"Wait, Anders. What will the guild think of what happened here? What will they do, now that we've stepped in the way?" Milo looks nervously at the now-friendly Anders, the implications of crossing a guild of assassins sinking in.
"Keep her well-fed and she won't eat you," Milo jokes with the stable hand, scratching Nix behind the ears. Knowing that Mayor Sellemius and his squire are waiting to begin the class, Milo keeps his visit short and decides to come back after the lesson to keep Nix sharp on her own training.
Milo sits at the desk, listening to Jantle's lecture. He fidgets, not used to remaining still for so long. He doesn't ask any questions, but the importance and amount of work needed just to rule a small town and eventually a kingdom - not just opening some sort of settlement or trading post in the wilderness - is becoming more apparent.
Seraphina nodded solemnly at hearing what she had expected from the assassin. Her eyes met Idris' in sympathy, but her mind had already begun to wonder how they might fake a death convincingly enough.
"Yes, What about us? Your leader threatened that Daggermark would continue to send it's assassins for us if she perished and she has. Was that mere bluster on her part, or do we need to be watching the shadows for your kind?"
Sera helped Maja to stop the wizard as he went to free the man. "Maja is right, Kivan. He may be under your spell just now, but he and his fellows have defied the laws of Restov and would do so again. He must be given over to the proper authorities."
She gave a tight smile and noded when Iona spoke of her dreams of a strong knight to protect her. She remembered when she'd had such dreams and it was a happy, albeit naive, time. A time when she had imagined her father and brothers were brave and strong enough to overcome any challenge. Iona was young still, and her dreams should be happy and warm for a while yet before cold, stark reality crept into her life.
She brightened at hearing Guy was in town, and made sure to tip the harpist generously for the information. perhaps Idris or Milo would like to come along when she went to inquire about the fellow. She dropped her voice to her party, "Good luck, our river-travelling friend is in town. Should we inquire after him soon?"
The whole business with the assassins and Numesti's covert note had left Sera feeling more vulnerable in the sprawling, well-built rooms than she ever had under the open sky of the Greenbelt. She felt childish asking, but she knew Maja would not criticize. She took a moment to ask her quietly. "I'm not sure we should let ourselves be completely separated in this place. There are still assassins loose in the city, and I would feel safer if we paired up in the rooms. Would you mind if I stay with you, Maja?"
Seraphina was very attentive to the young squire as he lectured, in fact, her rapt attention was so focused on him that she worried he might be a bit unnerved. He did seem to clear his throat overmuch for such a spry lad. But her engaged manner was wholly genuine and she had quite a few questions during the lesson.
"Master Jantle, is there a particular formula for early expansion that tends toward successful, stable territories? More specifically, what should be built first? Also what sort of tactics would you recommend for bringing together disparate peoples into a cohesive community?"
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”That was no bluster,” replies Anders as he rises. ”Daggermark will send more numerous and more skillful forces until either they get their mark or you show the Guild that it’s more expensive to pursue the problem than to ignore it. Even then, they’ll find someone who looks like her and make a show of an execution. They might not take kindly to your continued involvement, either.” The assassin shrugs. ”You might just have to kill a whole heaping pile before it’s all over.”
Anders doesn’t look enthusiastic about being turned over to the authorities, but he makes no attempt at escape. ”You’ll put in a good word for me though, right? On account of me being helpful? I’d rather not swing, if it’s all the same to you!”
Iona blushes at your praise. ”You’re very kind, Elder Sister. Yes, Kisandra is very like my father. We’ve no brothers, and he’s encouraged her interests in soldering. She eats beef with every meal and lifts heavy weights with the footmen, they treat her like a brother. One time,” she giggles, lowering her voice to confide in you, ”A boy from a merchant caravan got too friendly with her against her protests. She broke his nose and threw him from a second-floor window! She’s a good older sister, I’ve never had troubles from others when she’s about.”
”That’s exactly what you’re setting up.” replies Arvin. ”After you’ve been ennobled at the Ball, you will have titles and be a proper member of the nobility. Excepting Lady Medvyed, who has such status already, of course. You will select a crest and heraldry and be entitled to all the protections and responsibilities of nobility: Ransom from the battlefield in times of war, exemption from the Throne’s levees, favor from the Law. You will be obliged to extend the same treatment to other nobles, provide troops to the Throne when called upon to do so, et cetera. You can call yourself whatever title you prefer, but holdings of a certain size are required to truthfully name yourself Baron. Baron Drelev, for example is no true baron, and those in the know can and do hold that against him.”
”I’ve not found mention of this in the history of Brevoy, yet recall said history stretches back a mere two hundred some odd years. Establishment of new holdings in the River Kingdoms, however, is commonplace enough to be uneventful. Holdings are established, lost, and re-established with some regularity there.”
”Lady Medvyed, it is generally regarded as prudent to establish food sources and defensive walls as a first measure. The River Kingdoms are an extraordinarily violent place and though your holdings fall outside the normal boundaries of that land, you are not so far removed as to completely isolate yourself from that climate. It is critical to lay in supplies of food for the first winter; there will only be time for one crop to mature before the land freezes, and if insufficient food is at hand it will be required that you purchase some. A road connecting your holdings to the South Rostland Road will be helpful for that task – teamsters will be more eager to journey to your lands and reap a greater profit on a road instead of trackless plains. After that, it is more a question ‘of what do we have need in this moment’; I am no diviner to see the future of your lands. You can be sure, though, that the Lord-Mayor shall willingly give you sound advice as needed. As to community, that’s a subject I have little knowledge of. The best I can say is to make sure all peoples have a strong representative voice and that all concerns are responded to quickly and in a forthright manner. As long as people are well-fed and feel respected, they’re unlikely to cause problems.”
Kivan finds a merchant of odds and ends who has the skull of a cyclops for sale for a few silver. It’s old, but in pristine condition.
"We'll do our best Anders."
Kivan shows the merchant a gold coin.
"You can have the gold coin if you give me the skull and the location of where it was found, or point me in the direction of where someone might know."
"I think putting a word in for him certainly won't hurt. Oh! Where is Daggermark, anyway?"
Kivan slowly grins.
"That's nothing, the work of novices. In a short while you will see a wizard's true power."
Milo looks around they alleyway suspiciously, as if more assassins might be lurking on the rooftop. "We'll just have to be careful. I know some ways to protect us when we aren't in civilization. Kivan, maybe you have some tricks up your sleeves too?"
Hearing Sera mention Guy, Milo grins. "You know Guy too? I wouldn't mind going to see him, haven't talked to him in ages. I'm sure he's got some good stories to share. How did you meet?"
Milo listens with interest to Jantle's suggestions. These were in line with what he had been thinking of when he volunteered to settle the Stolen Lands. Much more reasonable than archaic laws, taxes, heraldry, and battlefield ransoms."Growing food, hunting, and building defenses. I can work with that. "
Seraphina took a deep breath and puffed it out, blowing her hair out of her eyes. She found it odd that the man professed to not wanting to die, when only moments earlier he attempted to poison himself. "Very well, we'll speak on your behalf."
And she did just that, making sure to detail to the jailers Anders' crime and the fact that he was especially cooperative just now. "Kivan, ask about his associates before we leave, would you please? Their names and if he knows where they might be hiding here in the city." It seemed prudent to learn what they could about the men who were still hunting them and she felt sure the guards would be interested in the information as well.
Sera grinned, "Goodness! Having an elder sister sounds much like having elder brothers. Will we be meeting Kisandra this week as well? Perhaps she will attend the ball?" Terrion's eldest sounded like she would fit in well with their group of warrior women.
She chuckled when Milo asked how they met Guy, "Well, that is an interesting tale. We encountered him along the river when one of the captives we'd taken when we defeated the Stag Lord mistook the poor fellow for a villain he once played on the stage. Big brute of a man, he might have finished him off before we knew what had happened if not for the quick actions of a..." Her eyes flickered about furtively for a moment, landing on Idris before finishing her sentence, "...good friend that you've yet to meet, Milo."
She was relieved to bunk with Maja and squeezed her hand in thanks, glad they were of like mind on the matter.
Seraphina nodded, pleased to be making a list of what should be done first. "Livestock is certainly to be considered as well. Do goats and sheep do well in the lowlands?" She had frankly come to miss the sound of bleating mountain goats and sheep from her homelands and she knew them to be some of the most efficient and easy to care for animals.
"How do we begin to create a road? I had thought well traveled paths were typically worn into the land and packed smooth by the passage of many feet."
Later, Seraphina and Milo went to see if they could find their mutual friend, Guy de Aldifierri. She dressed more simply for the occasion, though she continued to fashion her makeup to camouflage her scales.
"Well met again, Master de Aldifierri. I hope you have been well since we saw you last. I told Milo here a bit about how we met. I wonder, have you told that particular tale to anyone recently?"
"I have a few ways to protect us anywhere we go."
Kivan then turns his attention to Anders.
"Do you know where your other friends might be, and what were their names again?"
Before Kivan retires he casts an alarm spell to go off audibly if anyone enters his room.
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”We don’t know each other’s names. Keeps us from squealing on the others if we, well, get caught up like I did. We pick a name for each assignment, only our handlers know our real names. Only one I knew for sure was “Big” Shaw Halfthorn, we used to run together back in our river rat days. I didn’t see him laying in the alley so I figure he got away. He’s the muscle-bound type with black hair. Used to make a livin’ hauling hundred-pound sacks of charcoal from the burners at Edgewater to barges on the Sellen. Figure by now he’s made a clean break of it, he’ll be reporting back to Daggermark. You probably haven’t seen the last of him. Daggermark’s plum square in the middle of the River Kingdoms, friend. ”
Anders willingly accompanies you to the closest outpost of the Restov Guard, a barracks strategically placed at the intersection of two large streets. Inside, you find the same captain who responded to Idris’ duel with the assassin leader, scratching away at a logbook with a quill pen.
”You again. And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
After hearing your explanation, the captain nods and rises, summoning two footmen with a wave to secure the prisoner.
”Very well. We will take your words into consideration at his trial. He will be treated fairly under the Law, rest assured. Thank you for his apprehension, I hate the thought of assassins loose in the city. If you have any further need of the Guard, you may call upon my name.”
The officer produces a calling card from his desk and hands it to Seraphina. The card names the officer as Guard Captain Everan Barlomanth.
Iona shakes her head. ”Kis thinks very little of social functions. She’s more at home in leather and mail than silks and dresses. She’s not shy with words, and will say things more fit for a footman than a lady. Father made sure to stress how we’re to build alliances here, and Kis is liable to speak her mind plainly and cost opportunities. Everybody’s in agreement that she’d do no good here, and she’s certainly happy to escape the Ball. She’s back at home with Mother, helping her pack for the move. I’m not sure how well Mother will like living in rough quarters, our house in New Stetven is quite comfortable. I’m sure we’ll get along well enough, though, and with the help of Erastil’s teachings we’ll soon have a proper little town.”
The most probable time to find an entertainer at an alehouse is in the evening, so that is when you depart to find the riverman actor. You find Porter’s Taphouse easily – it’s the best-lit structure amid the dark and silent warehouses near the river. The inn is built of stout timber frames and plaster walls, the whole assembly slouching slightly to the side like a boat taking on water. Light, rough laughter, and the scent of roasting meat spill from the open door and every window into the surrounding streets. Despite the chill of the spring night, several clusters of burly men lounge around the street outside the inn on rough-hewn plank benches, drinking from large mugs and loudly gaming at cards and dice by candlelight.
Inside, the Porter’s Taphouse is packed – easily a hundred guests. The primary clientele of the establishment seems to be manual laborers, as nearly everyone inside is a well-muscled man in rough clothing. Whores ply the crowds, laughing and draping themselves on the laborers with garb clearly indicating their profession. Better-dressed waitresses deftly squeeze through the confined space, miraculously balancing trays of ale mugs and platters of roasted game fowl as they twist and turn through the sea of bodies. A wooden bar and wall of barrels separates the dining room from the kitchen, and a bored-looking brute with a shaved head, an eyepatch, and gold hoop earrings dangling from cauliflower ears leans against the bar, watching the crowd and casually twirling iron knuckle-dusters about his fingers. Behind the bar, an older man with fading hair and a slight paunch runs a cashbox and a chalkboard with tabs written on it.
Through the throng, you catch sight of your mark. A space has been cleared in front of the blazing hearth, and in this clearing a shirtless Guy de Aldifierri and two other men square off. Guy is clad only in leather trousers and a red headband, and his hand hovers near the sword thrust through his belt. One of his adversaries is clad in a handsome suit of black wool trimmed in red silk, similarly poised to draw. The third man wears a harlequin’s mask and a noble’s outfit, also ready to leap to action. The three exchange lines that are completely lost in the wash of sound from the raucous crowd. Upon some spoken signal, all three pull their swords and engage in a bout of flashy swordplay. You recognize what’s happening as an act – by their costumes, the three performers are in the roles of the Three Magnificent Ones, a folk story about a prince, a farmer, and a knight who fought a three-way duel to the death for the hand of a maiden all three loved. The actors know what the crowd wants – the fight drags on for ages, far longer than a proper stage presentation would have. After nearly half an hour of “fighting”, Guy “dies” appropriately, suffering a “mortal blow” from the prince and slaying the knight before expiring dramatically next to his fellows. The crowd cheers and boos, and the three actors make their exit. The space they occupied is swiftly absorbed by the crowd. Guy heads to the bar and speaks with the money-tender, drawing some coin and a mug of brew. He’s seated on a stool with his ale, bare chest glistening with sweat and breathing hard as he recovers from the exertion when you approach.
Guy recognizes you as you approach, and you see his eyes flick around you as he sizes up who’s approaching him. He nods at your greeting. ”Indeed, Lady Medvyed. And sir, I think I recognize you. You seem familiar, but the name escapes. No, I’ve not spoken a word of our meeting in the wilderness. I’d as soon forget the whole matter, right? I got out with my hide intact and delivered as promised, so you’ve no reason to hunt me down, aye? At least you seem to have left the orc behind this time!”
”A road can be made that way, Lady Medvyed, but laborers can accelerate the process by clearing ground, leveling it, and paving with stones or gravel. Expensive, but invaluable for trade. I see no reason why sheep and goats could not prosper in the Stolen Lands. They are found in the mountains because they are hardy and clever, so they should do just fine where food and shelter are more abundant, so long as they are protected from the predators who could not find them in their mountain homes.”
When Maja makes her inquiry, Jantle looks embarrassed. ”Truth be told, I’d prefer reading a book over swinging a sword. I do not know how I came to be noticed by the Lord-Mayor, but only a fool would turn down such an opportunity. My mother is infirm and I never knew my father. I worked as an errand-boy for the Guard since the age of eight to bring in some money for food, but we were often dependent on the Maidens of Desna for charity. She now lives in comfort on Restov’s account, and I have my life at the Palace. If the Lord-Mayor says I am to swing a sword, I shall do so.”
The merchant pauses for a moment to recall, eying the gold with ill-concealed desire. ”I purchased it from an explorer by the name of Vinter Jess, a man of Taldor who walked from Oppara to Restov. He said he found it in the mountains to the south, amid a large clearing guarded by rune-carved sentinel stones. He found several graves of mammoth size, but only retrieved this skull before an unnatural fear forced him to flee. Vinter had many quizzical oddities which I bought, of which this only remains. He departed for a return trip to Oppara almost a year ago.”
Seraphina turned to Milo and sighed. "Well, I was concerned he might not remember us fondly, it was a tense day... and probably my fault, frankly." She then turned to Guy, "I suppose I have hunted you down, but perhaps not for the reason you think. Some unfortunate events required that I ask the question, though. In truth, I will have need to employ some help soon and naturally, I thought to inquire into acquaintances first. You are perhaps not so much acquainted with me, but you are acquainted with the Stolen Lands, yes? But if you are too put off, I suppose I shall have to inquire elsewhere?" She looked about the room pointedly and smiled, realizing she would not have to go far at all.
Holy lords! Either it made perfect sense or she was getting as mad as the beggar, cause she was starting to believe it. Of course the word King grabbed her attention to the subject like nothing else would, but still she was living proof of what this guy was saying, was she not? The rogue wanted to tell him who she really was, but that would be insane and dangerous. The mad man could go really nuts and all her effort would be wasted. Plus, she was more worried about this being related to Sellemius and Restov, but as that was not truth she could get some info, and decide later on whether to use it or not. So Pretty took it easy, following the path of least resistance and agreeing with him. "Oh gods, that sounds terrible! I knew the king was evil, but to that extent? What can we do about it? How do you know that?" After he replies she add just some more questions about it, asking/suggesting if was there anyway they could prove it, or if was there anyone certainly involved in this, that they could interrogate.
Pretty was about to mention that he would get executed anyway, so they should finish him off, but she kept her mouth shut to avoid sounding like a heartless demon. Of course it was best for them not to let loose ends, and the assassin certainly knew more than the ones who fled. So she made a disgusting face when the others tried to save the guy, and she could not resist but to be realistic. "But of course he is an assassin from Daggermark, and he tried to kill us, and if he goes back - what he will certainly do - they will have one more man to send on the next attempt, and they will know more about us. Also, he tried to kill himself and did not help us on his own will, so yeah, he would be better off executed as the law demands. We almost died today." They would already have assassins coming their way, aside from a hidden cult of crazy wanna-be Ashardalons, a kingdom to build, a lot to learn and some noble to scare away. So yeah, one less loose end would be nice for a change.
Pretty paid attention to the lesson, trying to understand all the nuances of it, although the treasure part called her attention even more. Money would give you power, more than just a noble title, as Drelev certainly knew, so they should focus on that, at least in the beginning. Of course being noble was certainly useful, but with her appearance it was dubious if she could really be treated as such. Plus, being important could be a problem, as that would draw the attention of the Surtova. Maybe she was giving that too much importance, but the latest events showed that there was smoke in this...
Pretty went along with Sera and whoever else wanted to, but she made sure the sorcerer would not go alone. "Well, it was not such a traumatic event after all, right? You didn't get hurt..." She was about to ask him if he kept his mouth shut about Bara, but she wasn't included in her little advice. She made a mental note to remind she's not the only one in danger, next time.
Iona shakes her head. ”Kis thinks very little of social functions. She’s more at home in leather and mail than silks and dresses. She’s not shy with words, and will say things more fit for a footman than a lady. Father made sure to stress how we’re to build alliances here, and Kis is liable to speak her mind plainly and cost opportunities. Everybody’s in agreement that she’d do no good here, and she’s certainly happy to escape the Ball. She’s back at home with Mother, helping her pack for the move. I’m not sure how well Mother will like living in rough quarters, our house in New Stetven is quite comfortable. I’m sure we’ll get along well enough, though, and with the help of Erastil’s teachings we’ll soon have a proper little town.”
Idris hears the discussion of the older sister, and breaks into the conversation. "This Kis sounds like a woman after my own heart -- I've always felt much the same way. You're all heading for the hold you've been granted by charter, like us, is that right? Oh, sorry, I'm Idris, Maja may have mentioned me. Sorry to interrupt, Maja, I just heard 'more at home in leather and mail than silks' and thought you were talking about me at first." Idris grins.
Idris watches the 'swordfight' avidly, noting the technical ability of the performers as they mimic the moves of proper fighting while avoiding causing damage. (The appeal of Guy's sweat-gleaming, uncovered upper torso seems to be entirely lost on her.)
Milo listens to Seraphina's tale of meeting Guy attentively, wondering just how many interesting people the group happened to know. "Hmm. I hope we run into all of these interesting friends some day. Guy came through my village a few times over the past couple of years. He would stop at the Leaning Ox - the one tavern in town- and tell all sorts of interesting stories about the amazing places he's been. Gave me the itch to get out of there and see the world, that there was something more out there than farmlands and forests."
Too busy reminiscing, he does not notice her glance at Idris.
Milo watches the mock sword fight with awe, clapping and cheering along with the crowd.
Afterwards, he offers his hand to Guy, disappointed that the famous wandering minstrel does not remember him. "Master de Aldifierre, Milo Silverbrush. I heard many of your tales about Mivon and Pitax in the Leaning Ox in Everfield. That battle was fascinating - it's a shame that the prince won, I thought for sure you would win the fight and the hand of the maiden!"
With the whirlwind of events over the past few days, Milo does not even think to make any connection between the orc that the assassins mentioned and the orc that Guy brought up.
Kivan simply walks next to Pretty and whispers to her about his plan outside of anyone else's hearing.
Kivan examines Jangle closely.
"Have you had any experiance with reading magical writings? Do you wish to learn about magic? If so what type of magic?"
Kivan hands over the gold piece with a smile.
"Thank you for the information and skull good sir. If you happen to hear or find more items like this you could earn even more from a curious wizard like myself."
Kivan then begins to recall anything he can about the area that the merchant described and how close it was to their chartered area.
After having spent the day shopping and learning Kivan gets down to business about making an item for himself. Working every harder to create the item quickly.
Alfred? Pretty looks confused... She heard that name somewhere, and as much as she could recall the wizard used it to name his invisible servant, or something like that, so it was reasonable to presume he misspelled the name of the assassin. She also replied in a low tone not to be overheard.
Sera clucked her tongue at Pretty's suggestion that they end the fellow there and then... but left it to Kivan. He seemed to know what he was about. Later, once they had parted with Anders and were again on their way, she said "We cannot accept the Lord-Mayor's friendship with one hand and then flout his laws with the other. Besides, if the man is still determined to off himself, I suspect he will find a way to succeed."
Seraphina took the proferred card with a respectful nod of the head. "Thank you, Captain Barlomanth. I won't forget. If they continue to hunt us, we may be bringing you more at some point. These death dealers seem determined, but I do hope we will not have need to defend ourselves on your fair streets again. Frankly, I was worried we were in violation of the law about public dueling. Perhaps you could clarify the specifics of the law in that respect? We do not want to transgress, but what should we do if we find ourselves in need of defending ourselves again. Oh!" She reached into a pocket and withdrew the broken remains of the poison tooth wrapped in a handkerchief. "He nearly took his own life with this, we were barely able to stop him from perishing from it's effects. Handle it carefully. He also spoke as if agents of Daggermark might come for him now, so be forewarned." She gave him a somewhat bleak but appreciative smile.
Sera smiled brightly at Iona's description... She had a brother like that. "She should meet my brother Bernard! He is bold as brass as well and when we were young my mother was always fussing about his complete inability to keep the mud off his boots. He was only really happy when he was outside. Hunting, patrolling, losing his pesky little brother and sister in the woods!" She tried to feel only the happiness in those memories, but it was still melancholy to reflect on.
She turned to Terrion, "How far is your new settlement to be from the Trading Post where we met? I'm sure you remember that the Leveton's place is quite cozy if your wife needs a respite from the wilds. Iona, did you bring something for the Ball? I will need to do some shopping, both for myself and these two." She gestured at Maja and Idris. "Perhaps you would like to come along, that is, if your father approves? We have had some trouble on the streets, but I sincerely hope that won't happen again."
Later, speaking with Milo, she chuckled almost ominously at his remark. "Oh, I'm sure you'll meet them all along the way. We're going to have need of all the friends we can muster soon."
Seraphina was growing more excited by the moment, scribbling notes and thinking through their options. "Oh yes, for protection we will certainly need dogs! Oh, that means we'll be getting puppies soon... Splendid!" Soon there would be pups and lambs and kids! She could hardly contain her girlish glee.
But soon another thought drew her up short, "Goodness, we'll need to establish laws and taxes. How do we begin to do that? How does the Lord-Mayor contend with taxes, Master Jantle?"
She smiled warmly when the young man revealed his situation, "Well, we can certainly see why the Lord-Mayor values you so much. A keen intellect like yours lends itself well to magical study and it is just as useful on the field of battle as a sword. Is that something that interests you?"
She had been sketching some notes for a while and now she passed around a note to each of the party members...
Ruler: Add Charisma mod to Economy, Loyalty, or Stability (no new hexes, Farms, Roads, or districts. +4 to Unrest).....Sera
Councilor: Add Wisdom or Charisma mod to Loyalty. (-2 to Loyalty, +1 Unrest *)..........................................................?
General: Add Strength or Charisma mod to Stability. (-4 to Loyalty).............................................................Kesten Garess?
Grand Diplomat: Add Intelligence or Charisma mod to Stability. (-2 to Stability *)..........................................................Guy?
High Priest: Add Wisdom or Charisma mod to Stability.(-2 to Stability and Loyalty, +1 Unrest).......................................Maja
Magister: Add Intelligence or Charisma mod to Economy. (-4 to Economy)................................................................... .....Kivan
Marshal: Add Dexterity or Wisdom mod to Economy. (-4 to Economy)................................................................Idr is or Milo
Royal Enforcer: Add Strength or Dexterity mod to Loyalty (can -1 Unrest)...................................................Bara or Idris or Milo
Spymaster: Add Dexterity or Intelligence mod to Economy, Loyalty or Stability (-4 Economy, +1 Unrest)..........................Pretty!
Treasurer: Add Intelligence or Wisdom mod to Economy (-4 Economy, *)...................................................................?
Warden: Add Strength or Constitution mod to Loyalty (-2 Loyalty and Stability)..............................................................Bar a or Kesten?
Clothes for the Ball, also some extra outfits
Books on variety of subjects (Building: roads, bridges, homes, forts, etc. Food Production: Fishing, Herding and breeding of livestock, Dairying, Butchering, Cooking, Food storage and pottery, Irrigation, Waste Magagement, Crafting: clothing, furniture, cookware and general items, wool processing. Engineering and Architecture. Some literature and Poetry, On the study of civics, On each of the surrounding territories if available.
Glassware for Bokken
Spices and salt
Something special for Svetlana
Crop seed?
Farming Supplies (small sized as well)
Cloth, needles and thread
What all else do we need for our preparations and to trade with our k. friends?
Pretty also takes a look at it, but it wasn't what she was expecting. Could it be Sera misjudged her? Or was the rogue fooling herself? Treasurer was her natural role, she thought, since she was very good with numbers and not so good with people, but then she analyzed it for a second time. Both roles are needed by a large kingdom, but which one suits me best?
She was sneaky, and faster than anyone in their group, including Idris. Pretty could easily slip away from bonds, cages and traps, as she demonstrated on the last events, although she have not been practicing it for quite a while. She was very good regarding physical abilities, although she lacked in strength, which usually was not required for spies. The knifemaster also knew how to negotiate and to lie, aside from having varied knowledge, be it about people, monster or madness.
Although she have never had any magical powers other than the darkness, there were items that could help her with that, as the hat she currently possessed. A simple, yet fantastic tool. Also, small weapons were the best ones for spies, and her expertise with daggers was just awesome for the job. She already knew how to disguise herself pretty well, even without magic, and could hide weapons throughout her outfit in a blink, retrieving it in a likely manner. Pretty is the Independent Combatant of the party, after all.
So, she had a varied set of skills that went well with the job, but there was more. A spy dealt mainly with information. Thinking about it, she realized that, in order to fulfill her long-forgotten goals, she would need to be the best spy there ever was, to get info on the Surtova and the rest of the families, while at the same time protecting their own kingdom. Oh, they would need protection, she knew that. The Dragonscale Throne would not be happy to realize they would have a backstage alliance with Restov, and would certainly retaliate, but how? Only a Master Spy would know before it happened, and suddenly she decided she would be just that. The image of herself standing right in front of Noleski filled her mind, but while pretending to be a petitioner Pretty moved with haste and shadow to slit his throat in the next moment. The evil thought brought a smile to her face.
There was also Daggermark, which started being a problem some time ago, and would certainly not leave them alone for quite a while. They would need information to prevent murder attempts from succeeding. Bara, Sera or even Idris would be the main targets. Hell no, all the kingdom would be in danger for that, but she could help to protect them. Anyway, a much more exciting and useful job than being the Treasurer. Knowledge was power, and it represented much more than money or a noble title, so "Hell yeah, I'm in!"
She took a second look at the list of names, and thought that maybe Devil Man and Henna could also fit in this kingdom... Maybe... Maja would certainly be an awesome High Priest, although she would also be a great leader or counselor, in which case they would have no second option for the priest job. Sera was the natural leader, but her physical changes put some doubts in Pretty's mind. Kivan's role made her shiver a little, as she immediately pictured him sitting in a bench, surrounded by little Kivans asking nonsense questions, and getting even worst answers... Idris and Milo had actually a choice, like she did, so they would be all right and probably satisfied in their position. Sera did put Bara on the list, which had several consequences, the most important being that they would really be a target for Daggermark. They would need to send them a message, and the sooner the better. Anyway, Kesten was also all right, but an spontaneous thought escaped from her mouth. "I don't think we should count on Aldifierri for now. Just saying."
Milo scans through the list, recognizing some, but not all, of the names. "Who are Bara and Kesten Garess?"
Reading the line calling out Pretty as the Spymaster, Milo turns to her. " I didn't know you were interested in information and intrigue, though any spy worth her salt must be good at keeping it a secret," he jokes.
Noticing that some of the positions are left open, and hearing Pretty's remark, Milo adds "Pretty, I agree with you on Guy - he might not want to be tied down in one place, for one thing. Hmm, do you think Oleg or Svetlana would be interested in helping us out? He does good business running that trading post, and she sure has a way of making people feel included and welcome."
Getting to the section on his own name, he pauses. He hadn't given any thought to what exactly he would do as part of a group ruling the area, he had thought more of clearing any threats out of the forests, establishing farms and orchards, and protecting any people who moved in. He realized it was really the aspects of security and protection that made him feel so strongly about settling the land.
"Sure, I'd have no trouble tracking down fugitives as the Royal Enforcer, and I'd like working with the people to see that they feel their needs are being met and keeping them safe. As Marshal, I could secure a border just fine, but Idris, you probably have more experience working with soldiers and are more familiar with the laws of the land." He looks at Idris to hear her thoughts on the matter.
Idris answers Milo's question:
"Bara is the woman who the assassins were trying to find and kill. She was one of them but abandoned them to join with us when we met her in the wilderness. Well, I say met -- she led us on a frantic chase through the wilds. She has proven herself a reliable friend and ally since, though, and... well. Yes."
"Kesten is the leader of a team of soldiers sent to protect the trading post where we've been based out of for the last few months. He's a nobleman, but not one of the snobby, self-important kinds. He's a good man and a brave one."
"Gorum might prefer his follower be a General, but I'm not sure I'm suited for that. Marshall might work better, and there's sure to be plenty of battles in that role as well."
Kivan smiles as he lays out a plan.
"The man has already revealed one of his companions this "Big Shaw Halfthorn". Knowing the name allows us to spread some rumors that Anders assisted us for a lighter sentence. We don't have to tell them everything we learned from Anders because we didn't learn all that much, but we can make it seem like he told us almost everything he knew and the name of one of his allies will be the kernel of truth that makes the rumor believable."
"Wouldn't Guy make a better councilor rather than diplomat? He is an actor for the people. If he decides to join us of course."
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Captain Barlomanth sighs as you continue to question him. ”As you have no doubt noticed, our fair city is stocked to the rafters with youngsters who possess more skill with the blade than discretion or sense.” The officer flicks his eyes to Idris, then back to Sera.
”This leads to an uncomfortably high number of dead bodies in the streets, if left unchecked. There is a proper procedure for resolving questions of honor; the formal challenge, selection of seconds, negotiation of weapons and terms. It takes a day or so to properly set a duel, and by then tempers cool and bloodlust fades. The harshness of the penalty for public dueling is probably the only reason we have blades in the city left alive at all. Now, if you are attacked you certainly have the right to defend yourself. As I did when I responded to your commotion, the Guard will determine if a duel of honor was being held. If so, those involved are detained and put before the Lord-Mayor for trial. Now, if there was nothing else?”
”Our claim lays four days’ hard ride from the Levetons,” replies Terrion. ”And most of that ride through a foul swampland. My wife is hardier than my daughter believes, have no worry.”
”Kis comes to services with us,” says Iona. ”But she’s little patience for sermons. She moves around too much to be interested in community. Father says he was the same way as a youth, and she’ll find her love of home in time.”
Iona’s eyes sparkle when you invite her to shop for the Ball. ”I should love to, with my father’s permission –“ Terrion nods his assent. ”Thank you very much for the gracious invitation, Lady Medvyed!”
”I have no experience in reading magic in truth, but my studies will include lessons in the old languages in which magical books are often written. I have not started that yet, as I have yet to master Taldan and the various primitive tongues of the barbarians that range from Numeria to Pitax. I do find magic fascinating, but it is not in the course of studies that the Lord-Mayor has set forth for me at this time.”
Jantle straightens up, a touch of pride to his stance. ”The Lord-Mayor has granted me an unbelievable opportunity and given my family comfortable circumstances, so I do my duty to him faithfully. There will be time in the future to do such investigations as I desire. As for taxes, the Lord-Mayor has established the Mayor’s Take, a flat tax of five percent upon all transactions. He funds all city expenses from this fund, and has used surpluses to invest in shares of profitable businesses, the returns on which further line the treasury. The Lord-Mayor seeks to spend Restov’s treasury wisely – instead of paying for a permanent army sufficient to defend the city, he has compelled the three Academies to make provisions towards furnishing soldiers in times of need. He also went to the Church of Gorum, but found they needed no compelling and were quite eager to supply warriors.”
Aldifierri shrugs, taking a long pull on his mug. ”Truth be told, mostly the stretch of river between Mivon and Restov, and not much else. What kind of work are we talking about?” The brawny actor follows your look to the other laborers. ”Need stuff hauled? You’ve come to the right bar. But I,” he says, jingling the purse just earned by his performance, ”have gold enough for now, with plenty to spend in relaxation before stocking up for my return trip. No blood-crazed brutes looking for my head or orc blades pointed at me in here, neither, so feel free to shop your work out to one of these fine gentlemen.”
Guy nods at Milo. ”Oh, Everfield. I knew I’d seen you before. Nice little town, nice little bar. As for the play, well, I am but an actor playing a part. My strings are held by the author’s pen.”
After expending some time and effort, Kivan is the proud owner of a magical item of his own device.
You recall from your map-readings only that there is a small mountain range between the Stolen Lands and the grass plains to the east. Taldan expeditionary forces passed that way several centuries ago, but their cartography was subpar and the mountains thus not dependably mapped. More reliably, two passes through these mountains are noted, the northern one being “a swiffte-floughing ryver one score depp, Twixt two canyan blyffs wyth nary a foote-paff betwain”, and the southern an overland route between two peaks.
Pretty smiles, impressed with the wizard's solution, and keeps whispering.
Pretty does not notice Idris' obvious embarrassment, focused as she is in her spy dreams.
Pretty will request someone else's company to walk around town selling their stuff, to avoid walking alone with that much money.
They have the Certificate of Deposit to withdraw (600gp), a MW Clock Duskwood/Mithral to find an interested collector for (~2k), and other minor stuff to sell:
- MW Thieve's tools;
- Uncured Animal Pets ~500gp;
- Ivory ~400gp;
- Silver Stag Lord amulets (4) 12,5 each?
- +1 Keen Kukri 4154gp;
- +2 studded leather armor 2087gp
- +1 Rapier (Assassin) 1160gp
Kivan makes sure to talk to the captain before they leave.
"This man was very helpful telling us many things that were helpful for a lesser sentence. He even gave a name of a co-conspirator. Due to this please look upon his case favorably."
Kivan will travel with Pretty since he has some time before he starts working on his own project for the night.
At the pathetic try of the wizard Pretty chimes in, trying to put it in a more favored manner, out of earshot of the captive, of course.
"What Kivan mean is that if the man walks out of this alive it would serve the city's purpose better. Spreading the information that he told us everything about his accomplices would make the Assassin's guild hunt him, one more loose end for them to tie, and less assassins to come into your city again, since he will need to flee north. The companion name is 'Big Shaw Halfthorn', which he had known from before his admittance to the guild."
Milo does not notice Idris's hesitation when talking about Bara, his mind swimming with the terms and ideas that Jantle reviewed, and Sera's plans for the kingdom.
Milo and Nix accompany Pretty on her shopping trip. "I suppose it will take awhile for more assassins to track us down, but it doesn't hurt to stick together." He keeps an eye out for anyone intent on causing trouble for them. While they are inside the shops, he listens to Pretty haggle with the merchants, hoping to pick up some tricks.
Later, he asks Pretty "When you have a moment, could we go over what and who you know about in the Stolen Lands so far?"
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"Oh gods," exclaims the tattered man. "It is the sweetest music to hear a friendly voice acknowledge what we all know to be true."
The man turns away abruptly, rummaging through the pitiful collection of goods tucked away in his blanket. He produces a candle and lights it with a firestarter. In the flickering light of the wan yellow flame, you get a better look at your new friend.
The man is advanced in years, probably nearing his sixth decade. From the set of his shoulders and thickness of his hands, you deduce that he was once a powerfully strong man who has wasted away to a shadow of his former self. His ragged shirt does not quite conceal a jagged, red scar that snakes up from his chest and ends on the side of his neck. Alarmingly, it is on the left side of his chest. The man's hair was once black, but is now faded to a dull grey with a few strands of color here and there. In the light of his candle, he shows you a signet ring. The ring was once a marker of nobility, but the heraldic device has been ground off to leave a rough blank patch. The man smiles grimly.
"Behold my seal. I was Count Fyrjiss, right hand to the King himself, back in our younger days. I owned a tidy estate in Port Ice, and my fortunes grew upon each ship which graced the harbor. I had everything I desired from this life - a beautiful wife, a strong son, wealth beyond all need, good health, and good friends. All changed one day, when I visited the docks to inspect my latest shipment - I dealt in ores and lumber, imported from Numeria. A porter - drunk or illiterate, I shall never know - had mistakenly taken my goods to a warehouse owned by the King, and delivered his crates unto mine! I pried the lid off a crate, and instead of iron ore I saw runes! Runes, carved into slate and obsidian, foul drawings that made my head swim and my mind reel. I dropped my crowbar and fled that place, and made immediate report to the guard! Woe, for that was my undoing! The guards charged me with tampering in demonic rituals and goods, and the king himself judged me guilty! Oh, woe is he who is judged by the demon king! My fortune, confiscated. My wife and child, wards of the King! My friends, deserters! My house, demolished! I was set for execution, but the headsman missed his stroke. Though I was sore hurt, his axe split my bindings and I flew from that place like a hawk on the hunt. Since then, I have wandered, disguised, hidden, with only my ring to prove who I once was."
"Count Fyrjiss" thrusts his hand into a pocket and retrieves a completely unremarkable brass key, which he places in your hand. "Take this, and guard it well. This key unlocks the wards with which the King has protected himself, on the Dragonscale Throne. It is too late for me, I am a dead man walking. You, my knight, must take up my banner and drive my lance straight into the heart of this demon king!"
The name of Fyrjiss does not ring any bells to you.
Pretty thought for just a moment that it was all a lie, since the story was too exaggerated to be true, but then she remembered hers was just like that, a tale of treason, demons and disguises. She could not point the finger to the man, since he could be telling the truth, at least in his own method. It could be he got involved in a surgery to get a demon hearth, and then made up a story to convince other folks to believe it. She could ask more about it, but even in her best hopes she would still get a flawed answer, like the ones before. Pretty held the key in her hands, thinking if that drunk and crazy man could really keep a key for such a long time, and specially for such a purpose. Well, it there was a key, there should be a door opened by it. She would save it, just in case. Anything she could use against the Surtovas would be kept like treasure.
"Sure, friend. I'll do what I can to bring those monsters down. Rest easy." She turns away and leaves, watching the surroundings for anyone that might have watched her conversation.
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The guard captain nods at your pleas for leniency, but doesn't seem terribly interested in the assassin's well-being. "I will mention these things at his trial. Good-day."
With that, he turns back to writing his report, obviously expecting the conversation to be over.
"Godspeed, champion!" says "Count Fyrjiss", relaxing back into his pile of ragged bedding.
Nobody seems to have been watching your conversation. As usual, the poorest of the city are as good as invisible to those more prosperous.
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After many days spent in Restov, the Mayor’s Ball finally arrives. The excitement in the city is palpable – rumors abound that the Swordlord Council has big news planned. Sword-wearing bravos loudly debate their theories in the pubs and bars across the city: A new academy of swordfighting is opening, the Mayor is retiring and declaring a successor, the Mayor is taking a wife, war is to be declared against the Surtovas, war is to be declared against Mivon. It is readily apparent that important information is to be had at the Ball, and the rumor mill readies itself for fresh developments.
In the evening, a page wearing the livery of the Liefmoore Arms fetches you from your rooms with a lively knocking. The lad tugs his forelock and proclaims ”Beg pard’n, governers, but the Mayor’s sent a carriage for you. If’n you’d follow me, it would be my pleasure t’carry bags or things as you need!”
Outside the gates of the Liefmoore arms, there indeed sits a horse-drawn carriage, a handsome affair of dark wood and mirror-polished brass riding high above the street on iron-banded wheels. The driver stands ready by the door, arrayed in formal tunic and hose, a brooch bearing Sellemius’ heraldry pinned to a half-cloak – three crossed swords, each broken at the tip, on a red field. As you approach, he bows his head slightly and opens the door for your entrance. The inside of the carriage is slightly cramped with the whole party inside, but velvet-padded seats make for a comfortable ride. The driver flicks the reins of a pair of muscular, dapple-gray horses, and the carriage rolls gently forward towards the Mayor’s Palace.
Your progress attracts a great deal of attention; carriages are comparatively rare in Restov, and any soul conveyed in such on the evening of the Mayor’s Ball is surely of great import. None, however, cause you trouble or impede your way, and you arrive at the Mayor’s Palace without incident.
The carriage halts in the courtyard of the Mayor’s Palace, and the driver aids your descent to the smoothly-fitted granite flooring. Several other carriages are parked nearby against the curtain wall, and your driver doffs his leather cap to you in farewell and begins maneuvering the ponderous contraption into some of the last available space.
The main doors to the Palace are ajar, and three Restov guardsmen in full armor flank the portal to each side. Jantle, Sellemius’ squire, stands in the doorway, his lanky limbs not quite filling out a handsome red doublet and pantaloons bloused into polished black boots.
”Good eve, Ladies and Lords,” he greets you. ”Welcome to the Mayor’s Ball. The Lord-Mayor has instructed me to place myself at your disposal and offer you his hospitality. Should there be anything you require, I shall do my best to arrange it.”
After a pause to let anybody speak up, he continues. ”Now then, if you’d follow me I shall show you to the Great Hall.”
Jantle leads you through the halls of the Palace. Fresh herbs and flowers in baskets scent the air pleasantly, while light is provided from lamps hung at intervals. The lamps emit the distinctive yet inoffensive scent of whale oil, clean-burning fuel which must have been imported at considerable expense but spares you from the sooty smoke of torches or regular oil lamps. The palace is a-bustle with workers hurrying about their tasks, as the many hands required of this event strive to meet their master’s expectations. Pages and messenger-boys scuttle about, flattening themselves against walls and doors to allow you unimpeded passage. Two burly porters wrestling a hogshead of ale up a spiral staircase from the basement level interrupt the luxurious image of the Palace with their rough language and grunts of exertion. After a walk of several minutes, you arrive at the Great Hall of the Palace, and Jantle strides through as two pages swing a set of glass double doors open. Your ears are swamped by a sudden rush of sound as the conversation and laughter of nearly two hundred guests in the cavernous hall spills from the doors like water from a breached levee. Jantle takes a deep breath and does his best to roar above the hubbub of the crowd.
”Ladies and Lords, may I introduce some of the Lord-Mayor’s honored guests – Lady Seraphina Medvyed, Sister Maja Weatherseed of the Priesthood of Erastil; Initiate Idris of the Fireblade Academy; Pretty, of New Stetven; Kivan Corsan, of Port Ice; and Milo Silverbrush, of Everfield.”
Turning to face you, Jantle bows from the waist and intones ”On behalf of the Lord-Mayor, be welcome at the Ball!”
You feel the intense gaze of the crowd upon you as Jantle speaks, sizing you up. The room is arranged on four tiers. In the foreground, closest to the main entrance, three long tables have been set lengthwise through the hall, each flanked with polished wooden benches and draped in ivory-white cloths. An elaborate candelabra runs the length of each table, with hundreds of tiny candles providing flickering illumination to the diners. The ceiling of the chamber stretches far above, where leaded glass windows reflect the flickering candlelight like constellations in the darkness. The main body of guests occupy these tables, well-dressed and well-to-do nobles, business proprietors, military officers, and notable sword-art practitioners pausing from their socializing and carousing to take you in. Seraphina, in particular, causes considerable discussion - Madame Ivirska’s wares work as advertised.
Beyond the main seating stretches a flat wooden platform, checkered in squares of teak and white oak and gaily bordered by flowers woven through delicate silver chain. This, of course, is the floor designated for dancers.
Rising above the dancing area is a set of four tables, decorated identically to the main seating area, but of normal size dwarfed by the massive tables in the entrance. Two of the tables are occupied – Baron Drelev and his group sit at one, and Varn and his “Varnling host” claiming another. Jantle escorts you to one of the empty tables, then bids you fare-well and disappears back through the glass doors towards the entrance of the Palace. Immediately, a small army of servers assaults your stronghold, barraging you with cups of wine, ale, and water, setting aflame the crenelations of candles in the centerpiece, and overrunning your bare settings with fine dining plates and silver utensils.
After they depart, victorious, you are able to get a glimpse of the other expeditionary parties. Drelev sits at the head of his table, “Lady Maray” seated on his left opposite a well-dressed but somewhat frumpy noblewoman. From her uncomfortable posture and the daggers she glares at the revealingly dressed elf woman, you presume this to be the Baroness. Kazimir Surtova sits across from Terrion Numesti, who looks up from their conversation to wave a greeting at you as you are seated. Iona Numesti, dolled up in her fancy dress, looks to be having the time of her life as she takes in the grandeur. Across from her, Terran Bister looks her polar opposite in simple black robes, his face thick with ill-concealed boredom. At the end of the table, Swift winks at Pretty as you are seated, his good arm holding a wineglass and his other still in a sling.
Varn appears to already be in his cups, flanked by two attractive but decidedly not noble women with an arm around each one. They laugh politely at his jokes. Rex Hilfsson, Varn’s magus, toys with a morsel of bread and ignores the freely flowing alcohol for simple water. Qu'illaelosa, priestess of Desna, appears unfazed by the grandeur around her and makes small talk freely, sipping delicately at a wineglass. Anvar Brunthane, as seems to be the usual circumstance, watches the crowd soberly as Varn drinks himself oblivious.
The final and highest tier of the room is a simple, unadorned table of battered oaken planks set for seven places. Behind the center of the table is a similarly distressed and plain high-backed wooden chair set with two torches burning in sconces.
Guests continue to filter in for some time. Finally, Jantle reappears in the main entrance, holding an iron-banded horn. He lifts this to his lips and blows a forceful blast, the booming sound cutting through all conversation.
”People of Restov!” he bellows, his youthful voice cracking slightly from the strain. ”Rise, for the Swordlord Council!”
As the guests rise per the custom, the Swordlord council enters the room through the main doors. Leading the way is Lord-Mayor Sellemius, clad in the mithril armor of his station, his sword scabbarded by his side. Following him are the three Heads of the Academies: Jamandi Aldori of the Swordpact Society, resplendent in her red-enameled and gold-filigreed ceremonial armor and matching sword; Solanus Kasay of the Society of Blade and Word in plain steel breastplate over his simple friar’s habit and similarly plain sword; and Pallasar DeCierre of the Fireblade Academy, his long red hair tied back in a ponytail and clad in ranger green travelling garb under black-dyed leather armor, his sword peace-bonded into its sheath by rawhide straps.
Behind them follow the three Swordlords at Large, Aldori practitioners who have distinguished themselves through mastery of their art but do not command a school: slender Ermin “The Weasel” Aldori, jaunty Lady Alynne Nohouse, and Warhound, an enormous priest of the Bulwark.
Lady Alynne used to be a member of House Orlovsky, but renounced her heritage when her family sought to prevent her studying Aldori swordfighting. At an event, a herald mistakenly announced her as an Orlovsky, prompting her to stand and yell “Of no house! No house!” at the boy. The name stuck.
Warhound’s given name seems to be unknown around Restov – at least, if somebody knows they aren’t speaking of it. Six and a half feet tall and with a physique like a bull, Warhound is equally famous for using the Aldori dueling style while dressed in the black plate mail of his order and for his abrasive personality. He seldom speaks.
Following the seven members of the Council is a page wearing a circlet of chicken feathers and bearing a staff draped with a blank standard – a jeer at the denizens of Mivon, and a reminder of the perceived betrayal that drives a wedge between the two bodies of the Aldori tradition. The page does one lap of the regular seating area before exiting, while the Council proceeds to the head table and take their seats. Sellemius waves for people to be seated.
”Honored Guests, welcome to the Ball. You have my profound gratitude for honoring me with your presence. I have important news to declare before you tonight, but first – we eat!”
The Mayor chuckles at the ripple of murmurs as servants begin serving the evening meal. The feast is as sumptuous as the Palace is luxurious – no expense was spared. The feast lasts twelve courses, starting with hearty cheese soups and sour bread, working up to roasted peacock served on platters with tail feathers intact, and cumulating with baked sweets served with a clear liquor with a strong cinnamon flavor and flecks of gold suspended in it. A troupe of acrobats occupies the dance floor, dancing to tunes played by a ten-member instrument ensemble. Several hours pass in this manner, before the servants reappear to clear places.
”Well then, to business,” booms Sellemius. ”You’ve all been patient enough. The main event of the night is an Ennobling!”
Whispers and murmurs go around the room again, as guests react to the development with some astonishment. Once again, you feel the gaze of the entire room. ”Yes, this is the first time I have exercised that power of my office,” continues Sellemius, ”But the brave souls before you have performed great services both for me and for Restov, and for Brevoy… and for ROSTLAND!”
Sellemius pumps a mailed fist skyward with that pronouncement, and a significant portion of the guests roar with approval.
”You all know of the Stolen Lands – that lush but unconquerable land between Rostland and the River Kingdoms. The Council and I decided, after much deliberation, to sponsor parties of exploration to chart those lost lands, to pacify the denizens of the wild, and to put to the sword the bandits who so sorely plague our southern reaches. Four groups we sent forth, and three have returned victorious. I have no doubt that the fourth, the Iron Shields Company, is returning even as we speak. This represents a golden opportunity for Restov to grow within Brevoy. As you know, the two lifebloods of our city are trade and swordplay. Swords, we have in plenty. Trade, less than we’d like! The wilds are there for the taking, and we’re just the ones to take it. These brave souls in front of you have not only proven by deeds their martial ability and determined resolve, but have also satisfied my demands of their character, that I judge them worthy of Nobility. The Swordlord Council has agreed with my assessment and my goals unanimously. It is your privilege tonight to be with them as they receive their just rewards. Explorers! Approach the Seat of Sirian Aldori and kneel!”
Sellemius rises as you kneel, drawing his dueling sword with the slow rasp of metal on wood. Deliberately, he walks among you and the other groups.
”Be not fooled by the promise of titles and wealth. Do you comprehend the responsibilities that the position of Nobility requires?
”Do you accept your duty, first and foremost, is to your people?”
”Do you understand that the lands you hold will demand all of you; That previous allegiances must be discarded; That your fortunes are tied to those of your land?”
”Do you agree to uphold the traditions of Sirian Aldori; To abide by the laws of the Swordpact; To never raise blade against a Swordpact nation?”
”Do you swear to support the Swordpact; To furnish blades in times of strife; to permit not the name of Aldori to be slandered; To hold your land against all foes against the most dire circumstances; To die bravely before diminishing the traditions of Sirian Aldori?”
A powerful voice shouts from the crowd as Pretty is about to speak.
”Lord-Mayor Sellemius! I object to this one!”
Amid astonished gasps, the room whirls to face a middle-aged, plate armored man who stands amongst the seated crowd. A golden circlet rests atop his white hair, and his powerful blue eyes are locked squarely on Pretty. His gleaming breastplate is engraved with the holy symbol of Iomedae – a sword highlighted against a stylized sun. He raises a gauntleted fist and points at the tiefling.
”She is no regular human, as she pretends. That one is demon-spawned, a Tiefling tainted with the blood of the Pit! To ennoble her is to profane all that is holy, and neither I nor my order shall stand idly by while you commit this travesty!”
The Mayor, astonished at the interruption, pauses briefly and composes himself. ”Ser Brywick, your warning is not needed. I know both the ancestry, and more importantly the deeds and character of these explorers. The Aldori have always embraced all those willing to strive towards our standards, and Restov is no different in rewarding its servants. Please be seated.”
”She’s not one of your prancing dandies,” spits the knight.”She’s a foul mole who will poison your whole adventure from within!”
”Are you questioning my judgment, Brywick?” Sellemius responds icily, in front of a silent room. ”You who have no standing here? I have made my decision – you may be excused, now. Unless you’d rather take satisfaction here and now? No doubt, you’ve noticed the dance floor is the regulation size and shape. Jantle – go fetch a bucket of sand for after.”
Ser Brywick goes pale and swallows hard, prompting some vocal amusement from the duelists in attendance. He flushes red with anger and embarrassment. ”Damn you, Sellemius – the Deacon will hear of this, and you will be reckoned with!” spinning on his heel, Brywick angrily shrugs off the hand of a guardsman coming to fetch him and stomps out of the room.
”Is there any other soul who has a grievance to air?” asks the Mayor, coldly. The room is silent.
”Then rise, Nobles of Rostland,” finishes Sellemius, tapping each of you on the shoulder with his blade. ”By the power of my office, I bequeath you the rights and responsibilities of nobility. Long live Restov, long live Rostland, and long live the Aldori!”
The crowd breaks into polite applause with some scattered cheering and guffawing. The musicians begin to play again, and the dance floor is soon thick with revelers making merriment. Those more reserved remain at their seats, and many light the popular domestic cigars of Rostland tobacco as the conversation, dancing, and drinking stretch far into the night.
After the dancing has gone on for about an hour, the sound of reveling and music is rudely interrupted by the slamming open of the glass doors, only the thickness of their construction saving them from shattering against the doorway. A trio of powerfully muscled men with sun-darkened skin and primitive hide garb stand imposingly in the doorway, with a flustered Jantle behind them. All three bear intricate blue tattoos that stretch in whorls over their exposed skin, marking them as Lion Tribe barbarians, and bear battle axes. The leader has a clean-shaven head and holds a crumpled metal shield in his hand.
”King Irovitti of Pitax sends his regards!” yells the leader. He throws the shield to the ground, where it slides to a halt with a harsh metallic clang. ”If you insult him again by intruding into his territory, know that a far worse reprisal awaits than merely eliminating your soldiers!” Without further comment, the barbarians about face and stride out, leaving the shield and a shocked crowd. Whispers go around the room – the shield bears the crest of the Iron Shields mercenary band. Their absence from the ceremony now has an explanation.
Late in the evening, after the bulk of guests have departed, business is attended to. A handful of persons of interest hang back to speak with you and make deals.
Your first supplicant is a portly man in expensive silk trousers and doublet, his fingers decorated with many gold rings. He bows slightly as he approaches you.
”Congrat’cheelations, gentlefolk,” he beams to you. ”I understand that yer new territory has extensive woodlands on it which you’ll no doubt need to harvest fer lumber – both fer trade and fer building. Today’s yer lucky day, cuz I represent the Brevoy Lumber Consortium – the best bunch o’ axe-swingers the world’s yet seen. I’m District Foreman Abrus Calt. As you may know, we manage the forests o’ Brevoy fer the Throne. We can use that same exper’teese to make the most o’ yer woods, making maximum profit for you and yer new holdings. The Consortium’s prepared to make a generous up-front investment in your holdings to help you get started. We kin ship down some o’ our best lumber-jacks, axes, saws, engee’neers what can build you some lumber mills, all at no charge to you. All the Consortium asks in return is a monopoly on tree-harvestin’. If’n we don’t have to worry about some other yahoos messing with our mills and sabotaging our work sites and poachin’ our men, we can make much more gold for you than otherwise. It’s a win-win for the both of us, whaddaya say?”
You are then approached by a man familiar to Maja: Road-Walker Donnaeus, a travelling priest of Erastil. He’s of fairly high rank in your clergy, and was present at your initiation ceremony. The Road-Walkers sacrifice the normal comforts of home that clerics of Erastil normally enjoy, instead covering the endless roads of the world on foot to spread the faith, minister to travelers, and keep the far-flung branches of the faith connected.
Donnaeus is a man of Andoran heritage, and holds the distinction of having walked from Andoran to Brevoy and back. The priest is thin but hearty, with a cheerful twinkle to the green eyes that peep from his wind-worn, sun-bleached, wrinkled face. He wears simple green traveler’s garb, and the clasp of his cloak has Erastil’s holy symbol burnt into it.
”Hearth and home, little sister. You’ve grown plenty since I saw you last, you and the rest of the little saplings just taking root.”
Donnaeus looks you over. ”Seen some hard times, haven’t you? You’ve a weight about you, stoops you a little. Never mind that, though, you’re a willow, not an oak. You can bend a little. Ever want to talk about it I can be found. Anyhow, congratulations on your appointment! The Church is pleased to recognize your achievements, Honored Sister. Here’s this, for starters,” he says, reaching into a pouch and withdrawing a holy symbol. At first glance, it seems like a plain wooden device, but closer inspection reveals it to be made out of Ironwood – fantastically hard and durable, this rare tree can be made into armor that turns blades like steel, or house frames that can survive an earthquake. The Church of Erastil issues these rare badges to priests who accomplish great things for the faith.
”Now then. The Church is prepared to offer some resources to help get your little town up and running. We’ve got connections here, though not as visible as the Gorumites, and can call in many favors to get you stuff that you need. In return, the Church would like you to establish Erastil’s faith as the official faith of your land.”
A gaunt, slender woman dressed in tight black robes and a hooded shawl approaches you. Her only decorations are a pendent with a spiral insignia upon it. ”I am Vengeful Guardian Myllaen of Pharasma’s Faithful,” she says briskly. ”Our offer is simple. The Church of Pharasma stands to offer you a significant sum of gold and healing magics. In return, you will forbid the practice of necromancy on your lands. That is all.”
Father Kilkynn exchanges curt nods with Warhound and strides up to you in his constantly worn black plate. ”Well done, Idris. Damned well done. Carving a realm from the unforgiving wilderness by fire and sword – that’s the stuff we’re made of. You do me proud! A new realm will need soldiers, blades, and armor. The Bulwark is poised to send you soldiers and material. In return we ask that you establish the Church of Gorum as the official faith of your land.”
You are called before Sellemius and the Swordlord Council.
”It should go without saying, as we’ve already discussed it, but Restov will remember and protect its own. I’ve arranged for ten wagon trains of goods to accompany you to your lands. Stone, lumber, wool and linen cloth, barrels of nails, sheet glass, salt beef – Jantle will get you a list. Do me proud, Noble sons and daughters of Restov. I have a feeling we will both need each other in the near future.”
Pallasar DeCierre stands and reaches across the old table to clasp Idris by the arm. ”Not bad for an Initiate. Of course, with my teachings, even an Initiate is the equal of a master of the other Academies.” Jamandi Aldori and Solanus Kasay snort in derision at the quip, but all are in good spirits. ”Shall I expect a second campus of my Academy to open presently? Or perhaps, a fourth school to vie for primacy? Either way, you have what you hold – so hold it.”
Last among your petitioners is a young man in tarnished plate armor that also bears the holy symbol of Iomedae. Your attention is immediately drawn to his face, where a red scar starts on his forehead and slashes down to the chin on the left side of his face. His left eye is concealed behind a leather eyepatch, the strap of which rests under blonde locks that spill to his shoulders. Somewhat hesitantly, he approaches you. As he draws nearer, you see that his armor, not only lacks the mirror polish of Ser Brywick’s but has seen far better days. It has been rent and torn in several places, with hasty patches of steel forge-welded over damage inflicted upon it, and presumably its wearer. The repairs were done skillfully, but in great haste – normal procedures like filing the metal mismatch smooth and polishing marks out have been forgone. Dents across the breastplate and pauldrons mark impacts that were repaired by beating the worst of the distortion out with a hammer before returning to the field of some brutal combat. One of the young man’s greaves is missing, and a piece of leather armor has been substituted. A two-handed sword is sheathed across his back, but the young man makes no hostile move towards Pretty, instead dropping to one knee before your group.
”I wish I could apologize adequately for the insult given to you this day by those of my faith,” he begins softly, ”But Ser Brywick is a great knight of power and influence, and nothing a lowly soldier like myself can do will change his course. For what it’s worth, though, I apologize for his behavior. Any of his rank should be able to see the goodness in your heart, Lady. I come before you humbly today with a desperate plea. My name is Azur Brey, Paladin of Iomedae. I hail from the village of Westwind, which lies – used to lay - two day’s ride south of Kenabres, in Mendev. When Kenabres fell to the demonic host of the Worldwound, we had ten hours’ warning before the demons were upon us. It was fortunate that Westwind had a chapel in it – our chapel master’s prayers and magic bought us precious time to evacuate, at the cost of his life. Every villager who could run made it out of Westwind, though the best we could do for the elderly was offer them a swift and painless end. My brothers and sisters and I fought a ten-day running rearguard action to hold off the demonic host, a fight that I alone survived, and barely. Fully half of the Westwinders perished from exposure, Gretchen attacks, wolves, or bandits before we reached safety within the Crusader lines.”
Brey sighs. ”But even then we could not find shelter. Those who escape the claws of that horrid host are looked upon with suspicion, as if we were tainted. It may be the cruelest weapon the Pit has at its disposal – those who survive are shunned, pariahs. I had heard that Restov was a city where a man could make his way if he was good with a sword, and so I have traveled to these lands in search for a home for my people. In an inn, I heard rumors of a new settlement – surely it was a gift from the gods that I arrive just as a new land was opening up for a fresh start. I do not have much, but if you will but allow my countrymen permit to settle in your holding and try to resume their life as simple farmers, I offer you my sword and anything else you require of me. We are thirty-five in number; six, including me, can bear arms, and two besides me are skilled at it. The rest are farmers and tradesmen, though bereft of tools and seed. We’ve made it this far, I do not doubt that given a chance we can rebuild. I ask this of you instead of the others, as you seem to be the most understanding and unprejudiced. I cannot apologize for the conduct of my Church, but perhaps I may make amends with a lifetime of service.”
Traveling to the ball Kivan made sure that his clothing was as it had always been. A black robe with no adornments as Kivan felt that less would be more at this type of party. As they get ready to be announced Kivan seems taken aback by the sheer number of humans voices coming from the room. As they are announced Kivan keeps to the back of the group so that he stays mostly hidden from the eyes of the people as they travel to their table. As Kivan and the rest are shown to their table and food is given Kivan is constantly using magic for detecting poison as he doesn't quite trust any of the food or drink. As Kivan looks at the other groups he only glances over them except for Terran. Kivan completely understood how boring this place was and he silently sent a prayer to any deity that this night wouldn't be completely boring.
As Kivan examines the chair he remembers the history of the thing, but it being a swordlord relic it can't seem to hold Kivan's attention for more than a few moments. As the call to rise is given Kivan stands as is only proper. He doesn't care much for the pomp of the other two swordlords, but the leader of the Word and Blade at least got the grudging respect of Kivan for caring about knowledge as well as swinging around a piece of iron. The following strong members of the swordlords are known to Kivan but really only the story of no house made his expression change and that was just a slight grin.
As even more food and drink is brought out Kivan can't help but wonder how anyone could each so much food, but Kivan at least tries after testing it all for poison of course. As the true reason for everyone coming out tonight is revealed Kivan gives a small measure of thanks that he can stop eating as he doesn't think he could eat much more. As Sellemius cries out for Rostland Kivan is one of the few who doesn't give any sign of cheer. Kivan then watches as others go through the ennobling giving off their answers, but as Ser Brywick objects to Pretty, Kivan can't help but sigh as once again humans show their true colors. As Brywick begins arguing with Sellemius Kivan begins whispering a few arcane words. He wouldn't stand up and defend Pretty as he had learned from his last encounter how his companions didn't want that. Instead an illusion of a sign appears over Ser Brywick's head that points downward with the word printed on it with large red letters to show how Kivan feels about the man. The sign follows Ser Brywick until he leaves the room at which point it dissipates.
Kivan then sits through the rest of the ennobling until his turn at which he gives the textbook answers with a slight smile at the point where he swears to never raise a blade against a Swordpact nation. As the dancing begins Kivan sits back at the table looking around at all the other people while using detect thoughts to see how people are feeling and to see if anyone might offer intelligent conversation.
As the doors are thrown open and the barbarians make their speech Kivan doesn't seem all that sad that the Iron Shields are gone though he makes a mental note to find out what the kingdom of Pitax might consider his territory.
"I think that they might be a good option. There are many trees in our area that we will need to take down and people who know how to take them down would be nice."
"I don't like the thought of making our state religion Erastil. I mean no offense Maja, but he did curse the older settlers for teaching the kobolds about him. Not only that but he seems to have a specific plan for women in his religion and that may cause problems with the people if the leaders don't follow that. Wouldn't affect me, or Milo that much but....."
Kivan leaves the rest of his statement to be interpreted.
"I don't like magical bans and this one I like almost the least. It is too wide a ban. I don't think we should agree."
"Well if we want to be good at fighting this would probably be the best religion for it."
Kivan doesn't pay much attention to the other swordlords as he is more focused on Solanus Kasay of the Society of Blade and Word.
"I know little about your society and was wondering if sometime I might visit and learn more about your society."
"I say we trust him. We ourselves have been felt the effects of people prematurely judging us, and I feel we should give him and his people a chance."
Idris repeats her rote responses as prompted, thinking about the name she, at last, chose for her 'ennoblement', which still feels like a joke or a pretense to her.
Idris von Schwert... Idris of the blade... It's the truth. What else do I have to claim as my own?
Kivan's visual comment on the man who questions Pretty's status earns a snort and a gentle elbow to the elf's ribs, along with a grin at him.
Pretty was completely disguised, again, but this time she had magic to help her. She took her usual merchant disguise and upgraded it revealing more than her physic allowed to, although it was just a glamer. She did not had the regular turbant and veil, for instance, showing her head and hair, although Pretty made her horns disappear with the Hat of Disguise. She made it be as if her usual clothes, that covered basically everything, were partially removed, revealing what's under it, showing to all those that had doubts the truth that she was in fact a human! Of course, not really, but that's what was showing, and if anyone had means to detect that kind of thing, to see through her disguise, well, she just hoped they would understand, but she was not caring much about it.
She got suddenly angry when Jantle announced them, thinking the guy was trying to kill her in that manner. Announcing the others through complete names, but using only her nickname, was likely to call more attention than to serve the purpose of using a nickname. What the heck is he thinking??? I'm gonna kill him! But of course she could not do that now, and as soon as the moment of anger passed away, she realized it was not Jantle's fault. He did not knew her name, and he probably didn't have a clue about how complicated the poor tiefling could get when being announced for so many people in that way, specially since this nickname was also used in New Stetven. The sudden thought brought her shivers and made her question the man's true intentions. How does he know where I'm from? She took a second look at the man, but decided this was not the time to complicate things even more. This Ball was certainly not gonna end up just fine...
Pretty saw the other groups, and once more questioned the absence of Iron Wraiths in these event. She saw too many disgusting people at this Ball, and although Swift's wink made her smile slightly, she was careful not to return it, specially after receiving so much attention during their entrance. She saw the council members coming in, and smiled when recalling Alynne's family name, thinking she could also use that in the future. It sounded nice.
Anyway, everything went normally during the feast, and she expected to have no more surprises today, but then they had the ennoblement ceremony, but well, she kinda knew it was coming, although Pretty was sure something would spoil it and forbid her from really returning to be a noble. It was her fate, after all. So close, but never quite there. And when this looser called Brywick interrupted the ceremony she knew that was it, and that the turmoil was inevitable. A tiefling would not be a noble, after all. In fact, Pretty was so convinced of this, that she was about to use all arguments to publicly humiliate the man, giving up on the title to make a lasting appeal against his lack of sense. She suffered her entire life, for gods' sake! Some enhumblement could also be performed on such a wonderful day... But then Ioseph intervened, and she didn't even have the time to defend herself, but it was not needed at all. For a moment she felt deeply grateful for the determination of this man, and respected him more than she ever did to anyone. For the first time in like, ever, Pretty felt safe, like a real woman, being protected by a strong man. The few moments of happyness she had in her childhood came back for a second, and the fading image of Setsuna flooded her mind. Ioseph was much more than the poor servant, but not in what really mattered, their character. The rogue could even love a man like the mayor, and get married one day, she thought, but then reality pulled her back from the childish dreams she kept away for so long. Still, her lips moved forming words to thank him for the brave act, although no sound came out of her mouth. "Thank you."
She didn't even seemed to notice the giant arrow pointing at the jerk, but she made a mental note to thank whoever did that, later.
Then she promised what they all should, now with a little more spirit and commitment than when she entered the hall. "I so comprehend, I so accept, I so understand, I so agree, I so swear."
The festivities went along, and she had too much to process at once. Pretty certainly did not want to dance with anyone in particular, but she knew that after what happened she would be asked, by people coming to show their sympathy, and by others that would certainly come with lies, jests and unspoken threats. Of course, for her future profession she could use all of this, so she kept a nice and charming face, and danced with anyone who wanted to.
Of course, that interruption was not pleasant, and her mind once again rushed through the subject. "So they were dead." As far as she recalled, that territory was far beyond the area they were planning to settle on, so they shouldn't need to worry about it. Pretty wondered if the Stag Lord would do anything like that, in case he had won.
Pretty had some doubts about this business, and when Maja mentioned her knowledge, oh well, it was for the best. "I completely agree with Maja. It's obvious that man will use the wood in our land for his own purpose, and we are not in deep need of wood at the moment, as far as we know. We have several hunters that depend on those woods," - she nods to Milo - "plus some mystical creatures and some unknown ones, including the rumors about the nymph. We should be careful when messing up with it, and maybe we should give jobs to the ones who want to settle in the land, instead of giving it all to an established company."
Although she agreed with the priest in the previous subject, this was worrying Pretty a lot, but she tried to put it lightly, so Maja wouldn't be offended by it. "Well, Kivan has a point Maja. Of course, we have all seen the wonders that Erastil's faith can do to people, but maybe we need to give it some more thought. I have no concerns about you leading it. I actually think it would be awesome, but you know I was never really one of the faithful ones... Anyway, the thing is, the Stolen Lands are a harsh land, and we've seen some signs of the presence of your god in our travels, but... well... there was no lasting glory, right? I mean, we should be all right, but we have signs showing us that maybe, just maybe, the land should not have an official religion. At least in the beginning, I don't know. I mean, oh this is so hard, I don't usually like to disappoint you, Sister, but maybe this land requires the love of several gods to belong to the people, at least in the beginning... Don't you think?"
The rogue is not really making a point in this one, but trying to see the Wizard's position better. She understands that forbidding that would spoil a part of his dream of making a school for wizards. "Well, Kivan, when I hear the word necromancy, I think about dead, undead, and evil stuff. I don't think that's a good thing to deal with, but I don't know much about magic. However, I've seen evil acting before, and several times necromancy was not part of it, not to mention our last problem. So, what can you tell us about it? Do you think our village would benefit from that?"
"Holy lords they sound basically the same! See, my point still stands, we may have only some small help from each faith, but it will be better than only one at all. Look at Restov! They are doing just fine with several influences, right?"
"We just hope this near future is at least some years away, Sellemius, cause right now we have close to nothing, but eventually we will be able to help." Pretty can't deny the man of what he wants, and he doesn't want much anyway. Of course it's not up to her to decide, but she can damn well help in the group's decision. "Well, I think we already accepted Sellemius' help, right? Whatever Restov needs to fight against, I'm pretty sure it won't be a righteous thing. You all know the Surtova, to mention just one of the evils of this land."
After such a warm presentation of respect from his companion in faith, Pretty analyzes the man very carefully, before making a real judgement about him. "Well, the guy has a story of a real hero. We could also certainly use a hand."
Idris fumbles her way through the bare minimum of dancing that is socially acceptable. She isn't dressed in a ball gown, anyway, but in silk ceremonial armor, similar to that worn by the other Aldori duelists. She'll make a point to talk to Ermin, Alynne, and Warhound, and if they insist she'll dance with them, but only if they insist. She'll also talk to the Academy leaders if they initiate the conversation, and likewise will dance if they insist. Anyone else asking, she'll politely but firmly decline.
She doesn't have an agenda with the swordlords, but simply wants to talk shop for a few minutes.
When the Barbarians arrive, Idris leaps up from her chair, drawing her sword and ready to defend if necessary. When it turns out they aren't attacking, she sheathes it with a contemptuous grunt.
"It seems to me that we could set requirements for their people... we'll be making the laws after all. If we want 'em to leave trees, we insist they only take every other tree, or something, or plant one for every one they cut down. I don't think we should turn away investments necessarily. At least have a discussion with 'em."
"Well, you know where my heart lies. As as for messy, you know, Maja, battle's always going to be messy. We'll need people who can handle it who are on our side. I don't want to turn away the blessings that Erastil has given us, though, from the friendly kobolds to the support you've been given. I do want Kilkynn with us, though... I wonder if some compromise could be made. Is there such a thing as a land having two established faiths?"
To Kilkynn, she answers, "I'll make the case to the others. Soldiers, blades and armor will be needed certainly. Is there any possibility I could entice you to come join us? Be the spokesman of Gorum in our land?"
"What exactly would you ask that we forbid, Madam Myllaen? Which magical practices? I don't know much about magic, but I figure to make a law you need to be precise and to the point as to what is forbidden."
"Thank you, Master Pallasar. Sir, I know it is entirely the privilege of the Master of Initiates, Count Brokav, to decide who stands for the test to pass beyond Initiate. He denied me that chance the previous times I asked. I would make the request again. I would surely wish a training grounds, if not a full campus, to be in the land we create, but I would require a formal status beyond what I have."
Idris doesn't mention the words of Brokav that drove her, frustrated, to leave the Academy and seek her fortunes in the Stolen Lands. She is sure that academy scuttlebutt has brought them to the ears of the Head, but it wasn't the initiate's place to complain about a Master's words.
"I think I'm for giving him a chance, too."
In preparation for the ball, Milo dresses in a brown and green doublet with gold buttons and trim. Reluctantly, he leaves his bow and longsword behind, hoping that the Mayor's guard and the number of duelists who will probably attend will prevent anyone from considering violence at the ball, like the assassins they encountered earlier in the week. During the carriage ride to the palace, he keeps a watchful eye out for suspicious activity.
At the group's introduction, Milo surveys the crowd himself, looking for anyone he might know. Eagerly, he joins in the food and drink, savoring the exotic and well-prepared foods. The history of the place is lost on him. While they kneel before Sellemius, Milo supresses a smile at the question do you comprehend the responsibilities that the position of nobility requires? Just a few days ago, he would have dismissively answered yes. But after Jantle's lecturing, it was clear that the responsibilities of a leader were far from simple. When his turn arrives, however, he answers loudly and clearly "I so comprehend; I so accept; I so understand; I so agree; I so swear."
At Ser Brywick's interruption, Milo glares coldly at the man, wishing there were something he could do. From his own experiences of bigotry towards his mixed heritage, people like Brywick were dangerous. Retaliation or argument would only reinforce whatever prejudices he already held. "Don't pay him any mind. He's not worth it." he mutters to Pretty.
"Of course!" Milo says with excitement to Maja, taking her hand. "I don't know these dances well, but we'll figure it out." He watches the other dancers, mimicking their moves and leading Maja. "Back home, it was mostly jigs and reels. I guess this isn't too different."
After a few dances with Maja, he invites Seraphina and then Pretty to dance as well. Seeing that Idris is engaged in conversations with the duelists, he leaves her alone and stops to talk to the Varnling Host, congratulating them on their own ennoblement and enjoying more ale. He also offers well wishes to Drelev and his group.
Milo listens carefully to Maja's input on the Lumber Consortium as she has experience with their work. "We will need lumber for building homes and fortifications, but I don't like the idea of letting them have exclusive rights to logging all of our forests. Maybe we could propose some restrictions, like only logging in specific areas, or only harvesting a certain number of trees per year."
Later, Milo asks the Lumber Consortium man directly "District Foreman, can you tell me about how you manage the forests you log today? How do you manage the land once you've cleared it of trees? What practices do you take to care for the land? Do you plant more trees after you've logged an area?" And so forth to hear about their policies and business practices.
"It is really about what is best for those who are living in our community, not about the favors the churches will do for us. If we want to build a strong community, Erastil's teachings will guide us. But if we are more concerned about defense from bandits and upholding our agreement with the Swordlords, then we should consider Gorum. Erastil makes more sense to me, but... " Milo shrugs, looking back and forth between Idris and Maja.
Having little knowledge of the subject of necromancy, Milo waits to hear Myllaen and Kivan's input.
"We'll need farmers and soldiers. I'd be glad to have these folks on our land, they've done nothing wrong."
"Well Necromancy is about death and undeath, but that isn't a reason to ban it. Everything dies, whether you use a fireball to set people on fire or use vampric touch to drain someone's life. Necromancy spells are used to end life true, but they deal with most foes not by killing them but by weakening them. Many of their rays are used to drain someone's ability to fight or make them feel weakened, but they don't kill. Necromancy is also the foremost school in causing magical fear in people. This doesn't kill people, but instead drains their will to fight, a second option rather than just killing. Necromancy can also be used to bolster someone's life to make it harder for them to die. Necromancy is also a school of magic that allows for people to communicate with the dead to learn what happened to them. This could be used in murder cases to determine if someone was guilty, or not. It could also be used to get leads in a murder case. Now foregoing the fact that an argument could be made for the creation and use of undead you have to admit that Necromancy is also the best school to destroy or disable undead creatures. Necromancy is a potent school of magic *Cough*Even though it is worse than conjuration*Cough* that can be used to kill, but so can swords and neither of these are inherently evil. It all depends on who is using it. If you ban Necromancy then some people will still use it, but they won't have good training and they will most likely be using it for illegal purposes. If we don't ban Necromancy then we can control it by making sure that people have a proper education about its benefits and its drawbacks."
Idris clasps Maja on the shoulder. "The trust that Erastil has invested in you is amazing, Maja. I don't doubt that Erastil's faith is going to be very important to this land we're creating. I must advocate for my own faith, though. I don't want exclusion either, and I even think there might be a way to satisfy both groups. Maybe I'm being overly hopeful, I dunno."
Pretty accepts the dance request from Milo with grace. While they dance she updates him regarding her... family business, since now he officially belongs to their group. "Be careful, Milo. I tend to attract trouble like that... Did you know I am actually a Surtova? I was born to a Surtova, several decades ago, but was never part of the family. They tried to kill me several times and I've been hiding for a long time. It would be good if they had forgotten about me after all of this time, but I don't believe that's the case. Both my parents were human, yet I was born like this. There must be a reason for that, and whatever that is, it is not something nice. Nothing I would ever want to know. Anyway, now that everyone in the ball heard I'm a tiefling, my nickname and that I came from New Stetven, the information will get to the ears of the Surtova. The closer you get to me, the more danger you are in. Plus, there's the devil cult. And a couple of crazy Iomedae followers who want my head. Keep your eyes open."
Pretty is divided. "Well, I have lived in fear for most of my life, and I can't say I like it. I understand it is a weapon, of course, and in the hands of someone evil it could be used to cause destruction, but indeed other weapons also could. Also, the more the Surtova fear us, the less the chance they would do something stupid. On the other hand, we saw the trouble undead can cause, and I just wouldn't feel sorry if we prohibited those practices. Would it be a great loss Kivan? With the money and support from the Pharasman church we could actually build something to better to study magic or whatever..."
The rogue lifts her shoulders in resignation. "Well, there are worse things than just some grudge between churches, anyway. Erastil would indeed make our society develop faster, were we in a pacified place, but, it is not the case. We've seen signs of people who tried to settle there before, including those who followed Erastil's faith, and they failed. Others had a fort, but that didn't help either. The sootscales survived thus far, as they said themselves, because they live secluded and moving away from any threats, which is something we can't actually do, can we? The church of Gorum would serve us better in the beginning, cause it doesn't matter that we have an awesome village, if we don't have the warriors to hold it. People may die. In the Stolen Lands, you have what you hold. So, either are important. I don't think we should underestimate their value and be exclusive. Maybe you can get to a point where both Erastil and Gorum are colaborating with us. Maybe even others. I've heard of cities that worship several gods at the same time. But, you're gonna be the High Priest, Maja... Of course, Iris could feel that left aside, in the same way you would if we had chosen the Gorum faith."
"I wouldn't. I'm not a priest, just a foot soldier. No matter what the official faith of the land is, I'll keep on praying to the Lord in Iron. It's different for Maja, and I know it."
"I simply stated that if we made Erastil the state god then people of the faith might want the female leaders to marry. I care not for whichever god or goddess is the state god. If you truly think you can deal with Erastil being the state god then I support that since you will be the high priestess after all. It will not affect my own faith and having support from a church might be helpful."
"Losing out on Necromancy is important because banning a school of magic is no small thing. People are talented in different areas some wizards are talented in creating illusions, some are talented in creating destruction, and some are talented in the art of necromancy. The monetary and healing gain from the church of Pharasma would not be worth the loss of knowledge and perspective that necromancers and necromancy as a whole will bring."