returning to the Silent Bard, Sylas checks first with the proprietor to see if there are any messages for him? There never were...
He is about to head up to his room when he hears a familiar voice call out for more drinks. The recollection makes him wince. Turning he spots the midnight skinned tiefling he remembered from the latest campaign. Shared heritage or not, Sylas could understand why people would judge the warrior called Saturday by appearance alone.
He is somewhat relieved to notice the similarly familiar face of Lord Doggenburg talking with the tiefling. The mage at least merited a greeting, his stutter and timid nature his a surprisingly keen intellect and after his experience this morning he could use some proper conversation.
Heading over to their table he greets Willem, "My lord, it is good to see you again. Sylas Driss, formerly of the 6th battalion sappers."
He nods to the other two present, "Good afternoon gentlemen. I see you made it back in one piece."
At the sight of the tiefling, Willem perks up and speaks, completely free of his former reservations.
Ah! Welcome Mr. Driss, did you try out that ammonia nitrate solution I suggested? Did you get a proper reaction?
Willem suddenly becomes slightly self aware, and looks to his other two companions. Stammering even worse than before!
I-I'm sorry, I s-shouldn't speak s-shop in front of the un-uninterested. I'll g-go get the drinks..
Willem stands up and goes behind the bar counter, pouring four drinks from a random barrel..
Jason couldn't recall the noble after that particular raid, but he did remember the scars he received, some were quite vicious. When his ale is brought to him, the warrior says, "I beg pardon, my lord, but I do not partake of alcohol. It dulls the wits, and one's wits must be sharp as one's spear, my father would say."
You pass the rest of the evening in drink and each others company. Your fame has attracted a bit more of a crowd than usual to the Silent Bard and the barkeep has been too engrossed in listening in on the heroes to actually serve the patrons. Your reputation has kept the glory hounds at bay so you sit in the middle of clear space in the crowded room.
The night grows later and later...
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Mid morning comes and you find yourselves in the waiting room for the audience room of the castle. Guards have led you through a short series of corridors and entrance rooms. The under-guards made gestures towards your weapons, but the captain waved them off.
The hallways and the waiting room have been completely bare. The square, stark angles make the castle appear dead. You can see signs where metal fastenings have been removed from walls, and uneven wear marks on the floor suggest places where furniture and perhaps suits of armor once stood. The common folk had always heard that the beloved king had sold off most of the castle's furnishings to fund the war. It appears those rumors are true.
Waiting alongside you in room is a young nobleman. He had been waiting quite confidently, but as those of you are brought in, in ones and twos, he looks progressively more worried and intimidated by the company he's keeping.
He stares at the guards and when they don't admit some mixup and lead you away, he goes back to staring at the door to the audience room; willing it to open and get him to his audience and out of this room.
"I'd kindly ask you not to swear in my presence. I'm Theodor, first-born of Count Patrick. And though you may be famous, I'd call it infamous. As to what you and your *ahem* friends are doing here, I have no idea. I'm here to be appointed ruler and administrator of the Voyllr Plains."
He's transparent enough for you to tell that the last statement is more wish than fact.
Jason stood to one side of the chamber, keeping his eyes open for any trouble that might arise. A quite forboding image he represented, being lean and muscular, with a large round metal shield in one hand, and a short spear in the other. The only clothing upon his person, were the cloth breeches, cut to just above the knee, his crimson cloak, and sandals that came halfway up his calf. An interesting sight to say the least.
Willem, wonders who is this man?
And why does he believe the Voyllr Plains will be his?
Despite having drank heavily the night before, Sylas is in good humor as he joins the others, "Good morning compatriots! Do you think we'll be waiting long?"
As he notices Saturday's obvious hangover his eyes alight, speaking up despite his usual wariness of the other man, "Feeling the after effects? I have just the thing, a simple solution I pioneered, of..."
He continues rummaging in the many pockets of his jacket for a moment before looking back up at Saturday with a sheepish expression, "Oh...I seem to have left it in my room at the Bard...perhaps you could ask a guard for some water...?"
Sylas looks at Theodor as he introduces himself, apparently oblivious to his boasting, "Really? Is that why we're here? I'd figured some sort of medal or research grant or something. Sorry, where are my manors, Sylas Driss, acclaimed scholar. I do wonder where the rest of us will be appointed rulers of?"
The man's clothes match those of a heir to a noble, but not kingly house. His orange and black clothes match the colors of Count Patrick's family. You're inclined to believe he is who he said.
Count Patrick runs the city of Flossberg and the surrounding lands. His lands border the Voyllr plains and he's been agitating for stewerdship, aiming to increase his holdings and warrant elevation from Count to Duke.
Theodor is known to be a brash and cocky youngster; he administered Flossberg for his father while he father led troops during the war; Theodor resents being kept out of proving himself in combat.
He was a capable city leader and is known for some small skill as a duelist. He tends to follow his father in all things, so if his father told him that they were the natural choices for running the Voyllr plains, he'd assume that's what the king is up to.
Theodor sputters in outrage at Saturday's overt mockery and insults and colors very noticably at Sylas's more subtle jab. He turns away, apparently deciding that no one could have said those things, and thus you can't exist. He stares fixedly at the door.
Jason looked at Saturday for a moment, thinking to himself, Why do I get the distinct impression that one is going to be trouble? He continued looking about the room, making sure if something happened, he would step in to stop it.
G-greetings Theodor, I h-hope I'm not overstepping but if s-stewardship of the Voyllr plains is to b-b-be granted this day. It would naturally be g-granted to the von Doggenbúrg family. S-since we took great risks with what l-little we have, fought more bravely and we are the historic protectors of the Voyllr planes.
Sylas smirks as Willem makes his claim, content to observe the other noble's reaction while mentally running through his next planned experiment.
The doors to the audience chamber are opened and you are ushered in, before Theodor can respond. A majordomo by the door booms out: "The king's heroes of the great war!" He looks at Theodor and adds "and Theodor, Count Patrick's heir."
The audience chamber is smaller than you expected; At one end on a stone throne on a slight dais sits King Oleg. Two nobles stand to his right, and a robed figure to his left. Four guards stand at attention along the sides of the room. A large table, with a rough map of the northern regions of Wodmarch and the entirety of the Vollyr plains stands before you and the King and his advisors. Much of the map is sparsely drawn. The room is well lit by lanterns as opposed to the torches you saw in other areas of the castle. This is a room for private discussions with the king your realize, not a room for presentation to throngs of courtiers.
The King's expression looks somewhat distant and someone pained. One of noble advisors steps forward and addresses you.
"Greetings heroes! I am Duke Marcus, the Lord High Steward, and I speak for the king in this matter. You have all served our nation well during this recent war and the king wishes to reward you. The Voyllr plains are a fruitful province, yet few seem to have the temperament and patience for unlocking their bounty. I have prevailed on the King to try an unusual approach.
"You: Armen, Saturday, Sylas, Willem, Jason, and Ong'rag are being granted provisional rulership, in the King's name, over the Voyllr plains." The other noble by the king mutters "and may the gods help us"
Duke Marcus continues:"This grant will be re-assessed in one year's time, or in the event of a serious complaint made by the other nobles. At the end of the year, if you've proven yourself, you will be elevated to the Peerage with a rank appropriate to your success."
Theodor's face shows his shock at this news.
"Theodor, you are tasked to assist these heroes in their efforts. Your skill at maintaining Flossberg during your father's war duties has been noted. Consider yourself Mayor of Daelsend under a similar provisional grant"
Addressing the group at large: "You have the king's thanks; you have the king's grant" gesturing to a scroll on the table. "I'm sure you will have many questions, but the king's time is short. Please begin your planning, I will send my son Oskar to you to help make appointments with various palace officials to answer your questions."
The guards and majordomo usher you out of the room before you have a chance to speak and lead you to a smaller room with a table, parchment, ink and quill. Theodor storms off.
"What indeed." Jason said, still trying to process the facts presented to him and his new companions.
Sylas is silent for a time, lost in thought. Eventually he finds his voice, "That was...unexpected to say the least. Not at all the sort of recognition I'd expected but an excellent opportunity none the less, wouldn't you say?"
Looking at the writing material, Sylas rummages in his pocket for a moment before removing a vial filled with a light blue substance. Setting it on the table beside him he takes up the quill, his eyes filled with excitement, "Well gentlemen, it seems we have some planning to do! A year from now we'll all be nobility. Well, aside from Lord Doggenburg of course, you'll simply have a somewhat grander title I should think. Now where are those officials? There are so many questions to be answered, plans to be made. Oh this is so much better than a research grant!"
Please Master Driss, I-I'm no lord, that title w-wont be mine until my fathers d-death. But the k-king's decree, is q-quite surprising indeed. There are a few things w-we will need to promote in order to gain the success the king demands.
Stabilizing the region should be our first priority. On that I would suggest a partial to full tax exemption for a few years to encourage immigration, reconstruction of the border forts and restarting the local industries. A-Any opinions or further suggestions?
I'm afraid we have quite a conundrum on the financial side of things, we have lands known for being unsafe and a decimated populace so we need incentives to draw in people, while at the same time we need a lot of gold to fuel reconstruction. And the faster we try to build the fewer people are available to generate income. Lastly, we will each need to assume official titles of o-office.
Standing throughout the meeting with the king in his signature stoic silence, Ong'rag lets out a rare word. "Unexpected."
The heavily armored half-orc, adorned in outlandish weapons, checks his tight top knot of hair to make sure it is in order. Muttering under his breath, "A new province for the Iron Empire then."
Sylas nods several times as he listens to Willem, furiously scribbling notes all the while and speaking rapidly, "The taxes are a practical idea, partial at the least. You're correct we'll have a difficult time drawing people in, we rather made a mess of the area over the last year. Though those currently remaining have proven themselves particularly resilient, unless we make a right mess of things we should keep those already remaining."
"With luck our financial issues will be somewhat remedied once we talk to these advisers. A commission like this has to be backed by crown funds to some extent. Something to be considered in the near future."
As Saturday calls dibs, the quill pauses momentarily in his hand and he looks up, "An excellent idea! I imagine with the regions current lack of stability, such a position will be...extremely time consuming."
"A lofty goal master Saturday, I may join you in culling the weak from this land." There is no blood thirst in his voice Ong'rag just doesn't abide weakness such as instability.
Oskar walks into the room, dressed in white and blue livery of his family's house. He looks confident, but no hint of arrogance or condescension in his manner.
"Greetings, I'm Oskar. I've been sent to provide you with information, answer what questions I can, arrange meetings with the powers in the kingdom. I haven't been given a deadline to get you on your way, but I think everyone would be happier having strength on the ground in Daelsend sooner rather than later.
"The king has already sent orders for a caravan to be prepared at Flossberg of supplies and some new settlers and has authorized use of the messenger relay's horses to get you to Flossberg as quickly as we can once you're ready to strike out. Using these relays and the mountain switchback, you'll be in Flossberg in three days. I haven't heard an estimate of the caravans time from Flossberg to Daelsend, but I'd guess a week or two, those wagons are slow.
"We've heard, as no doubt most of you already know, that Daelsend is close to completely destroyed. I believe they still have a blacksmith, though the soldiers say he's not good for much, and several farming families. Very little in civic, religious, or defensive infrastructure survive. So I think you're basically starting from scratch, and dealing with a rather superstitious populace.
He spends a bit of time outlining the resources in the caravan .
He also tells you briefly about some of the other powers in the kingdom that you might want to meet with
"What else do you need to know?"
Perhaps it's just my job to protect them in this endeavor. I know nothing of running....well anything outside of a small military unit. Jason thought to himself. Why else would I be chosen to come along?