"No idea, he was rather curt. But apparently we're knights now, because we didn't die and killed some bandits. I bet if you hang out with us for a few more weeks they'll make you one too." Roga replies. "I'd like to buy a proper greatsword, and some better armor. After that I'm gonna go find that soldier and ask him exactly what are the rights and responsibilities of being a knight...I haven't a clue. Do you have to bow down to us now Hammas?" He wonders with a teasing grin.
Hah! Only reason I'll bow is to look at ya after I've knocked your ass in the mud. You're welcome to try though. She answers with a bold smile.
As for knighthood, I'm river folk. Oath-breakers die, and I can't see swearing an honest oath to the dragonscale throne. He ain't earned it.
Inuki's eyes widen and then he bows to accept the honor. "I never knew of a bard knight, I guess I can sing songs about myself," he jests.
Reflecting on the new position, he figures it will probably be the same as the old one---wandering the wilds looking for bandits and avoiding trolls.
Reflecting on the half-orc's words, he feels a slight admiration for the independent spirit some of these Riverfolk have, at least the ones that aren't trying to kill him. He resolves to learn more about their customs. Hefting his newly heavy purse, he heads back to Oleg's to peruse the supplies.
"It means they want us to pay taxes, I'll wager." Jutmon chuckles at his own jest.
To Inuki he answers."They don't usually make knights of wizards either. I certainly never thought anyone would ever call me a knight. I'm more of a cottage-type.
"It is quite possible that they are not referring to the sword-wielding, horse-riding, heavily armored heroes of bards' tales, but the legal right to own and administer land under the Dragonscale Throne. You get several other rights as recognized by the Dragonscale Throne and such, and you can attend all those noble gatherings if you have the coin to impress; basically recognized nobility, hell you may even have right to the gallows. Maybe you can make a name for yourself and secure an estate, but all that will have to wait until we get back to civilization."
Sergei says absent-mindedly, "Not that it means much to me. Son of House Surtova and all that..."
"I always hoped to be a ruler of men someday. Bring the just rule of law and peace to my lands. My father is a powerful chieftain, but he only uses his power for the gain of our own family, at everyone else's loss. I would be different from him."
After purchasing his new gear, he has more of the appearance of a knight. His new breastplate allows him better protection than the chain he was wearing before, and a more intimidating appearance. Only wealthy and powerful warriors can afford such things. He also finds a huge hammer of Ulfen design for sale, which appeals to him more than his axe. He bathes, shaves and washes all his clothes. He trades in his ragged old cloak for a new one of deep forest green wool, with a leather lining inside. Much better now.
All these tasks accomplished, he sets out to find Krestle, heading to the wall first. Once he finds the man, he gives him a nod and says, "Excuse me Krestle. I know you're a busy man, and you don't think much of our group, but I intend to live up to my new responsibilities. I'd like for you to explain to me exactly what being a knight means in Brevoy."
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"What it means in Brevoy or what it means here? In Brevoy, your name will go in the lists. Expect to be invited to various charity balls and functions that exist mainly to placate the noble's feelings in inadequacy. Out here, it means you now are officially subject to the tax of the realm. Other than that, you won't get much by way of trouble if it ever strikes your fancy to go about slaughtering commoners. From an entirely un-jaded perspective, it means this:
"You have the right and privilege to take on your own serfs to do your dirty work with the blessings of the Dragonscale Throne. Out here in the wilds, no one will care. . with the possible exception of bandits who will assume you have more wealth that you do, and will likely expend greater effort in an attempt to secure that wealth for themselves. Brevoy is in a state of upset. They need something to force-feed the masses to keep them under control. Your maps and conquests will fill dozens of pulp books, to be distributed as 'news' in order to help instill a sense of patriotism, and national pride. At worse, you are sacrificial lambs, like the various other expeditions before you. At best, you are a publicity stunt.
"For what it is worth, you have outlasted many of your ilk. Some of the bandits you have slain for that pouch of coin were doubtless your predecessors. Will there be anything else, Ser?"
As Roga is getting his new gear, Hey. I'll pay ya for the chain shirt. Feel like I'll be needin' it.
Hammas seeks out Svetlana for some girl time, see what the latest news is, and get her perspective on the new 'knights' of the Stolen Lands. What's the word 'lana? With things gettin' restless up north and strange goings on with the fey in the greenbelt, I'm smellin' trouble.
"Yes, know of any paying work out here? Or what we could do that would actually make a difference? You seem like a man whose respect I'd like to earn."
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"There is a post near the gate, has dozens of jobs. They are mostly anonymous, and some are . . odd."
Svetlana looks happy to see people back in the outpost. "Glad to see happy faces again! We have a new contingent of guards since you were last here. Mostly good sorts. There is one locked in the middens for making advances. He should be out tomorrow. I am going to make him bathe an old barrel before I let him in here again! Three days in a sewage heap. No way he is stepping into my house to get clean. Won't get that smell out of him for weeks! Anyhow, they are good for business for some, but others are refusing to come back in with the crown having a presence. At a minimum, the bandit taxes have stopped entirely, which saves us more than we are losing from those who won't come back. And! The crown is paying us to board their military presence. Only five people, but it puts a couple more coins in the coffer.
"By the way! You got this in the post. Been waiting for you to show back up, almost forgot!"
Svetlana heads to the back room, and walks out with an inscribed scroll case, which she promptly hands over. The case is sealed, and stamped with the symbol of the throne. Inside you find a charter ordering you to map the greenbelt, compose a bestiary detailing potential threats to the realm, and eliminate the bandit presence through whatever means possible. You are further instructed to make reports regularly through the military presence at the outpost.
Hammas will check out the job board.
"Heavy hangs the crown... On our backs." This sarcastic commentary is kept very low and for the ears of Jutmon's friends only.
"Lucky we've been doing all that already."
"For the most part."
"Any way... I believe we have a date with some bandits, and the atomie's bargain to be filled, before we go looking for odd jobs."
Jutmon shrugs. He is not terribly concerned with the bargain, it was only berries, after all. If the rest of his companions want to do something else, it is fine with him.
"might be good to get the old apothecary, his berries, before they spoil, too."
In the cold of winter, spoilage may not be of the greatest concern.
Roga thanks the soldier and goes to find his friends. "Yeah, the hermit is relatively close to here. Lets get him the berries, and then head for the bandits' camp. Eliminating them is still our priority. After that we can make some real money. There's still a fair amount of mundane equipment I'd like to have, no to mention magical gear."
Sounds good. Everyone got winter gear?
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Against the wall, right next to the gate there are a series of posters. The postings run the gamut from crude to meticulous. Some have lovely sketches of the beasts in question, while others have simple one syllable, misspelled descriptions of fantastical beasts.
The Sootscale kobolds dwell in a cave
somewhere in the Kamelands. Normally not a
problem, they’ve been riled up by something lately.
Find their lair and ensure that the kobolds aren’t
going to continue being a threat.
Completion: Either slay the kobolds or . . .
Every Greenbelt hunter has a story about
Tuskgutter, each wilder than the last. Whoever
manages to kill the ill-tempered beast will get a
nice reward from old, retired Vekkel Benzen, who
lost his leg to the monster pig a year ago.
Oleg’s been under a lot of stress lately, and
Svetlana would love to cook him his favorite meal
(moon radish soup) to help him relax. Unfortunately,
moon radishes are relatively rare. A patch grows
about 16 miles south of the trading post.
Although his wife claims it’s not a big loss
compared to what the bandits could have taken, Oleg
knows the theft of her wedding ring has distressed
her. She’s forbidden him from risking life and limb to
recover it, but if anyone else can find the ring and
return it to him, he’ll be very grateful.
A mercenary Kesten worked with months ago
was a Varisian man named Falgrim Sneeg. Falgrim
robbed the group and fled into the Greenbelt to
become a bandit, and Kesten hopes to catch him
alive and return him to Restov for punishment.
A couple posters have been torn down, bits of tattered parchment still clinging to the wall where a job involving bandits once lived, and a sketch of a wyrm, now missing its reward section adorn the otherwise clear spaces available.
Perusing the board, Inuki muses, "The radishes should not put up much of a fight. We can ask around for the locations of some of these other jobs, in case we wind up in the area."
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The captain of the guard is reluctant to speak much about the outlaw. He switched sides in the battles with the bandits, and could be in any of the bandit camps. The legendary pig has been spotted by some hunter or another almost everywhere in the northern greenbelt, and apparently is almost as fond of radishes as Oleg.
"I take it the boar we already killed wasn't this Tuskgutter? It would be good to have a goal for when we're finished with the bandits." He says to the others. "Yeah Hammas, I'm ready for the cold. Got a tent on top of what I already had."
Jutmon grins. "I'm ready for the summer, but I'm dressed for the cold, yes."
"Kobolds, crooked mercs turned bandits, and dire boars..." Sergei talks to himself as he reads the posters. "Things will remain interesting atleast, and I may be joining my wife sooner then later at this rate."
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The journey to the old alchemist's hovel is much quicker and much more comfortable than last you headed south. The addition of Horses to your retinue allows you to cross the plains in less than a third the time it took last you were this way.
Once arrived, you find the old man just as you had left him, deep asleep in his ratty, but very comfortable looking chair. "Well! Lookie here! I had expected. Wow. Potions yes? Lets see, want some apple juice? You are alive. Good thing that. Dead I can't fix. Have problems swallowing corpses do, that is. An entire bag? I needed only a couple handfulls! I think I can preserve them, how about that juice? Where did I put the jug. Two months. I will give a discount for two months, if I can preserve. Have you seen my cat? Might have died a couple decades ago, but I thought he was here last night. That's right, apple juice." The old man disappears into his hut, and returns shortly with five flasks full of amber liquid, and a stein.
"Sorry, don't keep spares for guest, have to use a flask."
Turning to Inuki and Nareth, Roga asks them "Is this stuff magical?"
Roga's eyes narrow in suspicion, "What kind of enchantment rests in this 'apple juice' old man?" He hold his hand up for silence in case Nareth starts to answer. I'm gambling that Nareth already knows the answer to that question. Lets see if this old hermit is a liar...
Jutmon casts detect magic to aid in his study of the flasks.
"Say, there, Bokken. Your 'apple juice' reeks of magic, are you sure, you are offering us the right grog?"
Jutmon looks around at his companions. "Transmutation magic, the kind that changes things... Or people."
(earlier) "I'm liking these horses. Maybe we should bring some extras as troll snacks." he jokes.
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The old man sighs, "Probably just some phoenix down fell in the jugs. I really need to start labeling things, or putting lid. . . " The old mans tone suddenly drops very low, "Oh my, don't move. I think I see a red breasted thrush! Those are rare!" The old man shoves the tray in your hands, and disappears into his hovel. A couple loud bangs an a crash of glass or china on the floor later, and he is back with a wispy sheet of paper and a charcoal stick. Flopping against the door jam, exasperated, the man has already forgotten all about you, and is furiously scribbling a sketch of a bird.
Inuki will try to detect magic also, in the hopes that it may be something useful.
"Crazy old bastard. I'll not be the first to drink his mystery brew. Not unless one of you can assure its safety."
Give it 'ere and we'll see what 'appens. Hammas holds out her to show she's serious, but waits until the magic users are finished with their examination.
While the others a busy, Hammas wanders over to the old man. What's special about it? I could one for ya.
Jutmon can't resist moving quietly over to where he can look over the old man's shoulder. He is pretty sure that the old fellow is harmless, Jutmon just wants to see if the old codger can really draw.
Well, let's go after that camp. Ready? Hammas will pack away the flasks and make ready to head out.
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Again, you are struck by how much nicer the traveling is while on horseback. Although the snow is still deep and crusted over, the horses seem to have no great difficulty. The added size of your party seems to be discouraging much of the native wildlife as well. The journey to the campsite is only going to be about a week.
Mid-way through the first day, you spy black cloaks in the distance, seemingly with people underneath them.
Hammas raises herself a bit in the saddle, trying to get a better view. Shouldn't need much of one. People are rare enough that most take advantage of a chance to talk. Might want to get a bit closer, then approach on foot. These horses aren't trained to fight, excepting Midnight, and I do better on foot myself.
"I fight better on foot as well." Jutmon grins slightly. "I run away better on horseback though." He shrugs. "May as well find out who they are, and what they want."
The wizard sends his hawk, Sevrina an impulse of curiosity, causing the bird to move closer to the cloaked ones. Though their level of communication is limited, Jutmon's familiar is aware of how he feels about trolls, at least.