You have neared Oleg's Trading post. All of you have been given orders to meet hear by various nobles.
The fields and rolling hills were like an endless sea of grass, but Derren can finally see land. He'd been on the South Rostland Road for days, traveling at a leisurely pace to where Swordlord Stavarov had told him to be, but now the end of his journey is finally in sigh. He dismounts from Dorina, his spotted mare, and lets her wander a few yards into the grass. Brushing his long blonde hair out of his face, he looks toward Olag's Trading Post.
THIS!? This is what I came here for? I was told there'd be rewards in both title and wealth, adventure and excitement, and tavern wenches to woo. I have been deceived!
He grabs a flask, silver and decorated with an eagle, from his hip and takes a pull. Swallowing it, he re-seals the flask and spits on the dusty road. He stretches, popping his back before reaching down to grab the toes of his riding boots.
"Gods, I am sore! As the Savored Sting is my witness, I will never ride that far again! So, Dorina, what d'you think?" The mare keeps eating as Derren continues his monologue. "No, you're right, of course. No one to even bury us, unless we have the good fortune to die at the gates of this 'Olag's' place. I should be so lucky! Now, what did Stavarov's letter say?" Fishing through his coat's pockets, he pulls out a letter. "Ah, yes. '...others will be joining you at Olag's Trading Post, near the ground you'll be charged with exploring and taming...' but I don't see these 'others' around."
Derren pulls his pack off of Dorina's back and sits back on it, taking another long pull from his flask. I'm going to have to find a new supplier of this stuff. Closing his eyes, he drifts into a very light sleep as he waits for Dorina to finish her meal, occasionally waking to look down the Rostland Road for his future comrades.
He was not aware of it, but High General Dujek had just done as she planned.
The years she spent with the army, travelling from one place to another.
It was fun. she thinks Whenever I got within twenty from Alam, he would always slips his daggers in his hands. The so called assassin afraid of a little girl. she chuckles at the memory The squad mage, Ben. He was terrified, was he not?
Still, she tried to keep a low profile; those were moments that she could no longer indulge, Sorry needed the soldiers to fear and hate her; else, the so careful suggestion to send the ‘recruit’ to the Stolen Lands would not even be considered.
That task was the easy one, now the real challenge begins. Thinks the young woman cheerfully.
She was still dressed with the military clothes. Her satchel was no bigger than a bedroll, and the raincape she wore was more like a cloak—not standard issue—reaching down to her ankles. She'd raised the hood. Despite the dawn's burgeoning light her face remained in shadow.
She had opted to walk instead of mounting a horse. Travelling with merchants, Sorry remained somewhat a mystery and distant. Never joining at the meals, always walking alone. Her destination, Oleg trading post. From there, she would start to wave her webs and set plans in notion. But for now, she was just a shy travelling adventurer.
Carina pats the flank of her horse as she spies the wooden timbers of a small fort in the distance which must surely be Oleg's Trading Post. "There's our destination! Just a little further and it's a proper bed for me and stabling for you, won't that be nice, Agrafina?" Her horse fails to respond, as always, but she just smiles and gives a tug on the bridle, leading the way as she has for the past hour, careful not to tire Agrafina out to much with constant riding in case she should happen upon brigands and need to make a hasty retreat.
Her hand wanders to the dagger at her belt as she spies a man sipping from a flask while his horse grazes up ahead. "Ho, traveler! Is that Oleg's Trading Post up ahead?" She maintains her distance from the stranger as she takes in his stylish clothing and long golden locks, nervously checking that her own hair is safely tucked away under her woolen hat.
Carina is dressed warmly, the weather still quite cold as Calistril comes to a close, Pharast and the coming of spring still a couple days away. A crossbow has been slung across her back and though she's keeping enough distance to make it difficult to make out, she appears to be wearing a silver amulet or holy symbol suspended from a chain around her neck. Her horse is a large grey dun saddled for a rider, the large saddlebags implying she's on a long journey rather than a day ride.
Looking up, Derren sees a woman, hand on her blade, touching her hair. "Well, madame, d'you know any other posts on this section of road?" He gets to his feet slowly, whistling a quick melody, and holds out his right hand. His left goes to his sword's hilt as he contemplates the new arrival.
I didn't think it was quite THAT cold last night. And is that a scar? What got a hold of her? Ah well, staring doesn't go over well with the injured girls, and if she's going to Olag's as well...
"Actually, I rather hope you do know another post, and so can tell me this isn't Olag's. It doesn't look big enough to have any tavern to speak of, and I always said I'd die with a shot on my lips. We'll have t'do something about this, once we've settled in a bit." He swishes his flask around sadly and the sound of liquid bouncing off the metal is audible. "But I forget my manners; Introductions are in order, and as the gentleman, I suppose I'll begin. Derren Orlovsky, youngest son of the minor line of the house. The mare, who's better-bred than I am, is Dorina." Whipping off his plumed tricorn, he throws himself into a quick bow.
"Now, who do I have the pleasure of conversing with, and what brings you out to the rump of nowhere?"
Bolys rode Surestep down the road from Restov towards Oleg's Trading Post. He'd been traveling a week now, and as he rode, he looked over the letter he'd received from the Swordlords.
You will journey to Oleg's Trading Post and join up with others who have been sent to explore and colonize the same area. Make haste with your travels, and do not tarry.
It was signed by some Swordlord named...Storavos? Stavirot? Something like that. He'd been the one who'd taken down Bolys's name when he'd approached the Swordlords. Seemed like a stuffy kind of fellow, but he'd felt Bolys was qualified to handle the situation. That was good enough for him.
As a cold wind blew, ruffling his fur cloak, he crested a rise and spied, in the distance, what had to be a trading post. This Oleg seems my kinda person. Livin' on the land, fightin' for what's his. An honest, hardworking sort.
He then spotted two other travelers, a man and a woman. They seemed to be conversing amiably enough, but each had a hand on the hilt of a weapon. They seem jumpy. Best not sneak up on them.
Calling out to them, he said, "Greetings! My name is Bolys Quinn, and this here is Surestep. He ain't much to look at, but he's a good, strong horse." He paused, dismounting as he grew closer. That man seems a fancy sort, the woman not as much. Still, best protect the lady should she need it. Grabbing his bow, he said, "You all wouldn't happen to be journeyin' to Oleg's, wouldya? Cause if so, why don't we ride the rest of the ways there, seein' as it ain't far?"
A plain-looking young man walks down the path as well, leading a laden mule by a rope. He'd seen the others ahead of him in the distance, of course, but now in the full light of day he felt more comfortable approaching. "Oleg's, you say? Tis my destination as well. I am Cyrioul, servant of Abadar. Pleased to meet you all! Shall we see if our host-to-be is at home?"
"Well, Bolys, sir, I believe the two of us are heading there. At the least, it's my destination. I was told by my sword-teacher to go there and wait for some others to..."
Derren trails off, looking at the woman, Bolys, Cyrioul, and then back to the woman again. "Ah Hells, it's you lot, isn't it? Mmmmm." The tone of his voice makes it clear that sarcasm comes second-nature to him.
After whistling for his horse, he turns back to Bolys and Cyrioul and gives a nod. "Derren Orlovsky. Trained on my uncle's coin in modified Aldori fencing, Chelaxian diplomacy, and Taldan riding. The mare is Dorina, and as I told the lady, she's better-bred than I am. As for going to see this 'Oleg', I seem to be out of liquor, so I'm in full agreement...not that what he has to offer's likely to be of quality..."
"Oh, so you're the people I was told to meet by that Swordlord that took my name down when I went to sign up for this expedition! Well, I'm glad to meet ya."
Looking at Cyrioul and Derren, he thought This Derren fellow ain't the friendliest, and I don't know much 'bout this Abadar. It may be best to keep a close eye on 'em.
Turning to Carina, he said, "And what would your name be, my lady?"[/b]
"I'm afraid I don't know this road very well, I took a different route from the capital to Restov. My name is Carina Sinicka, and I'm here on business for the Swordlords." She manages a crude imitation of a curtsy, clearly having seen it done but lacking the breeding and training to do it properly, and leaves her hat right where it is. "You are quite a long ways from home, milord Orlovsky, are you perhaps one of the others given a charter for the Greenbelt?"
Hearing hoofbeats behind her, she turns in time to see a man dismount and announce himself as Bolys Quinn. "Ho, traveler! Well met!" She then sees a man with a mule she had passed by earlier that day and it occurs to her that, "Ah, I see then! I had just introduced myself to milord Orlovsky here, but it seems more introductions may be in order. My name is Carina Sinicka, but I think proper introductions would be more comfortable around a table rather than on a dusty road." She sets a foot in the stirrups and then pulls herself up and swings her other leg over, mounting her horse, "I'll go on ahead and let the proprietor know to expect us, give him a few minutes warning before being inundated with travelers, hmm?"
The merchant caravan Sorry was travelling with, passed a group of armored travelers, talking alongside the road. Oleg trading post was already a landmark in the distance.
She was detached from the caravan; all she had to do was to walk to the group. Her long raincape, reaching down to her ankles, concealed any sight of weapons or armor, but the metallic clicks from her breastplate were easy to hear.
Those are my unknowing allies in this endeavor. she think as she approach the group.
The long day of travel was ending; Oleg’s was the resting place in the merchant’s road. The sun always threatening to hide behind the mountains cast its dying light over the hills and the nearby trees. In the dusk, a walking traveler approach the group, her entire body hidden behind the raincape, her face hidden inside the darkness of the raised the hood.
Young, sure hands, reaching the hood expose an innocent young girl face. She cannot be more than fourteen or fifteen, yet the military clothes briefly exposed behind the raincape was hard to miss. The metallic sound of someone walking in armor, the volume of her shield in her back told a different history. The pale skin in contrast with black hair. Some would say she was pretty; certainly, the forbidding clothes hide the sinuous and lean body of a girl just reaching adulthood. Nevertheless, it was her eyes that commanded attention.
No young girl had those lifeless, old, dead looking eyes.
”Sorry.” she says showing her invitation letter from the Swordlords.
"Sorry for what, young lady? You ain't done nothin' to apologize for."
The Swordlords sent a girl this young? What could they be thinking? Bolys wasn't sure he liked a girl this young being on this expedition. She would definitely require looking after and protecting.
Then again, this whole expedition was looking a little strange. A preacher made sense, and even an apparently disgraced noble made sense, but this girl? What was this?
"Sorry. My name is Sorry." she says.
"Well, everybody's gotta be called something. I'm Bolys Quinn. So, you've been sent on this expedition too, huh?"
Maybe I killed the chart owner. You’ll never know.
The girl stares at Bolys for some seconds and don’t bother answering what she consider a stupid question.
”Is there anyone else to arrive?” she asks looking at the others ”I wasn’t told how many I would meet at Oleg.”
Cyrioul watches Carina ride ahead. "There might be more, but I suppose we best follow her either way. I'm not the fastest afoot, but we'll get there." He smiles politely and continues down the road.
"Where do you hail from, Bolys? I've been in Restov most of my life, but have seen a few of the surrounding towns."
Bolys took Surestep's reins and headed towards Oleg, keeping him at pace with Cyrioul.
"Me? I grew up on a farmstead about a week's ride west of Restov. Not much in the way of roads, so it's mostly rough country travel. Pretty much just me and all my kin. We'd make it into the nearby town, Solgrov, once or twice a month, but otherwise we mostly kept to ourselves. It's hard work, farming the hard earth, but we made do between that and hunting. I started working as guide through the area when I was 13 - mostly some prospector or other who'd heard a rumor of gold or silver, or for some young noble looking to go on a hunt. Paid decent enough. How about you? Been a part of the church of Abadar long?"
As he walked, he kept looking about, searching for any threats that may appear.
"Sorry-er, apologies, miss. Stavarov never told me how many the Swordlords were sending." Derren looks the newcomer over. Pretty. Perhaps this expedition won't be as bad as it-OH HELLS! He looks briefly into Sorry's eyes and then looks away, calling Dorina over. He lifts himself up into the saddle and brings Dorina into a walk, keeping pace with the two conversing men. He listens carefully to what the others are saying, despite his nonchalant attitude.
"A guide? Then you know something about that land out there?" He looks south, his tone replacing some of its bite with nervous tension. "I ask because, while I'm trained in a great many things, the longest I've been outside a city was a few days, traveling between Eagle's Watch and Restov, and then my uncle had sent a few men who knew the roads with me. Not that I'm worried, you understand." He takes one last look at the rolling fields and massive forests before turning his attention back to the road and the steadily-shrinking shape of Carina and her horse heading toward Oleg's.
That one seemed nice, and properly respectful of her betters. I really hope she has them bring out their best red wine. Or, really, any red. And she'll have to be told to drop the 'milord'. My position in the family affords me a 'ser' at formal occasions, no more. Actually, maybe I won't tell her.
"Stavarov! That was it! I was trying to remember the name of that Swordlord who took my name down when I said I was looking to join the expedition. Thanks fer that!" He seems genuinely pleased to be reminded of the name. "Yes, I worked as a guide for some folks. Most of my experience is a little more to the north, but, while the landmarks may be different, there's still hills, plains, and woods. I know the type of land, and how to survive in it. I'd imagine that's why they sent me. I sure ain't the kingly type." He chuckles at that, somehow finding amusement in it.
"What about you? Family representative, n'at, or you on this trip for another reason? I noticed that flask o' yours has a fancy crest on it."
"Family representative? Indeed. The Orlovsky's don't trust me to uphold their name anywhere else, why would they do it here?" Derren sneers off at the distance. "No, actually. I was given an opportunity I couldn't pass up. Namely, I get to save my life out here. You see...
"There was a girl, a few months back, at my favorite tavern, and I spent a few months wooing her before she finally fell for me. Anyways, long story short, she ended up with child, her father figured out it was me, and Stavarov gave me a way out of trouble. Quite to opposite of how Uncle Poul would want his name represented, really." Derren answers in as upfront and honest a way as he can. "As I see it, Miss Sanda Lupei said yes, she knew it wasn't a long-term thing, and Calistria doesn't frown on my behavior, but Swordlord Lupei doesn't follow the Savored Sting, now does he? Neither does my uncle."
"That's gotta be hard, bein' on bad terms with yer own kin. I don't know how you manage it. Still, supposedly we're settin' up a community out here. Maybe you could bring her and the baby down once we have. After all, if you're showin' responsibility, her father can't be all that upset."
Bolys didn't approve of running out on the girl and her baby, but it was better to be alive than dead, so he couldn't hold too much against Derren. Still, he seemed to have a rather carefree attitude towards life, which could get him killed in the wilderness. I'd best try to teach him to take more caution with himself. Won't be good to nobody if he winds up dead in a wolf's mouth or on a bandit's blade.
Bolys took Surestep's reins and headed towards Oleg, keeping him at pace with Cyrioul. "How about you? Been a part of the church of Abadar long?"
"Officially? Just a couple years. I've been a clerk! Mostly, I watch over transactions, and have facilitated healing for patrons of the church. The priests above me liked the idea of someone from our church being included among those heading this way, though they didn't really tell me why. I'm just glad to see the potential for civilization out here."
Cyrioul frowns at Derren's story. "That doesn't sound very just. But then, if you follow Calistria, you probably aren't too worried at that. I will pray for you."
"Oh, he can be very upset. He's not the first father I've angered, but he is the first who's scared me that much. Pah! If 'civilization' comes to this land, as this man of faith seems to think it will, perhaps I'll write a letter to Sanda. Perhaps. As for the family, easier for me out here than you. And no, priest. I'm much less worried about what's just and more concerned with enjoying what time I have. Speaking of which..."
Derren slows his horse, falling back to talk to Sorry. "So, Miss Apology," he says, with a teasing edge to his voice, "where do you hail from? I couldn't help but see beneath your cloak (a terrible habit, that is) and I noticed your soldier's garb, but no insignia. How did one so young-looking as you get such gear?" He pauses for a moment, then offers the girl a hand, meaning to help boost her into the saddle in front of him. "'Now, Derren, where are your manners, boy?' That's what my uncle would say, at least. If you'd like, Dorina can carry us both to the Trading Post. She's a strong lass, and it'd allow us to hold conversation, both with each other and with those two ahead."
As he rides forth towards Oleg's, Pyotr had been informed he would be meeting others hired by the Lord Mayor and the Swordlords. They didn't really tell him much on that regard, and it sort of made him feel off. Withholding information like that could lead to trouble.
Then again, it could be that the person informing him had no information to give in regards to his now companions. Not unheard of in Restov, really. And so, with adventure in the air, he had set out.
The trip itself was uneventful, if a bit boring. And now, with the trade post in question looking on his horizon, he begins to see some folks gathered. And as he approaches, he begins to hear an all too familiar voice.
"By the Bones and their Mistress, if it isn't Derren Orlovsky. What, pray tell, brings you this far from the comforts of Restov?"
Derren looks over his shoulder to see a lean man riding up. For a moment, he's puzzled, and then her remembers. Pyotr.
"Pyotr. I should have guessed. Well, Miss Apology, I suppose I need to ask your pardon, but that ride will have to wait. Old friends must be greeted and courtesies observed."
Hand on his sword-hilt, Derren turns Dorina around and trots toward Pyotr and his horse. I wonder if he's forgotten the last time we met? If he has, perhaps we can be friends again. If not...well, I'd best be ready for that eventuality. He pulls his horse up next to the bigger man's and sticks out his right hand. "If you must know, Ser Tovanya, it was a sudden lack of comfort in Restov. Who was your sword-teacher? It wasn't Lupei, was it? He's sworn to take my head, and all for something two adults agreed upon! I figured I'd be safer fighting vicious brigands and murderous fey than tangling with his blade, so here I am.
"Now, listen, Pyotr. You're not still mad about...well, the last time we met, are you? I'd hate to have that old grudge fouling up what I've...we've got going here. Come on, I'll introduce you to our expedition-mates, such as they are."
Derren takes the lead, catching up to Sorry. "Miss Apology, this is Ser Pyotr Nikol Tovanya, a fellow gentleman and the only man to best me in the annual dueling tourney last year. Of course, I beat him the year before, so I'd say it's a draw. Pyotr, this girl is named Sorry, and I have no idea why she was brought on this trip. Now, Miss Apology, can I still interest you in that ride?" He once again holds out a hand to the girl.
As Derren rides up, he notes the man's left hand on his sword hilt. He still remembers...
Taking his hand, he gives it a firm shake. "And well met to you, Ser Orlovsky. And I thought I heard Lupei going on about you. Good thing you left when you did, he's taken to the bottle again." Pulling his hand back, he sizes the man up.
He had gotten more lean, it seemed, but he could tell that the frame belied a hidden quickness about it. "No, Ser Orlovsky, I am no longer mad. At least, not as much. But I'll know better than to introduce you to... Well, let's just say that time has scabbed over that old wound."
As he is introduced, he looks over at this 'Sorry' madame. Giving a courteous bow, he looks to Derren. "Ser Derren Orlovsky speaks to highly of me. And himself, of course, but too highly of me. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He give a low bow from his horse and then looks to the others.
"And who might you all be?"
Carina approaches the fort ahead of the rest of the party at a gallop, then calls out once she's reasonably close to the gate, "Hello there! This is Oleg's Trading Post, yes? I've been dispatched here with a charter from the Swordlords of Restov, and have a small party of explorers coming along behind me shortly!"
She then waits for an answer, remaining mounted with her hands firmly on Agrafina's reins rather than wandering towards her weapons. The others looked like they would make a motley crew that could easily put a proprietor in fear of brigands, so setting this Oleg fellow at ease would be important.
That was fast, but not very bright. He just told Bolys he is father to some bastards, and he is on the run in fear of a father.
Amused with the situation, Sorry consider how to answer the invitation, but her answer is interrupted by the newcomer.
This one has good manners and seems to be someone that values honor. This can be exploited. With nothing more than a few words, a complete judgment would have to wait for a later hour.
Then, Derren offers again the ride to Oleg’s, to which she smiles.
”High General Dujek was the one that suggested the Swordlord send me in this endeavor. I was with the army for the past two years.”
To his extended hands, she hands over her traveling bag and utensils, keeping only her shield. ”Thanks for the offer, you are a gentleman.” she turns to Pyor and give him a wink as she walks away from Derren, getting closer to the holy man, like her, travelling without a horse.
”Hello Father. This is a nice day for walking, don’t you think?”
"Bu...what? How...."
Momentarily flustered, Derren just looks at the bags in his hand. After a few moments, he shakes his head quickly, as if to clear it, and sets Sorry's baggage in front of him where a second rider might be seated. "Well, then. You know the saying, Pyotr? If at first you don't succeed..." He maneuvers Dorina next to Pyotr's horse once again. "Those two up there're Bolys, with the horse, and Cyrioul, with the mules. First one's a guide and a hunter, and the second one's a priest in the service of Abadar, of all the gods.
"Now, how about a wager? Five gold coins says she'll come around before fall sets in, hard-to-get though she may be. Alternatively, five of the same says I beat you to this "Oleg's Trading Post". Up for a race?"
Bolys looked at the new arrival with curiosity. Apparently the Swordlords sent two of their own on this expedition. Well, he seems a decent sort, more grounded than the other. Looks to be handy with that blade.
As Sorry walks up, he turns to her and asks, "Scuse me, miss, but did I hear you say you were with the army for two years, and the general recommended you to the Swordlords?"
"As fine a day as can be asked for, Miss Sorry. Though after army service, any day feel likely feels good. This one reminds me of a trip as a boy to an outlying farm. I think they raised horses. Nice folk, delicious bread. I hope we find a similar welcome at Oleg's."
Well, he don’t need to know that it was I that suggested, very subtly, that same recommendation…
”Ninth squad, 2nd Army, under Sergeant Jack. It seems that Dujek Onearm though I would be a great addition to this endeavor.”
At Cyrioul answer, she smiles and had not been for her eyes, it would be a pleasant thing to see. ”So do I.”
"Well then, Sorry, it seems I owe you an apology. I was thinkin' you were a young girl without much experience, but if you got army training, you must be capable a bit. Please, I hope I didn't offend."
He wasn't sure how experienced she could be, but if they were gonna work together, best there was no bad blood to start.
And that is exactly what I want everyone thinking.
”None taken.” she says calmly ”You weren’t wrong in your assumptions.”
As you approach the building a man climbs down from the roof. He approaches you.
Hullo. You must be the people we were told about. My name is Oleg.
Pyotr smirks as he sees Derren being treated like a porter, stifling a small laugh. "It appears the lass knows how to handle both their horse and you, Derren."
Bringing his horse to a trot to catch up with the other's as he listens more to Derren. "A wager? Over a woman? I know better than that. But a race?"
"Ah, so you accept!"
Derren spurs Dorina to a gallop, taking off down the road and leaving Bolys, Cyrioul, and Sorry behind. As the two of them thunder toward Oleg's, though, he sees Pyotr's horse pull ahead and reach Carina first by perhaps half a horse-length.
"Very well, you've won this time." Digging through his coat-pockets, he scrapes together a few gold coins and hands them to the better rider. "And now, I must introduce the last member of our expedition. Pyotr, Carina Sinicka. Carina, Pyotr Nikol Tovanya."
Derren pulls off his hat and gives a quick nod to Oleg. "And you must be the proprietor? Derren Orlovsky, of House Orlovsky, at your service (assuming you're at mine)! Now, I require only a few things, and our relationship can be beneficial to us both. First, your finest red wine, or any red, really. Second, a warm fire. Third. Well, actually, you can't help me with the third."
Now, Miss Sinicka, did you tell him about the charter?"
Carina begins explaining to Oleg that, "Ah, well met. I am Carina Sinicka, and I've been given a charter by the Swordlords to explore the Greenbelt. Here, just a moment..."
She dismounts and then takes a couple minutes to fish around in her saddlebags for the rolled up piece of parchment she was given, by which time the rest of the group has arrived, "Ah, milord Orlovsky!" She takes in the other two late arrivals, and recognition shows in her eyes as she hears Pyotr's name, "Lord Tovanya's son! I haven't seen you in years! I had heard you had gone to Restov to train in the Aldori school, but it never even occurred to me to call on you there. Well met indeed!" Her curtsy to Pyotr is every bit as awkward as when she did the same for Derren earlier, but she's clearly trying her best and not mocking the gesture.
Turning back to Derren, she then explains, "I was just about to show him my copy of the charter. I am afraid I can be somewhat absentminded at times about where I have stored things." She presents the charter to Oleg for him to read over, explaining, "It seems that we're to explore the region south of your trading post, and the Swordlords were rather concerned about bandits. I am sure we would be quite pleased to hear whatever you might be able to tell us about any brigandage you or your neighbors have suffered, just as soon as we can rest our feet after journeying here from Restov."
Derren slips off Dorina's back and drops Sorry's baggage on the ground just inside the gate. He pops out his flask and takes his last sip of what's inside before turning it upside down to let the final drops drip out. "Ah Hells. Pyotr, you seem to be popular today. Almost as much so as I usually am." He slides the flask back into its pocket and starts rubbing down Dorina. As he does, he talks over his own shoulder, directing his words toward Carina. "Miss Sinicka, the curtsy is all in the foot positioning and the knees. Right behind left, bend at the knees, and keep the upper body straight. You learn a lot when you have an older sister. Mostly things you wish you hadn't (I can braid hair better than my own mother), but still, you learn a lot." He smiles at her before demonstrating, using the tails of his coat as improvised 'skirts'. "Of course, it looks better with a dress. My sister always bowed when she wasn't wearing one."
He finishes working on his horse and turns to Oleg. "Ah yes, the charter. Says something about execution by 'sword or rope'. Doesn't seem very sporting to me, that rope business. Goodman Oleg, if you'd kindly tell us what you know of these stolen lands and the riff-raff that inhabits them, we could get down to our business sooner rather than later. And when you've finished, are these stables for our use? Dorina would be more comfortable indoors, and it's been a long ride for her."
Bolys rode Surestep into the trading post, looking about as he approached. Looks to be an old fort. Sturdy place like this must be useful when dealing with bandits. Dismounting, he extended a hand towards the man, and said, "You must be Oleg. Name's Bolys Quinn, I've been sent with the expedition. Anything I can do to help out, you let me know."
As Carina curtsies, Pyotr gives her a warm smile. "It pleases me to see you in good health, Madame Sinicka. And I don't mind you didn't call on me. Had I been more aware of the happenings, as they were, is the city, I would have called on you."
As Oleg reads the charter and Carina explains it, it sounded much like what he had expected: mapping and bandit detail. A good first step for a Swordlord on their own at least.
"Pay Ser Orlovsky no mind Madame Sinicka. Unless a proper representative from Brevoy arrives, I'd rather forego most formalities. Call me Pyotr, please." Turning to Oleg, he gives the man a warm smile and a nod. "We'll be in your care, good Ser. May our business here be to our mutual benefits, yes?"
He reaches down and pats Kopyto softly. Looking at the others, he smiles before turning back to Oleg. "Do you have stabling?"
Without a horse to mount or a rival to wage a bet against, Sorry takes longer than the rest of the party to arrive at the trading post.
After entering, the girl sees her luggage thrown at the floor near the gate. She walks over collecting her belongings.
Turning to Oleg, she gives the man a timidly smile, not unlike a young girl would do near someone she respected. ”Hi uncle. My name is Sorry. Thank you for letting us stay here.”
Yes, yes. Well you all better get inside. I'll be fixin me roof if ye need me.
"Will you be joinin' us later? I'd like to hear what you can tell us about the surrounding area and any bandit activity you know about."
As he asked this, he began unsaddling Surestep to lead him into the stables and gathering his equipment.
I'll Join ye. Me wife is inside. Just need to make sure the roof is fixed. In case it rains.
"Very well, Goodman Oleg." Derren leads Dorina into the stable, looking around for any feed in it. He unsaddles her, leaving the riding equipment outside her stall, and makes certain she's secure. After a final rub on the nose, he strolls over to the house, his gear either secure in his backpack or rolled in his bedroll. Seeing Sorry picking up her baggage, he shoots her a quick grin. "I beg your forgiveness, Miss Apology. I was uncertain where to put them, but had to move them in order to dismount. Your feet must be tired by now, but did you enjoy your walk?" Without waiting for a response, he steps inside and starts looking for Oleg's wife. Perhaps she'll be more forthcoming with information about these parts than her husband.
"I look forward to it, and thank you for your hospitality." Bolys leads Surestep into the stables, rubs him down, and makes sure there's feed for him. He gathers up most of his equipment, and heads for the lodgings.