"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me." With a wry smile Vylyra glances at Quick and briskly grabs the clotheing. Damning decorum, she strips down to her undergarments, dons the courtiers clothing, and puts her armor back on top.
"How do I look?" she says, obviously fishing for a compliment. The deep green of the clothing sets off her red hair nicely. She looks the part just as much as any aristocrat.
"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me." With a wry smile Vylyra glances at Quick and briskly grabs the clothing. Damning decorum, she strips down to her undergarments, dons the courtiers clothing, and puts her armor back on top.
"How do I look?" she says, obviously fishing for a compliment. The deep green of the clothing sets off her red hair nicely. She looks the part just as much as any aristocrat.
Quick stares dumbly before abruptly turning away and squatting down, face reddening, and pretending to find something in his backpack.
"You look like a very important young lady with business in town," Henry Southgard says with a smile. "The breastplate is a nice touch. Makes it clear that you can handle yourself in a fight."
Watching the events unfold Ajaxx chuckles and hops of his horse handing the rains to Quick. "It's a rough gig but it helps us get in there kid. Chin up. At least they don't have to cut off your hands to get you into the city." Patting him on the thigh Ajaxx gives Quick a wink. Then before he can say anything else Ajaxx turns to the group. "Whelp while you are getting him ready I'm going to make a quick stroll through the town here see what I can find out. If I'm not back in 15 min come save the brigands that tried to rob me." Turning to head into the slum Ajaxx shouts behind himself "And don't let anything happen to Vivian"
I'd like to make a diplomacy to try to get some info from the people of the street (I need profession Street Rat)
After a moment, Quick stands with an adjusting shake of his leg. He claps his hands together and walks up to Henry. "I done it sir. I'm the one you want. Take me away!" He stands, waiting for his hands to be bound. This is not how the stories go...
Quick is trying to play off his hurt and anxiety.
Ajaxx already suspects that the gate will treat half-orcs with extra scrutiny, so when he hears this is, he is not surprised. But then he hears two more rumors: anyone of orcish descent is not permitted to carry weapons inside the city. This restriction was recently decreed when the city guard uncovered a group of half-orc spies with an assassination plot. They await trial in the Thaleniel dungeon.
After about 15 min Ajaxx wonders back the the group with some sort of bean bun. "Good news and bad news all. Which do you want first?" But before anyone can answer he continues, "There was a group of half-orc assassins that tried to kill someone, couldn't find out who, so you can't carry weapons Quick. Oh and they will probably think you are a spy. Good news is we were already planning on tying you up and taking your weapons so it's all good." Ajaxx gives a bit of a cheeky grin to Quick. "They are in the dungeons here. If we are feeling froggy we might try to use your lineage and understanding of the language to get you in close to them to get some information from them. That is if the guy we are delivering papers to is keen on the idea." Taking a bite of his bun makes him think of one more thing. "We might be able to barter our food out here better than in there. Probably not a lot of coin to go around but someone would probably be willing to part with their grandfather's suit of full plate in exchange for food." Ajaxx finishes his bun shrugs and mounts his horse. "What's the plan?"
Quick looks as if he might be sick, but says nothing.
"You'll have to feign better than that when we go through the crowds," Henry Southgard whispers to Quick. He briefly considers tying the young Half-Orc's hands more securely, so that he won't break out at the first sign of trouble. Then he considers it some more. Remembering that he, more or less, gave his word that he'd use a slipknot, Henry uses the most elaborate slipknot he's ever been taught. With Vylyra's help, he boosts Quick onto her horse and hooks him to the bag loops on the saddle. That should prevent him from rolling off.
"Enjoy the view," Henry says.
"That is bad news..." the mercenary says to Ajaxx. He casually relieves Quick of his dagger and the sword, sticking both in his saddlebag. "But I must say that I like the good news. The plan is, we march through those crowds with weapons at the ready, and answer as few questions as possible. If anyone stops us, we demand to speak to whoever is in charge. I'll do the talking, and if I can't handle them, Vylyra goes next. Sound good?"
Henry Southgard leads the group toward the city, walking beside his horse. He strikes up a conversation whenever he gets the chance, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd.
"Sounds like a suitable plan. Quick, mind the position of your hands. Let's go." With that, Vylyra ushers her horse on through the crowds, following Henry closely. She attempts a regal stature and looks down her nose at the people below her. She keeps an ear out for their whispers, hoping to catch a rumor or news that may be beneficial.
A couple of soldiers patrolling the roads among the tents and wagons spare studious looks to the group once they spot the half-orc bound to a horse. But their suspicion falters when they see the lady half-elf atop the wagon. None of them say a word to the four, other than one curt, “Good day.”[/b]
The party slows as they come upon the fringe of the crowd. Very few of the crowd pay them heed, most heads are turned to the gatehouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of the admission process. The handful that do notice the horses, the wagon, and travelers stare at them with a look that is both apathetic and stubborn. Not many move very much for the oncoming mounts, until the group of four adventurers are forced to slow down to a crawl. Those of the crowd who notice the half-orc captive frown and sneer at the young prisoner.
“Oi, you cot a live one!”
“Skinny fer an orc, innit?”
“To the gallows wit’ ‘im!”
One among the crowd even blows a glob of phlegm in Quick’s general direction.
But the sputum catches in their beard and they abashedly wipe it away.
Henry leads his horse closer to the crowd and listens closely to what others are talking about, and also hears what they make of his companions behind him.
It seems that this city has an inner wall, erected when the city was centuries younger and smaller. Many of Thaleniel’s rich and powerful take residence or do business there, and the locals to the city call that area “The Prop”, likely devolved from “The Proper” or “Thaleniel Proper”. The poorest part of the city is down near the docks on the King’s Lake, where a lot of wealth efficiently goes in and out, and none of it stays there.
As a backlash from the foiled assassination attempt, many from The Prop were crying for the expulsion of all orcish descendants from the city. The “no weapons” restriction was a compromise with those who want fair treatment of the half-orc citizens. Much like the group experienced along the road, Henry learns that the guardsmen at the gate expect a name and place of origin from everyone who travels with a half-orc; it would be safe to assume this is still true for an orcish captive.
Vylyra’s sharp hearing picks up the following, a whispered conversation several heads deep into the crowd:
“An elvish noble! Is she here for the gala?”
“Shutup! Why else would she need to enter the city? She’s goin’ straight to The Prop!”
“I’d give her a prop if you know what I mean... Ow! Mind yer elbow!”
“A few days early, isn’t she?”
“Heard the court wizard Dacius will be goin’, too. All the blue-blooded and silver plated, rubbin’ elbows, feastin’ and drinkin’, while we starve out here…”
“King Thadeus would never stand for it. We best pray he recovers and drives out these orcs once an’ for all.”
“Speakings of, why she got a thin little orc in tow? He’ll get in before I do! Wots he gots that I don’t?”
The conversation from there stoops into crude jokes and rough laughter unfit for polite company.
Henry Southgard valiantly keeps a straight face when he sees the man spit into his own beard. The news he hears is less joyful, and he slowly lets Vylyra catch up to him.
"Mwanamke wangu, walinzi wa lango watahitaji mji wetu wa asili. Je, unaweza ulimi wako nje ya hili, au mimi?"
As the crowds grow denser, Henry finds himself unable to push through. "Move it," he says. "Move aside or be trampled by a horse. You right there. Surely you've got better things to do than stand in the middle of a road. And you, you're coming down with something. Go stand where you can get a breath of fresh air and not pass it on to fifty other vagrants."
Rubbing his horse's neck Ajaxx tries to sooth her. "Don't worry I'll protect you."
As he rides along side the cart Ajaxx scans the crowd keeping an eye on his surroundings, one hand thumbing the hilt of his flail.
It was at that moment that he remembered he still had some bean bun left and decided it was a good idea to finish the scrupulous morsel off.
Quick does his best to look like a trophy to feel proud of rather than an enemy to participate in berating.
But mostly he just looks sullen and depressed, his eyes sweeping faces and ears wide open.
Vylyra attempts to quickly take in all of this information, and she whispers to Henry in the same language, "Bwana, kwa nini usijaribu, na kama unapigana, nitaingia?
As the crowd ahead closes in, she presses her heels into her horses ribs and gives a practiced click of her tongue- egging the horse forward.
As her graceful steed moves on into the crowd, she strains her ears for any additonal pertinent information.
The horses not burdened with the wagon ease through the crowd under the direction of their masters. Henry, guiding the horse carrying Quick and the wagon, lags behind. Ajaxx and Vylyra seem to be about halfway through the dense crowd. From atop their horses, their vantage point lends a view to the congestion at the gate: a cluster of armored men appear to be interviewing every person who seeks to enter. As wide as the gate is, only a few people trickle into the city at a time. From the battlements over the gatehouse and the high stone walls on either side, soldiers watch and patrol with crossbows casually held in hand.
Henry’s talk deters a few folk to shuffle out of the way, but it seems for every person that moves, another whether on purpose or accident ends up keeping him from moving wagon any further.
Other members of the crowd hurl more insults at Quick.
“End of the line for you, tusker! You’ll make the hangman’s jig before sun down!”
“Make him pay! His kin burned my house and crops to ash!”
“No muscle on him! What nasty tricks has a little one like that got? I’d pay to watch him in the pit…”
With the lady of the caravan far enough ahead, a few bodies deep from the wagon hurls something round at the young half-orc.
A squishy tomato splorches into his side and falls to the dirt. He feels the juices soak through his shirt, and the throng nearby ripples laughter. A hand in the crowd snatches up the smashed fruit before a wagon wheel crushes it completely.
The last comment reminds Quick of something he heard about, what seems so long ago, during his stay in Port Elam before the invasion:
The seaport had an illegal ring of pit fighting, where folks connected with criminals could watch and gamble on bloodsport. Many warriors enter these fights for the gold and fame among the lowlifes, but it is rare for a newcomer to last long in the cutthroat tournaments. The pit-fighting in Port Elam was officially illegal, but the saturation of crime in the city meant that the lawmen were usually busy with something else, or bribed to look busy with something else. Quick distinctly remembers overhearing a conversation in Port Elam that made mention of the smaller, more secretive pit-fighting operation in Thaleniel.
Vylyra’s sharp ears catch a far off announcement, from a man also in the crowd but a fair distance away. He wears a full plate armor with spikes protruding from the shoulders and collar. His spiked helm is in one hand, and his puts the other hand to his mouth to carry his voice.
“Seek you revenge on the orcish hordes? The Church of Gorum, The Iron Lord, will put a spear and shield in your hands and gold in your pocket to join our warpath! Thirty pieces in gold if you pledge, today!”
“We march in two days! Join us now and receive expert training in combat and tactics from the Chief Gorumite herself, Yosgrena Ironsides! Come and earn the strength you have dreamt of! The glory is yours for the taking! Seek out the tents bearing the mountain-sword banners, and add your name to the list of heroes of Thaleniel, and of Vyren!”
“We shall crush them, sweep them away with our blessed vengeance! For Gorum! For glory!”
By the ranger’s reckoning, the offer is a generous one for the poorest of Thaleniel’s population, who are more accustomed to seeing a handful of coppers for a day’s work, and rarely a single gold piece. His speech appears to have inspired a handful near him who were listening, as they make their way out of the crowd to follow him.
Vylyra takes all of this in and ponders for a bit- does she recall anything about a dwarf named Ironsides? Hmm...
In the midst of her pondering she notices that Henry and the wagon have lagged behind. She shouts to the crowd, "Everybody moooove!" using her strongest and scariest voice possible to attempt to get people out of the way so they might rejoin her.
Quick lets the tomato crash into his side. Slowly he raises his head, staring his most murderous glare into the crowd. Then he shouts in Orcish, knowing this crowd wouldn't likely understand: growling out the words to make them sound all the more fierce.
"Jy het my heeltemal verkeerd! Ek wil jou net red!"
"You have me entirely wrong! I only want to help you!"
Henry said to be what they expect.
Ajaxx makes a mental note to complement Quick and Vylyra for their intimidating manure and vows to never tell either of them that he was startled by their outbursts. For now he simply keeps heading along and keeping an eye out for trouble.
Vylyra's keen eyes can see delegated roles among the guards at the gate. There are two groups of them performing the same task. Of each group, one soldier asks questions, as another makes a casual search of packs, travois,, and hand carts, and another stands by with ink and a thick book, jotting down answers. In addition to these six, three more stand off to the sides, watching intently. Every guard is well armored, a crossbow slung across the back, with a longsword, dagger, a sheaf of bolts, and iron manacles hanging from their belts.
Presently, a tenth guard marches away from the gate deeper into the city, guiding someone in front of him. The person he guides appears to have his wrists bound in irons behind him, but that bound man is out of her sight before she can discern details about him.
Yosgrena Ironsides sounds faintly familiar, though Vylyra is pretty sure the lady dwarf is an accomplished warrior with strong ties to the clergy of Gorum and the mercenaries who follow that faith. Although Vylyra is foggy on specific tales of Ironsides, the half-elf remembers the impression that this dwarf fights with cunning, although she is not above resorting to brute force as well.
The dense mass of people do not completely clear the way between Vylyra and Henry, but enough press and shuffle to discern a line where the crowd thins a bit between the two companions.
However, the jeering smiles around the cart melt right off, and everyone backs up to give the fearsome captive some space. Henry can see cobbled road underfoot, now that people have cleared out of the wagon's way. Among those in the crowd, Quick meets the gaze of one person, certainly not the tomato-thrower, who gives him an intrigued look.
The man staring at Quick probably understands orcish, and is thinking about what Quick said. He does not seem to be translating the phrase for anyone right now.
Henry, his horse with Quick, and the wagon catch up with Ajaxx and Vylyra without much trouble, halfway through the crowd to get to the gate. Some folk deep in the crowd continue to hurl insults at the half-orc from a distance, but those close by do not want to rouse the captive's anger and do no more than glare at the bound youngster.
Quick, desperate to have someone in the city know he isn't a dangerous criminal shouts at the man again in Orcish.
"Ons is nie almal moorddadige barbare nie! Ek is nie eens waarlik 'n gevangene nie! Ek gaan met jou koning en sy raadslede ontmoet om hom te adviseer oor hoe om die geveg tussen Orke en Mans te stop. Dink goed aan my!"
"We are not all murderous barbarians! I am not even truly a prisoner! I go to meet with your king and his councilors to advise him on how to stop the fighting between Orcs and Men. Think well of me!"
Vylyra is surprised by the intensity of the guards at the gate and starts to feel a little uneasy. Will their plan work? Is she believable enough as a noble? We will find out shortly. She strains her ears for any other notable news as she ushers her horse towards the gate.
The man whom Quick addresses looks even further confused, but he loses him in the crowd as the wagon moves ahead. And the crowd around the wagon does not like that the orcish captive has more to say.
“Shut him up!”
“He puts an orc curse on us!”
Having left behind the circle of people he frightened, Quick senses the crowd growing surly again. If he does not get to the gate soon, he might be dealing with more rotten fruit, or worse.
Some of the soldiers high above, on top of the gatehouse, seem to notice the commotion caused in the crowd. One of them leans towards another and points down at Quick tied to the horse. They are too far away to hear what they say, also the crowd is going too loud to hear them.
Vylyra leads on towards the gate. Her excellent hearing picks up snippets of conversation from the crowd closer to the gate.
“You got rid of the rat poison, right? I don’t wanna get locked up over something like that.”
“Of course I did, but do you think they would? Seems harsh.”
“I just know poison is outlawed. Not worth the risk.”
From some others further along:
“Did you hear the fire priest walking the camps last night? He cured a tentfull of sick folks, and then conjured a feast from thin air! I caught word and was able to nab a bite. But then he bored us all with his talk of purging all evil with fire...”
“I heard he made an orc raiding party burst into flames!”
“He seems to have it out for orcs, I heard he set a half-orc’s hair on fire just for looking at him funny... I don't like it... What if he decides elves are bad too?”
A family of halflings appear to be next in meeting the guards. The curly brown haired child among them turns big bright eyes up to the fire-haired half-elf on her horse. She tugs the hem of her mother’s dress. “Mommy! It’s Arcturus! The High Elf Lord! Isn’t she beautiful?!”
“Oh honey, lords are men. Ladies are women. I don’t think this is Arcturus, but she is quite beautiful! Surely a Lady of import! Scoot back so her horse can get through.” The mother rises with a tight grip on her daughter’s hand, holding her out of the horse’s path. The mother looks up at Vylyra.
“Sorry, my lady. A fine day to you,” she nods a bow and steps well out of the way, pulling her husband’s coat to alert him to the nobility coming up behind him. He obliges with a respectful nod as well.
In no time, Vylyra reaches the gate. The guards are currently busy with admitting a few travelers, but they have clearly taken notice of her. It is likely that she will be called forward next, but her traveling companions have not yet caught up.
Vylyra halts her horse for the moment to think on what she has heard and allow her companions to catch up. She smiles wryly at the girl and says, "Thank you, and a fine day to you as well."
The High Elves are most commonly known among the folklore enjoyed by elven children who grew up in the Carenthir Forest. Vylyra herself remembers one or two stories from her upbringing, but they are so outlandish that they could not possibly be true. Nevertheless, some among the educated do not deny the existence of present day High Elves, alluding that they are a separate folk from the Wood Elves of Carenthir, and altogether even more isolated than their flighty forest kin. There are no known High Elves that walk the lands of Vyren, but then again, the naked eye is easy to deceive.
Arcturus is a common hero of the childish folklore, watching the stars from his castle of cloud and moonlight to see the future, and intervening to save lives of good folk that face utter peril. A master of magic and gifted with the long life of elvish folk makes him a popular favorite for many elvish bedtime stories.
After waiting for the cart Ajaxx situates himself so that he is between the crowd and Quick, giving quick a light smack on the back of the head. "Quiet you!"
Continuing forward Ajaxx scans the crowd.
Henry Southgard breaks his stride when Quick protests his interest, but quickly regains his composure. He doesn't like the risk that the sorcerer is taking, but it's not likely that anyone would believe that he is not a prisoner, seeing as he's hogtied and thrown across the bony half of a horse. And how common was fluency in Orcish in this part of the kingdom? In all likelihood, nobody else understood Quick. There is nothing to be afraid of.
"Hoi. Back off!" he growls at a gaggle of urchins who look to be well-practiced in the arts of pickpocketing.
Henry sees the guards atop the tower, and hopes that it's a good sign.
Many in the crowd calm down when they see the big man on the horse keep the half-orc captive in line. The handful of pocket-thieves disperse into the crowd, deciding to seek pockets away from the crossbowman. With little trouble, Ajaxx, Henry, and Quick with the wagon make their way through the crowd and wait behind Vylyra.
“The Lady and her retainer may come forward!” one of the soldiers gestures with a beckoning motion. The five other soldiers position themselves to receive two riders, and a guide with a wagon. Behind them, four soldiers stand alert. Two of them bear the heraldry of the Order of the Dawnflower, and the pair wear stern expressions of scrutiny at any who wish to enter the city.
Three soldiers begin to inspect Vylyra and her traveling party. They study the ranger’s saddlebag and the items she carries, but do not touch her or the horse. They are not so courteous with Ajaxx, Henry, and Quick, as they open every saddlebag and pouch. At least the searching guards have a civility to put things back if they moved something to look underneath.
Two other soldiers step up, one with a smile up at Vylyra and the other with pen and a heavy book. He stands ready to write.
“Good evening, my Lady!” says the smiling guard warmly, “You have excellent timing, the gates will be closed at nightfall, which will come within the hour. If I could take your name and the place of your home, those who travel with you, and your business here in Thaleniel, that would be grand. For our records, you see...” He gestures to the man with the book.
The greeter takes on a concerned look, “Did you run into some trouble along the roads?” He asks with a meaningful glance at the half-orc strapped to the wagon horse.
The three searching soldiers finish with Henry and Ajaxx, and pat Quick down for any hidden weapons. Lastly, they move to inspect the wagon.
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Ajaxx cooperates as much as isn't inconvenient for him. While he knows he has nothing to worry about himself, they couldn't possibly know him here, Ajaxx is still uneasy around authority. His mind wonders as they are processed and he realizes that he record in his home town is probably gone. He would guess McLannon would use his last breath to defend the city. The damn fool. Now who was going to tell him to keep his nose clean, or put a blanket over him while he was in the stocks. In all the movement and the grime a "bit of dust" gets into Ajaxx's eye and he quickly wipes it away.
Quick lays still and quiet.
Henry Southgard waits patiently by the wagon, and helpfully opens a few chests to show the guards that the party has nothing to hide. All the while, he strains to hear the conversation between Vylyra and the Dawnflower guard.
`Now would be an excellent time to start telling the truth,' he thinks. Tell the truth, even just a bit of it, and ask to speak to whoever is in charge. The truth goes a long way with people like this, people with the conviction to strap on a sword every day and protect polite society from chaos.
"I should know."
"Good evening to you as well, sir. I am Vylyra. I come from the western forests. With me are the mighty Ajaxx and Henry Southgard: two of the most steadfast men in all Thaleniel."
"We are come by way of Redstone. The city was attacked by a strong host of Orcs. The Captain there asked that we bring the news."
Vylyra gestures at Quick. She forces disdain into her tone. "You've also noticed the Orc. It's been with us for sometime. It'll be good to put it before the proper people."
"We ask that you let us pass that we may make our report."
Eyes widen at the news of the attack on Redstone Keep. The guardsman with the book scribbles furiously over blank pages. The guard asking the questions looks over at the four watchers, gesturing that one of them approach. The Dawnflower knights do not budge. Another soldier trots up, and waits at attention for an order, as the questioner smiles back up at Vylyra. “Redstone was attacked? Troubling news indeed, Lady Vylyra! Did this captain you speak of send any written corresp-?”
“Captain.”
One of the guards searching the wagon stares uneasily into a stained burlap bag among the chests and barrels. “I think you should see this...”
“Pardon, my Lady,” says the guard captain, his pleasantness giving way to annoyance. He leaves the bookkeeper and the other guard with Vylyra and marches to meet his subordinate at the wagon. He looks into the burlap bag and flinches at what he finds.
The guard captain glances at each of the men searching the wagon, and gives the slightest nod. The three guards move as if they received a new order.
He carries the bag in question with him back to Vylyra, who waits patiently on her horse. His expression is no longer friendly; a furrowed brow, mouth in a flat line, and he lifts a hard look to the mounted half-elf. He hefts the lumpy bag with dark stains. By this time, the searching guards stand on alert, one next to Ajaxx, and one next to Henry.
“Do you care to explain the contents of this sack? Not everyone travels the road with a bagful of heads...” He growls in a tone that has short patience for long answers.
Hearing this, the two Dawnflower knights stir from their place behind the gate, and approach. Clanking in their heavy armor, they stop about ten feet away from Vylyra, and scan the four travelers again. Every guard at the gate is appears tense, and those of the crowd nearby are shocked, all waiting for Vylyra’s explanation for the grisly discovery.
The third guard that was searching has discreetly positioned himself behind Ajaxx and to the side of his mount's hindquarters to avoid a horse kick. Like the others, he is watchful and wary, and in a good position to accost the big man if a scuffle breaks out.
Ajaxx for his part will wait for Vylyra to talk but will do what he can to aid her in her explanation. He will look stern or offers corroborating comments.
Vylyra is distracted by formulating her response and does not appear to notice the guards moving. She replies with a sense of urgency in her voice, "We were attacked on the road by a few rogue bandits who disguised themselves as orcs and tried to kill us. We had no choice but to dispatch them forthwith. Also, you may notice that we have a missive that clearly states, 'Deliver to Chief Watchman Erkam Hardkey IMMEDIATELY.' We have no time to dally and must see the Chief this moment."
The guard captain listens Vylyra's words carefully, and Ajaxx's helpful corroboration seems to help ease the tension, but his expression is still hard as he weighs the words of the travelers.
"Steadfast men indeed who travel with you, Lady Vylyra. A pity such wicked folk seek to plant more chaos in the midst of a war. Come, this way. These other good folk are eager to enter the city behind you."
He leans to a soldier standing at attention and whispers into his ear. Snapping a salute, the guard hurries further into the city. The captain beckons that Vylyra, Ajaxx, and Henry follow him past the city gate. By now, the sun is touching the horizon, and the massive crowd has a renewed urgency to enter the city. The captain appoints one of his guards to continue the questioning as before, and mutters something to one of the Dawnflower knights. He unceremoniously tosses the bag of heads into a wagon that appears to be littered with other refuse.
Stealing a look inside the wagon where the heads were tossed, it seems to be a container for garbage. Most of the things inside appear to be confiscated and destroyed contraband. But an attentive eye sees a handful of tiny bottles that were not smashed when tossed inside, nestled in among the trash. The undamaged containers could still contain viable solutions, such as poison.
Leading the four just inside the gate and off the main road, he turns again when all the horses and the wagon come to a stop.
“Chief Watchman Hardkey is my direct superior,” he begins, back to his friendly tone. “I’ll take that missive, and deliver it to him personally right away.”
He holds out a gauntleted hand expectantly. The defenders of Redstone can hear from the nearby gate, the guards resuming the task of recording the names and places of all who wish to enter Thaleniel before sundown.
"What about our boons?" Quick thinks as the group slides past the wagon with the bag of heads.
When the guard insists on taking the missive Quick speaks in Orcish at Henry. "Moenie toelaat dat hy dit neem nie. Ons moet dit lewer of vergeet word en alle hefboom verloor. As hy vra, het ek gevra vir kos en aal"
"Do not let him take it. We must deliver it or be forgotten and lose all leverage. If he asks, I asked for food and drink."
"Orcs," Henry Southgard says as he produces the missive from a saddlebag. "Always hungry, especially when someone else will do the cooking."
"Ordinarily, I'd insist on handing this over to the Chief of the Watch himself, but Captain Waldemar insisted that any captain of the Thaleniel Watch was handpicked by Hardkey himself, and so I can trust that this missive will be delivered directly to him." With a flourish, Henry offers it to the guard captain. But when the captain tries to take it, he finds that Henry has an iron grip on the envelope.
"He also said that there would be a reward for delivery, especially if we got here as fast as we can."
“Like as not, he’ll get his first taste of city food shortly,” comments one of the Dawnflower knights, as he steps up and holds a waterskin to Quick’s mouth.
The captain’s eyes glint with amusement and releases the sealed missive in Southgard’s iron grip.
“Ol’ Wally’s still walking the walls, eh? Glad to hear he survived the orc attack,” he smirks, taking a more familiar tone when not speaking to the noblewoman, “I’m Captain Bauldir, been serving for twenty years, captaining for twelve. The message will reach Hardkey once I am done here.”
With a nod to the man with the missive, he looks back up to Vylyra before addressing the group. “I do appreciate your speed to Thaleniel, such news needs travel fast. You will of course be compensated. What was the agreed amount? And did you get it in writing?”
'Now... How many days did it take us to get here?' Henry Southgard wonders. Somehow, it seemed longer than just three days. But thanks to a mercenary instinct that had earned him a short stint as the company paymaster, he recalls the precise terms of the agreement.
"We were promised fifty gold pieces for every day less than seven it took to reach the city. The details are in the missive."
Captain Bauldir raises an eyebrow at the amount and snatches the missive from Henry's hand. He closely examines the wax seal before breaking it, and unrolls the message to find the details explained by the mercenary. He nods begrudgingly, "A pretty sum..."
"Well there you have it, I'll honor the agreement," he states, producing a drawstring leather pouch that hung around his neck and tucked under his gorget. He pokes the inside of the tiny bag, counting with his fingers. He extends a handful of coins to the mercenary, careful to count them and also remain discreet on the side of the busy city road. After a few moments, Henry holds twenty platinum coins.
But the captain of the watch continues to count out coins from the leather pouch.
“You bring quite a boon to us,” he says in a congratulatory tone to the travelers. He nods to the Dawnflower knight and the nearby guard, who together manfully haul Quick off the horse. The guard clamps iron shackles onto the young mage’s wrists before removing the rope bonds completely. He blinks at how easily the knot comes undone but seems to think nothing of it. From his belt comes another pair of manacles made for a prisoner’s ankles.
“We will take him from here, my Lady. And this is for your trouble, I’m sure taking him alive was no easy feat,” Captain Bauldir offers Vylyra’s wagon guide another twenty pieces in platinum in exchange for their half-orc captive. “Chief Hardkey might owe you a favor if we get anything good out of him…”
Seeing the guards take Quick off his horse Ajaxx moves his horse in to take his cut and as he does leans in to Vylyar to whisper "Are we sure we should let them take him. This could go south quick. I don't think the inmates will take kindly to an orc in with them. And there is the torture to consider."
As the irons snap shut, Quick's wits finally kick into gear.
"No! You can't take me! I have to see the court wizard! I'm not part of any invasion!"
The guard holding Quick's manacles appears startled at the half-orc's sudden outburst. The knight beside him glares but says nothing. But Captain Bauldir bursts into laughter. "Yes, we will. But now with different questions than I anticipated! Might be no need to get Hook involved. If you cooperate, we will not bind your feet."
The watch captain makes a halting gesture to the guard about to shackle Quick's ankles. "Think of it this way, greenly: you come with us, answer our questions, and maybe you won't miss supper with your... friends..."
At this point, the captain turns a measuring look to Ajaxx, Henry, and Vylyra. "Is he lying? Isn't he a captured raider? If he is not, I'll be taking twenty of that coin back."
"I don't think I'm any more suspicious than my friends, but if I must, I will come with you. May I ask that my friends accompany me? I would feel a deal safer for it. I am no raider and we will gladly give back any coin that affirms I am."
Vylyra thinks carefully about her response and says, "He is not a raider, no, and we would also insist on going with him for any questioning at this time, as he is our prisoner."She then carefully holds out the 20 coin due back.
At last, the Dawnflower knight breaks his silence. “Captain Bauldir, if I may, it will save time if I question him here. Since he seems entirely harmless and you have a message that needs quick delivery...”
The captain mutters an apology to Lady Vylyra as she returns the coin, and then nods quietly, listening to the knight as he places it into his money purse. “Yes, very well. Just make note of your findings in the logs. I’ll be back shortly.” He looks back up at the half-elf and nods a bow. “My Lady.”
Without hesitation, the guard captain turns down a smaller road and strides out of sight. The Dawnflower knight watches him march away.
“Before I begin, I should tell you, my Lady: you should not lie when making statements to official folk. Honesty is the best policy.” After a respectful nod to Vylyra, the knight turns to Quick. “I know you are not her prisoner, or anyone’s. It is unclear to me why you would pose as such. And I am sorry to say, the bag of heads, your disguise, and the insistence to see the wizard does make your account seem more suspicious than the other men who travel with you. I hope this is a misunderstanding, one that you will soon clear up?”