Fang started a loud barking as Agnar collapsed, but his tucked tail showed his inherent fear of the undead. As the surviving skeletons continued their assault, Fang dodged into the room to stand over his fallen master, yelping a combination of panic and defiance.
Seeing Spike and Marcy have control of the last skeleton, Kat moves towards Fang and his stricken master. "Come on Fang, let me help him. I have treats for him." As the wolf edges back, Kat uncorks a potion and lets it dribble it's magic into Erastil's servant.
As some of Angar's horrible wounds began to knit he took a wet, shuddering gasp and sat up abruptly. His remaining eye darted back and forth, trying to figure out where it was.
"Lanks" he murmured, as blood and at least one tooth fell out of his broken mouth.
"Bad skelly-ton! BAD!" Kereek admonishes as he steps back five feet and blasts the obnoxious thing with scorching rays!
for fire damage!
for fire damage!
for fire damage!
Kereek blasts the nearest skeleton into char, as Prazil and Spike help Marcy against the other. They eventually destroy it as well, as Katerina pours a potion down Agnar's throat, but not before it gets one more slash in on the company's newest member.
The last hit from the last remaining skeleton sends Marcelline, already bleeding and battered from the battle, right to an early grave. Though not too early, as Kat might have said.
Prazil watches Marcelline crumble just a breath before Spike smashes the final skeleton to pieces. He spins around to see the bearded man sputtering beside Kat and he shouts earnestly, "Agnar! Agnar, quick! Marcelline am down!"
Agnar's battered form rose up just as Marcy's fell, and he teetered over to her. Collapsing beside her, he chanted a long, wheezing prayer while moving his ruined hands above her wounds.
As Marcy began to move again, Agnar noticed his missing fingers. "Definitely didn't have the pinky finger in the right position on that one."
He cast one spell to heal the worst of the wounds on his hands, and then turned back to his compatriots.
Marcelline gasps her way back to life, her eyes flying open with shock. She curls up, moaning and clutching her chest. "Owwwww. My heart."
Prazil sighs in relief as Marcelline gasps again. He slips free from the saddle and rushes forward to hug her, then pulls away to turn and hug Agnar. "Prazil am for being glad you am both ok!"
--Prazil--
HP: 81/88
Resist Fire 5
AC: 32 (16 T / 29 FF)
CMD: 29
F/R/W: +9/+9/+8
Cavalier's Challenge uses remaining: 2/3
Tactician uses remaining: 0/2
Knight's Pennon uses remaining: 1/1
+1 arrows remaining: 19/20
--Spike--
HP: 88/88
AC: 37 (11T / 35 FF)
CMB: +18
CMD: 31 (35 vs trip)
F/R/W: +10/+8(evasion)/+4
Fly Skill: +17 (+4 skill points, +1 dex, +3 trained, +3 feat, +6 spell (1/2 kereek's CL), +4 maneuverability, -4 size)
-Ongoing Effects-
Colossus Hunter: +1/+1 vs Large/Huge
Agnar smiled at Prazil's hug. "Now THAT makes me feel better."
Turning again to Marcy and the others he called forth more healing.
"Heal us all, Erastil"
He saved a lingering surge of healing for Marcy.
36/70 HP for Kereek. Not bad.
Kereek sighs when he sees Marci brought back from the dead. Still looking worried, he scans the room with detect magic!
Kat finds herself holding her own breath as Agnar breathes into Marcy's still form. Death is something I've seen, but it hurts when it's someone that counts on you to protect them... The young duelist sighs out loud as Marcy gasps aloud and comes back to the living.
Katerina kneels next to her, and clasps her shoulder, "Don't go scaring us again big sister. You still have lots to teach me." She turns to Agnar and still feeling how close their situation was she frowns and chastises the man, "Someone pastoral may comment that the shepherd need not risk himself when his hounds are still willing and healthy. If anyone is our heart, tis you, Old Man. Don't be so foolish again!" She uses her other hand to take his still good hand, linking Marcy, herself and Agnar. She smiles at the kobolds, too: "Get in her you crazy little dragons!"
Once the feel-goods are gotten out of the way, Kat returns to her generally business like self, "What was this big moron guarding, anyway?"
"Miss Katerina, you are correct. I saw those skeletons and thought my powers could deal with them. A moment's more thought and I would have realized their power. It was foolish."
He traced an ridged scar the ran from forehead to cheek on his left side.
"I am healed, but I will carry many marks to remember this folly."
Shaking off the regret and embarrassment, he spoke more optimistically. "With Erastil's help, we have been made whole, ready to resume the hunt. Was that our prey, or are there more to subdue?"
A number of items radiate magic in the room, Kereek, and it will take you some time to sort them all out -- you do realize that the guards and ward spell that had been hampering you earlier seems to have been broken.
The skeletons each have a breastplate, a +1 greatsword, and a +1 composite longbow (+4 Str) with 20 arrows.
The man you fought had 3 potions of cure serious wounds; a +3 breastplate with masterwork armor spikes, a +2 keen battleaxe, an amulet of natural armor +2, a belt of physical might +2 (Strength and Constitution), and a ring of protection +2.
The sword, meanwhile, radiates a strong magical aura.
Meanwhile, the body on the coffin is dressed in +3 hide armor with dragon bone +2 armor spikes. A +3 heavy steel shield decorated with chasings of dire tigers lies over his chest.
As soon as the group starts checking out all of the new stuff, Marcelline rolls over, a pained look of excitement on her face. "Treasure!" she groans, trying to stand up. "Oh, but it's all big-burly-man treasure." She looks around, a frown on her face. "We don't have any big or burly men..."
Agnar gave Marcy a slightly wounded look, but then a resigned shrug of acknowledgement.
Prazil nods in agreement. "It am all too big for Prazil and too small for Spike."
Kereek, you think it's actually a minor artifact, a cursed, intelligent +3 wounding greatsword. It's wielder gains freedom of movement and dispel magic against opposing attacks and effects, but it will try to shape you to its purposes if you wield it.
"Ohno! Don't touch-touch that sword! It am cursed! It am for making wielder crazy and doing what Sword wants! Maybe it am for making Tiger Lords all nut-crazy!"
Prazil scratches his head, yet again forgetting the well crafted dragonscale helmet he wears, and points to the man in the coffin. "So that am Armag then?" He then turns to the recently deceased swordsman, "And that am Armag too?" His eyes widen in growing confusion. "And sword am bad? But Prazil was for thinking sword am blessed by Gorum, not cursed. This am all very complicated." He shakes his head, the tone of his voice weighty and colored with a sigh.
Prazil offers hesitantly to the group, "So, if this am for being Armag and, err, Armag, and we am having stopped them, are we for going back to talk to Satinder now? Am we for going back to Hartsland? We should probably be for making sure hostages am ok before we am going home, right?"
Kereek will take the cursed sword by very carefully picking it up with rocks and dropping it into a bag of holding somewhere.
Kereek feels a surge of hatred as he carefully picks up the sword, but it fades as he deposits it in a bag.
The threat of Armag and his barbarians apparently defeated, you head back to Fort Drelev, where things seem to be starting to return to normal ... if slowly. From there, you make it back home to Hartsland, where you're warmly greeted by Baron Jon and the others. He thanks Marcelline for her help, offering her a home for as long as she'd care to remain.
Though administrative affairs keep those of you with roles in the kingdom busy, you find yourselves with some time to breathe.
Prazil remains busy during the construction of Kereek's tower and Marcy's storefront with the troops and cavalry, leading them in drills. With what he's learned from all his time with Spike and their battles through both Vordakai's and Armag's respective tombs, the now red-scaled kobold tries to teach the knights how best to strike with sudden and overwhelming force.
"If enemies am strong because of walls, you should be for trying to be like Spike am and breaks walls! It am also not good to be for letting castys cast, unless they am our castys, so you should be for trying to get close to them quick as you can!"
When not leading the cavalry in drills and training, the little kobold visits Kereek often, causing the sorcerous kobold no shortage of consternation in so doing, as well roaming the surrounding countryside on patrol with Spike or tending to and raising Feather, Thronehold's guard-owlbear.
---
A few weeks after returning from helping to topple Armag and freeing their neighbors in Fort Drelev from the Tiger Lord's rule, Prazil stops by Agnar's room and knocks. "Agnar? Can Prazil be for asking you a question? Prazil am for knowing you am follower of Erastil, but Prazil am not good at hunting and Prazil am only liking gardening if we am talking about moonradishes." His eyes glaze over briefly at this, but he shakes the thoughts of moonradishes away and holds out a holy symbol of Gorum, the one recovered from the priest outside of Armag's burial chamber. The knightly kobold wears an inquisitive look on his face as his question turns into a ramble, "Prazil am for thinking lots about gods lately, and Prazil am for wondering what you am for thinking of Gorum. Gorum am for being very strong, and Prazil am very strong, strongest of any kobold Prazil am for ever meeting, but Prazil can still be for getting stronger. Am you for thinking maybe Gorum could help Prazil be for growing stronger? Prazil am wanting to be strong as possible for Agnar and Kereek and Kat and Marcy and Baron Jon and Orin and... well, and for all Thronehold!"
He realizes his words have been coming out in a tumble at this, and goes quiet, looking earnestly at his oldest friend but for Kereek.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Marcelline settles in to Haven easily enough, taking up a room in a local inn while her own bar is constructed. Every day, she goes out alone, visiting the markets, going to the local bars, reading in the libraries, and meeting people. She takes stock of their desires, their needs, and the general tenor of the nation's opinions.
She also goes by the site of Jon's construction for her, double-checking the design of the rooms, making sure that it's arranged and constructed in just the right way that she wants. She is very specific, and very demanding of the architects and managers, and at the same time very kind and gentle with the workers that are doing the actual work. She head sout into the city, pinning up posters on bulletins and visiting job boards, looking for workers. She looks for trustworthiness and a personal connection with them much more than she looks for skills or education. She wants people who she can turn to for help, and people who will do what she says more than she's looking for people who are the best, most qualified people. She can turn people into the best, most qualified people if she wants to do so.
She visits Katerina at whatever residence the woman has, offering to duel with the woman. Though she loses most of the time, she really does appreciate the fact that dueling keeps her sharp, and the stuffy woman's company is at least pleasant. Marcelline can trust that Katerina will give her a good, honest answer most of the time, so she asks the woman's opinion on Marcelline's ideas for the fermentation and creation of various specialty drinks.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Agnar welcomed Prazil into his room and listened intently as the kobold asked his questions.
With a sympathetic smile, Agnar answered. "Yes, you are very strong Prazil, and a great warrior. And Gorum is mighty in these areas. And those who follow him can gain great strength and prowess. It is said that Gorum resides in every forged blade and hammer, and that his worshipers can unlock his blessings through practice and devotion."
Agnar paused, and chose his next words carefully.
"But Gorum is also stern and demanding. Those who worship him must worship battle, and often battle for its own sake."
"This story might be a good example.
"Long ago, in the Age of Destiny, when the mighty pyramids of Osirion were being raised and Taldor was still a distant dream, a great chief ruled a land of rich farms and strong people. He gave his devotion to Gorum and the Lord in Iron bestowed upon him amazing strength and a tireless arm in battle. The chief used his gifts to provide protection and safety for his people and for many, many years they lived in peace. The chief wed, and had children, whom he taught to fight and to worship Gorum in their turn.
"But as years of peace wore on, the chief began to feel a weakness growing in his body, a weakness far beyond the simple advancement of age. And in his weakness he began to fear that Gorum had abandoned him, and would abandon his family and his people.
"So the chief traveled far across the world to an ancient shrine of Gorum, and placed upon it his own sword, notched and stained from battle. 'Gorum' he cried. 'What have I done that you have forsaken me? Why do you abandon me to weakness, so that I cannot protect mine own?' And Gorum appeared to him as a terrible thunderstorm, his rain-gray armor covered in bloody spikes of iron, and lightening crackled around him.
'I have not abandoned you, it is you who have abandoned me. I did not give you strength so that you could build hearths and nurseries. I did not make your arm tireless so that it could chop wood for your warmth, or to gather wool to swaddle your babes. I am to be found always in the forged blades of war. In the plow, though it be made by the same hand and of the same iron, I reside not. Seek me in battle, if my strength you desire once more.'
"And with that, Gorum departed. The chief returned home to his people, and gathered from them a great party of war. All the young old enough to carry a blade, and all the old young enough to carry themselves, and everyone in between save nursing women and infants, were armed with bright iron and marched to a neighboring land. There they set upon the people of that place and made a great and terrible slaughter. But their numbers were too few and all, including the chief and each of his sons, were killed.
"Back in the chief's land, a huge thunderstorm came into the sky, crackling with lightening, and the setting sun gave it the color of bloody iron. A great rain fell and it washed the people and beasts of that place into river to drown or be dashed upon rocks. Farms were stripped bare, and the stores of grain were sodden and rotting, and so a great hunger came upon the land.
"The huddled survivors, nursing women and babes, beseeched the heavens, calling upon Gorum, asking 'Why are you displeased with us?' But Gorum replied, 'You are mistook. I am pleased. And I shall make you strong.'
Agnar paused and took a sip of water.
"I can not tell you who to worship, Prazil. But I can say that you've told me that you want to be strong for your friends and for your homeland. That is not simply physical strength. It is a special kind of strength that we call valor. And because of that, I would suggest that you also examine the rites of Iomedae. I fear you are too good and kind a person to find all you want in Gorum."
With a sigh, he rose and put a consoling hand on the kobold's shoulder.
As soon as the party is back at Haven Katerina asks for a private audience with Baron Jon.
Ever conscious of etiquette, she offers a deep curtsy and begins her simple request when she straightens. It has been many months since I have spoken with Lord Petyr Aldori and I feel the need to go to him and show how his skills have blossomed in my arms. I ask that I may go to Restov. If all goes according to plan, I shall be back in a fortnight."
* * *
With the baron's blessing Kat packs her meager possession, It is good to be simple so says Erastil, or maybe Erastil? With a brief goodbye to her dear friends she explains she will be back soon, and not to fret.
* * *
With Marcy she spends the most time in goodbye. "You scared me, old woman. But you also reminded me that I have to be there to protect each of you. I am ashamed to admit, but I was not there when you needed me most." The girl nods and begins to turn away, but slowly I need to hear her say it's ok...that's why I am slow to move on.
* * *
A home in Restov Katerina takes her time getting to Lord Petyr's house. The Maid wanders the seedy parts of the city and thinks of how far her adopted Father has brought her. No more terrified nights sleeping in fits waiting for someone to spill my guts or worse. She comes around the corner of a run down tavern, the stink of stale beer and piss rank in her nostrils. Three toughs come out of the shadows, and she hardly blinks as her hand finds the hilt of her sword, "You can try. Today will be your last sunset, but feel free to try." The men can't run fast enough, but they are away. How did I make it out of these alleys?
Finally she goes to Lord Petyr's home and she enters without knocking. A servant comes hurrying to the foyer, "Oh it's you Miss Katerina. You'll be wantin' ta see the Lord, then?"
A nod, "Yes Neera, tell him I am home for a while."
The serving girl moves up the stairs, and in a moment Petyr himself is on the upstairs balcony, "Katerina the Maid! Are you still using that silly sobriquet? Come up here where we can talk!"
Kat hurries up to greet her father, trying unsuccessfully to not show her joy at really being home. When she gets there he embraces her, "News travels fast little street rat. Now, come and tell me all the things you have done for the Aldori!" Katerina follows Petyr into his office and over the course of a long night she tells him about Haven and the Baron Jon's bright future.
Prazil frowns in deep thought as he listens to Agnar, nodding in understanding sometimes and at others staring at a distant spot on the floor as the parable's details are more than he can process.
"Hmmm. You am smart Agnar. Prazil am not for knowing any people who am worshipping... Io-midday? But we am having so many bad neighbors here, Agnar! We am always either having to be for fighting them or for fighting worse things that am attacking them. First it am Staglord, then trollking with name Prazil still can not say right, then the bad things with neighbors at Varnhold... It all am much simpler back with Sootscales. But Sootscales am tiny tribe. Thronehold am big. Bigger now than ever. Prazil am for knowing Prazil am not smart like Agnar or Kereek, but Prazil am knowing Prazil am not for getting strong if Prazil am for having stayed with Sootscales." The little kobold's face scrunches up as he struggles to find the right words, scratching at his head even as he still forgets the fine helmet he wears.
"Prazil am for thinking about gods more. Thanks, Agnar. You am good friend." With that, he glances at the holy symbol in his hand before tucking it into a belt pouch and leaving his friend in peace after a parting hug. It was hard for a kobold who had never seen a sculptor fire clay in a kiln to harden it, or a blacksmith quench hammered and glowing steel to temper it put such concepts into words, but Hartland's Marshall leaves the room thinking on such things nonetheless.
Agnar felt the struggle in Prazil and sympathized. After Prazil left, Agnar sat down to contemplate the needs of the community and Thronehold. His callused fingers absently rubbed the still-vivid scar on his face.
Eventually, he stood up and went outside. He entered a store to pick up a very small package that he had ordered weeks before, paying his massive bill in full.
Taking the tiny parcel into the woods, he found an old birch tree, gnarled on one side and scarred by storm. With whispered words of gratitude, and slow, gentle hands, he peeled off a section of papery bark about a foot long on each side.
This he took down to a stream. There he found a newly-sprouted seed, its coat still hanging as the slender stalk bent up a quarter inch towards the sun. Delicately he collected the coat, and then found a total of seven from similar young plants.
Next, he searched the stream for a still pool, and the pool-side reeds until he found a dragonfly pupa that was ready to emerge as an adult. He waited. A day and a night passed, but on the second morning he opened his eyes to find the creature drying its wings in the rising sun. He quickly gathered its discarded shell and held it in his hands, whispering its fading essence into a gentle repose.
From there he returned to town. He collected a bit of mud from the road, a cup of water from the well, and some soot from the bellows of the blacksmith. Taking these all home, he ground some, boiled others and combined them all into inks, each blessed and infused with all the healing power he could muster.
Finally, he unwrapped his small parcel to reveal a diamond of many glittering facets. This he slowly dissolved into his inks, using words of prayer far stronger than the mineral itself.
When this was done, he carefully, over the course of another three days, wrote an elaborate prayer on the birch bark. It was a symbol of power, a paen to a vibrant community, and a reverential submission to nature all cast in thrumming lines and exquisite patterns of magical ink.
When he was done, he carefully wrapped backed the birch bark with vellum and stored it neatly in his pouch.
In the coming days, he repeated similar processes for different spells, visiting different trees for bark and different locations, both natural and around dwellings, that contained necessary ingredients.
Some weeks after his conversation with Agnar, Prazil lets himself into Kereek's nearly finished tower. The door hinge nearly breaks as the small kobold pushes his way in, and he shoots his old clutchmate a sheepish look as Kereek leaps up from his stool and spills one of the vials of skunk musk across his workbench. "Sorry, Kereek! Prazil am not for meaning to open door so hard! Since fight with Tiger People and the Armags, Prazil am just much stronger and Prazil am forgetting that sometimes with doors."
The knightly kobold stands in the doorway no longer in the dragonscale armor he'd worn previously. Now, his armor is thicker and dull gray - hard wrought iron. He wears a matching shield slung over his back and takes a single step in before coming to a stop. "Anyway, Prazil am wondering if Kereek would be for liking to visit Sootscales! We could be for going together and you can be for showing them that you can turn into a dragon and Prazil can be for showing them how strong Prazil am now. Prazil am needing for to be patrolling that way anyway." He looks expectantly at his clutchmate, still near enough to the door that the spilt musk hasn't reached his nose.
Kereek sighs as the skunk musk breaks and the scent of rotten eggs fills his nostrils. "GACK! You am... YOU AM MAKING IT STINK, PRAZIL!" Still coughing loudly, he chokes and gasps as he staggers from the room. "Yes yes! Getting away from HERE am good idea! But wait... you am saying we am visiting... MOTHER?!?"
"Kereek, you can be for turning into a dragon! Whole tribe am for being impressed. Mother am for liking it too Prazil am guessing." He then hesitates before adding more softly, "Maybe you can not be setting her favorite rug and cave on fire this time though."
During her interactions with Katerina, Marcelline's eyes practically bug out. "Girl, you're ashamed about not being able to protect me? Listen, I'm an adult. I've been to war. I'm a warrior. I can handle myself." She smiles a little bit. "Horde of immortal skeleton warriors notwithstanding."
"Now, no more awkwardness. Want to switch weapons?" She laughs, exchanges weapons with Katerina, and the pair have an awfully awkward and fun time - neither having trained in the use of the other one's weapon.
Meanwhile, Marcelline celebrates the opening of her tavern. She hand-paints a sign which she hangs from a chain in front of the building, proudly proclaiming the building as being called 'The Zealot's Rest'. Soldiers of Thronehold get their first drink free and she invites the whole party out to celebrate with her. Her first opening has beers and wines that her celebrated brewer Gunnar has created, but only liquor that she was able to buy in time. It'll be years before she has her own liquors on tap.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Kereek glares at his oblivious clutch-mate. "Mother am not for being impressed! Mother am for being scary! Remember when Kereek am trying to make moon-radish cake for birthday?!? Mother am NOT HAPPY when fire starts! Who am Mother yelling at? KEREEK. Remember when Kereek am trying to give gift for Egg Day and Mother am yelling because Kereek am mixing up poisonous snake with not poisonous snake? Mother am scarier than dragon." He mutters a few more incidents under his breath, enumerating the many times he has failed in Mother's eyes.
"Alright, we am better be going now before Kereek am deciding stinky eye burning am better than family visit."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
The pair of kobolds return from their visit to their nearby tribe just in time for Marcelline's tavern opening, and Prazil once again nearly blasts one of the doors from its hinge as he enters besides Kereek. "We am back!" He pronounces their arrival triumphantly and smiles, rushing in to greet Agnar and Kereek and Kat and Baron Jon and Orin and Marcy with hugs stronger than anything Prazil's size should have the ability to offer.
Prazil had never yelled at their Mother before, and he didn't bring up the incident during the ride home, believing Kereek would be happier to avoid recollecting the event if at all possible. Prazil couldn't really say why he had done it, but when he saw their Mother start to get angry at Kereek again, the rust-scaled kobold couldn't help but spring to his clutchmate's defense. He wondered inwardly if Kereek believed what Prazil had said about him in those heated words, that Kereek could be a dragon whenever he wanted but that, more importantly, Kereek was one of the greatest heroes, bigfeet or otherwise, in the whole land. He was also sorry he broke their mother's door as the pair left her cave, but he didn't bring that up either.
The whole tribe had gaped in awe at Kereek's draconic transformation, and gaped too at Prazil's own tauric form and at how strong the kobold had grown, though perhaps a little less so than they had for Kereek, and that memory was enough for Prazil. He smiled at his clutchmate as they joined the bigfeets in the tavern and began celebrating. Before long, Prazil was laughing freely and challenging Orin and any other takers to a game of arm wrestling.
He wasn't sure when it had happened, but Prazil felt at home in Thronehold now; moreso than he'd felt anywhere else.
Having prevented the rise of the barbarian lord Armag, you return home, where fates seem to have a period of peace and quiet in store for you. You set yourselves to building the kingdom again, erecting a wizard's tower and Marcelline's brewery, while taking trips into the wilderness at the same time as you add land between Thronehold and Fort Drelev to the growing kingdom of Hartsland.
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, and eventually the months turn into a couple years, when you receive a message from Duke Jon asking you to attend on him in court, as the kingdom has received an inviation from Pitax.
The ornate, ribbon-bedecked paper, its wax seal broken by the duke, reads:
The Rushlight Tournament is one of King Irovetti’s most popular traditions. A Rushlight Tournament has been held every year since King Irovetti claimed the crown; it’s a popular event that draws the majority of its contestants from Pitax but also sees participants from throughout the River Kingdoms. The tournament traditionally takes place on a small area of cleared land on the southern shore of the Rushlight near the
northern border of Pitax.
"I think we must attend," Duke Jon muses. Even if we don't compete, there are possibly valuable contacts we can make to facilitate trade and other alliances, and we wouldn't wish our absence to be taken as a sign of weakness or insult. The messenger, a man named Velemandr, awaits. He says he will wait overnight for us to reach our decision."
Marcelline's had a very productive couple of years. After opening up her first brewery and getting to work selling booze to the very thirsty citizens of Thronehold, she had used the profits from it to expand several times since the opening of her first business, the Zealot's Rest. First, she had built a larger, grander building completely given over to the task of being a distillery, and hired a half-dozen professional brewers to crew it. Eventually, the demand in Thronehold had grown too small for her now-large alcohol production (which included a variety of fermented beverages, including cider, beer, wine, and liquors made from all of the local kinds of fruit) and she had purchased a pair of riverboats, hired a couple of sailors and a dozen guards.
Today, Marcelline makes a tidy profit shipping her product down the river to Mendev and Brevoy, as well as selling it at home in Thronehold. She's invested all of the money she's made right back into her business, and has taken a couple of trips personally out on her riverboats to make some connections with some folk out in far-flung cities. She doesn't fill up all of the room in her boat with alcohol alone, obviously, and when people need things moved from place to place discreetly, Marcelline is happy to do so for a small fee.
so, she is rather smug and sitting pretty as she sits in Baron Jon's council room with the small-town King and his heroes. "Going to Pitax sounds like a wonderful vacation." she says, grinning happily. "I'm sure that there are many ventures we could take while we are there. Trade, indeed. And I bet we could perform favorably in these contests."
Kereek blinks a couple times, then pipes up. "What am this Rush-Light Tourney-mant? What am they turning over?"
Prazil looks to the gathered bigfeets and asks plainly, "What kind of champion am Pitax looking for in Rushlight? If it am combat or battle then Hartsland am for sending Prazil and Spike and it am not even for being challenge." The little kobold, thicker in the chest, arms, and neck than he had been even a summer ago, rolls his neck as he makes the claim, as if ready to ride to the competition that very moment to seize victory. "Duke Jon am right, Hartsland am strong and we should not be for looking weak. We should be for accepting!"
Agnar raised an eyebrow at Irovetti's use of the title "Prince-Regent of the Sellen".
"Yes, we should attend. It will give us a chance to take the measure of this king, and his kingdom."