The days of preparation following the party's receiving their Charter of Settlement stretch into weeks, and their is a growing air of excitement. There is still a share of minor squabbles, but nothing that Alamina hasn't managed to resolve peacefully. Akiros and Kesten check in sporadically, and a rough path to navigate materials is being plotted out.
On one day, as the party is settling around the table to sample Svetlana's cooking a raven swoops down clutching a rolled up piece of parchment bound with a familiar red wax seal, which it deposits with a squak and then alights out of the Trading Post for parts unknown. Svetlana is less than thrilled with the infrequent avian interuptions of her meals, and mutters semi-jokingly about recipes she might use to cook them.
Opening the scroll reveals similarly familiar handwriting:
My esteemed associates, I am pleased to see that matters are progressing well. I expect to hear news of your Capital settlement soon. To that end one of the last shipments of materials should be arriving shortly, accompanied by two individuals that have been contacted to represent the more mercantile and political interests involved in this venture. You would be wise to bring them into your planning and leadership; their value is likely worth their weight in the gold they accompany.
Still other, there are passangers of the caravan which should certainly bring an amount of joy and a mixture of excitment into your day.
-The Solicitor
Later in that day, one of the watch posts alerts that a merchant caravan from the east has been spotted ambling down the road. There are several wagons laden with people, food, and materials, the former of which draw up to the Trading Post, the later which stop at the staging area for Supplies. Among the newcomers, there is a half-orc bearing the holy symbol of Abadar, a human that seems to have an aristocratic bent. However, perhaps ecclipsing the two men, the two women that Raven immediately recognizes as her mother and sister. At the same time, Vorsirion recognizes the older as an old flame... and likely has a sudden startling inclination as Raven reacts to their arrival.
After a relatively uneventful, several day trek from Restov along the South Restov road and the border of Brevoy, you finally make your way to your destination: Oleg's Trading Post. It is clear from the signs of evidence here that a large Expedition is planned, and there are the starts of a minor militia... or at least guards placed around the borders of the settlement. You both know from the trip that two of your non-merchant companions as a Mother / Daughter duo, who are the related to one of the Leaders of the Expedition: Raven.
Raven is already at the staging area, hoping to greet Ryle. When the caravan arrives, however, the young mercenary's face lights up in a way that no one has ever seen before. For the first time, Raven actually looks her tender age of twenty-one, and rushes up to her mother and half-orc sister. She swoops up her little sister in a fierce hug, then gently places her down and gives a gentler, but no less heartfelt, embrace to her mother. "Mother! By Iomedae, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! You too, Lily! How have you two been?"
Ryle looks at the happy family reunion, then promptly gets himself involved in unloading materials.
The barrage of "constructive criticism" from Ryle brings many a frown to Thurl's face; the education he had been receiving from his companion had been almost unabated from the beginning of the journey and the large half-orc was almost beginning to question his decision to...encourage...Ryle's involvement in this venture.
"You can throw all the big words you want at your argument, it does not encourage its' validity. You speak of overlapping contracts as if the devils' do not realize their doings in the Thrice-Damned House. Do not forget that they live and breathe bargains and deals in a way beyond the understanding of mortal kind. Abadar himself once attempted to strike a bargain with the archdevil Mephistopheles until he realized that the devil was interested only in the deal itself, and not the fruits of it, as I'm sure you'll remember. How many tales have we read of deals that were wrought seeming to come to one end, only to have their true purpose revealed centuries later, lifetimes to us but drops in the proverbial bucket to that ilk? How do you know that it wasn't their entire purpose to keep the true owner of those assets so tied up in knot that only one of them could extricate the realities of the situation? There is a very good reason that the adage is 'The devil is in the details'."
Thurl snorts at Ryle's inserting himself into the conversation, shaking his head.
"Ryle, did it occur to you to give a proper introduction before inserting yourself into someone else's conversation? For a man with as much experience in the courts as you've had, you ought to know the value of others knowing who you are." he states plainly in a gruff, plain voice.
Turning to the others, Thurl bows low to each in turn. "Thurl Ravenscroft, at your service. I have applied for this position in your expedition in the hope that Abadar's precepts may be spread into the uncharted regions. And once order is established, to ensure that it protected from threats, be they internal or external."
"You're mistaking a claim about structure for a claim about motives. That's a very common mistake to make, so I certainly don't bl- ah, people!"
Ryle removes a foppish hat and bows. "Too often we forget ourselves, and religion puts us right again - thank you, good Thurl! Ryland ibn-Watr Medyved d'Avechy Orlovsky, entirely at your disposal."
"Hello, to you both. And a very special welcome to you, ladies."
Alamina smiles past the blustering men at Raven's reunion with family.
"I am Alamina, and this place is Oleg's Trading Post. Do I understand you are sent by out Solicitor to aid in establishing our new community?"
"You understand correctly, though I am uncertain as to what this mysterious 'Solicitor' saw as my qualification for the post. Ryle is my old mentor from the church of Abadar. Well met, Lady Alamina."
-Posted with Wayfinder
"'Lady?' Really? I don't really have a title at all, so I'm not sure if that's the appropriate and proper way to address me. But I've never been one for lots of formality and whatnot in the first place."
Alamina chuckles at that, glancing down at her fairly casual dress and tosses her bell-earrings to set them a jingling.
"To be honest, I don't know that I've ever met him face to face. I don't even know that its a him, for sure. But the letter sent earlier stated that you and Mr. Ryle with the long name would be valuable additions for planning and leading our new community. So far, this solicitor has been most helpful and useful, so I am more than happy to have you here at his recommendation."
"And I, for one, am happy to be here. If you are not one for formal titles, I will certainly abstain from using them; my experience has led me to err on the side of caution."
At the news that the Solicitor is no more known to them than the two newcomers, Thurl frowns a bit. "Odd that a patron of such significance would choose to continue to remain so anonymous. Still...I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were."
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Not at all - patrons frequently act through others, for fear of causing offense, often rightly aroused, from their projects. Explicit anonymity just tells us that that's the kind of thing we're getting into - like black flags risen over a mast!" He laughs. "And yet we appear to have the royal imprimatur as an at least de jure sovereign state. As such, I believe you can style yourself however you like - though I'd advise against 'Queen of Issia and Rostland.'
"But assuming we're not about to cross that river, and granting your dislike of titles, by what non-Title do you prefer to be addressed, Ms. ____?"
"I am Alamina, wanderer of the roads and servant of the Great Dreamer. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ryle."
Alamina laughs out loud and curtsies overly deeply.
"I must admit I have no intention of using that very long name you gave earlier, no offense intended, of course."
Greetings continue happily (or not, if that's the way things go.)
Ryle is clearly sloshed, and everyone sees him and Thurl yelling at each other before angrily departing.
"I'm curious about what kind of military policy we'd like to have. Conscription? A permanent army? Mercenary troops hired as needed? We'll both need a relatively constant force level to keep order as well as the ability to elevate if the civil war breaks out and decides to involve us - even if the first line of defense is persuading it not to."
"Conscription breeds unrest, and unready, untrained troops. A standing army is a valid option, but the resources that we would need to give it would be better used to create public works and improve infrastructure. As for the last..." Raven grimaces. "Mercenaries can be bought out like anybody else. The company I was part of tried to kill me on a contract if that demonstrates that to you."
"Here's what I was thinking: for the first few years, we simply build infrastructure and keep a small militia for where it is needed. Then, we introduce the Blades program. To put it simply, from the age of sixteen onwards, young people can enlist within it to get two years of intense military training while apprenticing in whatever vocation is desirable to them, courtesy of the state. After the two years, they are not, under any circumstances, obligated to become a part of the standing army, but any who wish to are absolutely free to do so. However, they are obligated to defend wherever they call home within our yet-to-be-named state with military issued weapons and armor, and they also are to help us march on whoever-or whatever-or enemies are, should the situation become as drastic as that. Essentially, we create a well-trained, well-armed standing army without having to fund one, while increasing education of young men and women."
"In addition, any citizen can take five days of any month for light training in arms, armor, and fitness for small, but significant tax breaks. This encourages those whose trade is often passed on within the family, such as farming, to still at least be able to defend themselves should the situation arise while fostering goodwill."
"I was actually hoping you could help me figure out the actual logistics of such a program, Ryle. Do you think it could work?"
"We are in agreement in regard to conscription, and I would add that conscription can also bring rise to resentment or animosity against the ruling authority...no to mention a populace that might be willing to abandon their home nation to avoid being forced into such military service."
"Overall, I would say your plan has great merit; a voluntary enlistment program for military service is a good way to ensure that those who are serving are those who wish to serve. I also find your notion of trading tax incentives for occasional militia training a good one. I would add to your program, though, that it should not enacted on a monthly basis, as the logistics for tracking monthly attendance would be difficult, and exponentially moreso as the nation grows."
"My suggestion would be to allow your citizenry to sign up for this training regime on an annual or perhaps bi-annual, and by that I mean every two years, basis. Citizens who maintain this commitment, which would be evidenced through some sort of formal documentation, could then receive your mentioned tax breaks for either the previous tax year or the following tax year, depending on when the tax code requires final annual tax payments to be made."
"I like these ideas - in theory and, at least, in broad strokes. There are situations where they would work. The militia system in distant Bachuan appears to have saved the revolution there; and there are places where tax rebates are reasonable to provide.
"But I worry that, with our as-yet weak national identity and war looming across as open border, providing widespread training without other inducements would simply train the mercenaries for a bloodbath to the north. And tax credits for training make little sense for us. They imply that most individuals will be paying taxes - the overhead to collect and monitor everyone for that purpose would be difficult to build and costly to maintain. Worth it, to be sure, when this is a richer and more settled nation, but that's some time away. For now taxes will have to come from immobile, easily-monitored capital like rents or large estates, if any form, or commercial river traffic, if we can somehow render that acceptable.
"So I would suggest that, first, military training focus on tactics and procedures that are more use in defending us than anyone else's war - training for the forest, not open field; for defending villages, not attacking them; and combined with a good dose of patriotic indoctrination - there'll be a need to concoct some kind of national mythology that the young people can find compelling. Second, put the pay in something they can use - bread, or a roof, or a bit of coin."
"Exactly why I suggested we initialize this program once we have a strong infrastructure, perhaps in one or two years. Until then, we'll make do with those already skilled in battle and those who are comfortable with the wilderness to defend ourselves. At the point where we'll be big enough to actually warrant worrying about defense against nebulous, hypothetical threats, this program should already have been enacted for a few years. The worst that we'll have to deal with for now are the remnants of the Stag Lord's organization, if it can be called that, that haven't already been reintegrated into society, and the occasional monster." Raven gives a sigh of relief. "You know, I'm glad that we now have at least two people who are skilled in large-scale economics. Otherwise, this fledgling... nation, I suppose, would sink within a year."
"Truth be told, I am glad as well, Raven. I basically glaze over when you all talk about stuff like conscription, taxation, and whatnot. Give me my Dreamers, the open sky, and stout allies to stand on either side of me, and I will go wherever we need. But all this politicking and congressing is beyond my ken."
"I concur that infrastructure is going to be our primary concern for now, and for the first year or two of this new landscape we are forging.""
"Regarding any need for a national defense...I know for fact that the Greenbelt is, compared to the rest of the Stolen Lands, tame. The further south, east, or west one travels, the more dangerous it gets. Whatever dangers are out there are ones we should presently be glad for, as those same dangers will prevent other nations from coming in to topple ours. For the present, I imagine the Lands themselves will provide an adequate 'militia.'"
-Posted with Wayfinder
"I'm glad for the vote of confidence - I see you haven't seen all that my humble incompetence has to offer yet! - but to be clear - 'one to two years' is a perfectly reasonable timescale to hope to have a military chain of command and training program in roughly the shape we'd like, although we'll of course want to have something roughly operational as soon as possible and keep tinkering as we go along. Our land being rich and settled enough for direct individual taxation is the work of decades at the earliest. The widespread availability of open land and our open borders with various quasi-states means that the small farmer who starts getting shaken down for living in some particular place - whether by prince or landlord - can simply move somewhere else. Soil, timber, and game are out there for anyone with the motivation to get them - assuming the winter is not especially harsh, in which case everyone is in a sorry state. Probably most people will not feel any great reason to interact with the cash economy at all, being able to get everything they need themselves, or from people known personally to them.
"There are advantages to this - unless great efforts are made to place people under the thumb of tyranny, efforts I believe no one under this table would support, it will be a land of social equality and freedom. Its people will have to work hard, but they'll own their own land, and if properly motivated to protect this order they'll make fine militia, not malnourished and mutinous conscripts. But it also means we'll never have the kind of leisure class that makes the best poets or warriors - and it means we'll have to be more creative about how to extract revenue. And it certainly means we won't be able to offer most citizens tax rebates.
"Of course tax rebates vs. monetary or in-kind incentives to join the training corps is not the central issue you were concerned about," he says, smiling, "so I admit my stressing this rather small detail is rather pedantic. But the reasons behind the detail are profound, and, I believe, need to be appreciated properly - even by those with little interest in taxes and councils and those things." He smiles. "Or to put it another way, this country will take less after my spirit than yours."
As for the 'hypothetical' danger of a civil war - it could strike at any time. A pigeon could be carrying the news of it as we speak. In a best case scenario, we 'merely' have to deal with an influx of refugees - who could well make fine settlers in any case. In the worst case - well, even if nobody explicitly declares war on us, brigandry and warlordism fall in the wake of civil war like crows on a corpse. Ideally our first line of defense would be political, but it seems we're relying on amateurs rather than professionals for our diplomatic and espionage corps - which is perhaps what we have to work with, and no insult to the amateurs in question - but it is inevitably concerning."
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Previously...
Vorsirion watches the caravan come in with the others. Things had seemed--relatively normal--and he almost seemed to be settling into a new life here. One where he could shrug off the past. Even the voices had been silent.
But the past has a way of catching up. Vorsirion watches as Raven rushes to greet someone on the caravan. It takes several moments for him to think he may know her.
Human-kind...they age so quickly. Someone I once knew?
Then the shock of it all hits him all at once. He shivers to his core, cold despair and whispers enveloping him again.
I do know her--so long ago. Twenty years? More? I had too much to drink. So did she. It was only for one night...
He looks at Raven again, his face a stone mask.
Perhaps she will not recognize me. I barely recognize her after all these years.
Though the elf knows that will not be true. Despite all he had gone through--his gregarious personality was no more--he knows he looks almost the same.
The elf pulls his hood up stands watching like a statue.
The weeks of preparation may have begun to feel like months as countless final details were arranged, but finally the ponderous process of founding your first Settlement have begun! Logs felled from the nearby Narlmarches along with skids of materials float along the river system that makes up a large portion of the Western stretch of the Green Belt, with small knots of settlers traveling along to provide safety in numbers.
The dangers inherent to the Stolen Lands make themselves obvious as you come across the wreckage of a small skid / raft that appears to have been carrying poultry cages. The raft is run aground on the bank of the river and all the cages have been smashed open by some significant force.
There are some signs of struggle, including a pair of longswords and a longbow scattered around the raft, but no signs of bodies and very little evidence of blood.
Some of the cages appear battered to breaking (with a mixture of feathers and viscera suggesting the cages were repeatedly flung against the wood of the raft and a nearby stone, whereas others appear to have been wrenched open.
Despite the signs of violence, there is very little evidence of blood other than the occasional droplets. There is some evidence of a kind of... sap? and some vegetation debrig around the scene of what was probably battle.
There is a suggestion that there is something large that dragged along the ground along the riverbank and into the woods, but whatever it is obscured the tracks. It could probably be followed however.
Raven, resplendent in her new armor, kneels down to inspect the barge.
"Looks like there were two separate beings working together," she begins as she gets up to pace around the barge. "One at least semi-intelligent, one relying on brute force. Almost no blood other than the chickens', although it appears that some kind of animated plant was wounded, by the evidence of the sap droplets here and here," she points, "and the various non-indigenous plant detritus."
The newly-anointed General of Hopefeld once again sits to inspect the large furrow in the ground. "A trained bandar could follow the trail, but I can't tell you about whatever made it. It's strong, definitely-as evidenced by it dragging a large object-but it might be smart enough to also cover it's own tracks. Or might be unhappy coincidence."
"This many creatures, that level of violence, there really should be more blood. I wonder if whatever it was consumed it somehow."
Alamina looks very much more regal, with her previously dirty and mud-spattered clothes replaced with embroidered and fitted versions. Her brow sports a gorgeous emerald stone just above eyes, and a finely tooled and silver chased belt circle her hips. A small grey orb circles her head, burning with cold fire like an everburning torch.
"Another opportunity to keep at a distance and use ranged attacks, Raven? It worked well with that bear creature."
Alamina readies and loads her crossbow, scanning the treeline for threats.
Thurl kneels, closely examining the cages, the ground around them, and the detritus on the ground, particularly the sap and vegetation, even as he tries to determine what direction it has moved off in.
"Consumed it, or...perhaps had no blood itself to lose. Not in the traditional sense, anyway." he remarks as he fingers the sap-like substance.
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Vorsirion squats near the scene and looks at it haphazardly, as if lost in some other thoughts. Since the arrival of the latest caravan, the elf has seem more withdrawn and has made little effort to get to know their new companions.
He pulls his cloak tight and shivers.
"I do not pretend to know what attacked this skid. However, a delivery of food in these parts would make an attractive target for many. We will want to investigate to ensure the safety of our food chain."
Almost as an afterthought, the elf leans over and touches the raft.
Examining an item in this way requires him to spend 1 minute handling the item. If the item is a magic item, the occultist learns its properties and command word as if he had successfully examined the item using detect magic and succeeded at a Spellcraft check. This ability does not reveal whether the item is cursed unless the occultist's class level is equal to or greater than the caster level of the item. If the item has any historical significance, the occultist learns one piece of information about its past (as determined by the GM). Finally, if the item was last used no longer than 1 day ago per the occultist's class level, the occultist learns one piece of information about the last creature to use the item. This information might be a glimpse of the creature's appearance, a brief vision of what it saw while using the item, or perhaps its emotional state when it last used the item. The GM determines what information is gained in this way. This functions like the psychometry occult skill unlock, but doesn't require a skill check and can be used at will.
Something niggles at the back of Thurl's mind of a creature that might have caused this scene, but nothing immediately springs forward (in his thoughts, or more luckily, from the surroundings.) However, the trackers in the party are able to follow the disruption their apparent foe has created in the overgrowth of the Narlmarches.
The few settlers that you were accompanying towards your settlement look around nervously, muttering that that could have been them mysteriously vanished.
Ryle looks at the tracks and smiles to himself. Still tracking down bodies after all these days...
"No sense in getting upset over what may have happened but did not, fair citizens. We have traveled far and wide, and have yet encountered anything we could not handle. We'll see this creature off and out of our lands, and ensure your safety as we always do."
Alamina takes up her position in the middle of the group, ready to proceed.
Ryle sees the look of concern on Raven's face. "Split up? Me, Thurl, and you to track down the creature, and Alamina and Vorsirion to accompany these settlers? Or depending on how far we are, we could come back - Thurl, I've given you enough lip, but I'd trust you to track an ant through a snowstorm."
Raven nods. "Yeah, I don't believe we want our new settlers mauled by some savage plant monster. That sounds like a good plan."
"If you all are confident proceeding without me, I am most happy to.escort our newest citizens to their destination."
Raven snorts. "I'd rather risk our personal safety than our peoples'. We're able to take care of ourselves. To put it bluntly, I don't trust any of them not to get killed in a fight with a dangerous monster." Raven turns towards the settlers. "No offense."
Also, in the scene you're accompanying some settlers towards Hopefeld when you encounter the destroyed raft.
Ryle turns down to examine the sap more closely - sniffing it, dabbing to test its viscosity... "You know, my wife was - is - a botanist," he says, to no one in particular, and puts a little of it in a stopped vial. "Taught me everything I know about alchemy, so I still think of vegetable matter as the most basic in some senses... Wish I could consult her about this now - she'd either be fascinated or, better yet for us, bored - guess I'll have to settle for a letter when we track it down. Hope it's not too interesting!"
Clearly this monster is a danger to the stability you are attempting to bring to your new settlement, and the party moves into the woods to deal with this menace. With the aid of your skilled woodsmen, it doesn’t take more than an hour to track the shambling foe from the edge of the riverbank to slightly deeper into the old growth of the Narlmarches.
Rounding a copse of trees, Alamina, Raven, and Vorsirion note a Large patch of moss and vines that stands slightly out from its surroundings. Did a tendril just move against the breeze? Clearly their previous expeditions into the Narlmarches have given them some deeper insight over their new companions, who remain unaware of the potential foe.
The party is an instant away from its reach, and the rush of combat descends!
Seeing the monster move and threaten the group, Alamina touches her butterfly necklace holy symbol and casts bless on the party.
"Lady, guide our aim and strengthen our resolve. Protect us from danger and aid us here."
Harbinger already in Raven's hands, the young general yells, "Focus on the vines binding the more solid parts together! If we hack them apart, we'll be able to bring the whole damn thing down!" She then smoothly slides to a new position, already setting up a charging lane for herself.
Ryle follows Raven's advice and the creature further, mentally comparing its body plan to some of the prints in his wife's manuals...
If it weren't eating poor settlers, it would be beautiful - every plant is some kind of machine for absorbing minerals beneath and sunlight above, all spreading forth in fractals and protected by integuments or poison or something else. This figured out how to move and to extract power from animals - an inversion of the natural order, to be sure, but that just makes it more impressive. He observes the way its various appendages move, trying to ascertain which are for moving and which for attack. Can it even sense them? How would it?
Thurl snaps his bow and nocks an arrow to the string in a flash, then pauses. His eyes narrowed as he watched the creature and a sudden flash of insight hit him. Of course! A shambling mound!
Alamina's blessing rings out into the clearing, while Raven Ryle and Raven study their foe! Vorsirion provides magical shielding and
Both Thurl and Ryle recognize the Shambling monster as a carnivorous plant that is resistant to fire and outright immune to electrical attacks. It's known for its ability to hide within wooded areas and its deadly vines that grab their foes, crushing the life from them!
The Shambling Mound, instinctively sensing that its camouflage had failed, lumbers forward slowly, vines and roots roiling as it flings a tendril towards Vorsirion!
The tendril snakes forward with speed belying its size, and loops around the elf's neck! Luckily his elven reflexes and magical shielding counter the blow enough that it misses his windpipe and crushes his collarbone instead. It does, however, grab the elf.
Raven rushes towards the shambling monster, her face serene even as chaos explodes all around her. With casual grace, she sweeps Harbinger in a wide arc, it's polished blade gleaming in the sun.
Alamina moves just behind Vosirion and touches his on the shoulder.
"Pain, leave this man, heal and grow and be strong."
Casting CLW, Vosirion gets HP healed.
Ryle rushes to Vorsirion and hacks at the vine strangling him as if had been lawfully sentenced to death.