The gold-painted figurehead is almost obscured by foam as the prow of the warship is heaved upwards upon a crashing wave. The sky churns with dark clouds and the wind drives spray and snow across the deck. On either side rise the sheer grey walls of the fjord, and the sea is choked with ice floes, shattered timbers and the floating corpses of sailors. Two more ships, murky silhouettes in the storm, list heavily as they founder. Icicles hang from their masts and rigging, decks awash as they succumb to the mountainous waters.
The dragon fills the sky, ivory wings spread wide, dwarfing the surviving fighting ship beneath it. Its head bears a crown of slender horns, a thin membrane pocked with holes and tears stretched between them. For a face it has a brutal scarred muzzle filled with irregular fangs, white spattered with the crimson blood of men. Sunken eyes glitter with malice. Despite its enormous size it twists its pale body sinuously as it turns in the air to make a final pass, tail slicing like a whip. The crew of the ship cower, awaiting their doom.
All except one. On the fo’c’sle is one man, by the gold braid on the shoulders of his navy greatcoat a senior officer. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead but his face is calm and his gaze intent as he crouches by a ballista, aiming upwards at the looming beast, hand on the lever ready to loose the bolt as he waits for it to draw closer...
The painting is certainly impressive in its way, its huge size giving it an epic sweep, even if it provides a somewhat idealised and heroic vision of battle. It dominates the wall above the fireplace in the drawing room of Lord Elveden’s townhouse. Here the group has gathered, summoned by his missive and the promise of gainful employment, and now waiting for their host to arrive.
The battle is named after Skull Beach, the strand beneath the cliffside cave where Injarjok made his lair. The dragon made a habit of a twisted form of trophy-taking, devouring the bodies of sacrifices and other unfortunate victims and tossing their more-or-less intact heads from his lair down on to the beach. After the many years of the dragon’s occupation, a massive pile of skulls had built up above the high tide line. The Inotian sailors named the area Skull Beach when they finally landed after defeating the beast. Stories tell of how they had to wade knee-deep through the skulls before they could climb the cliff and loot the dragon hoard.
Bishop-Commodore Elveden was the current Lord Elveden’s grandfather. He died several decades ago and is buried in the Hall of Heroes.
Daenan admires the painting for a moment, and after glancing around to make sure their host is still not ptresent he speaks. "Well the promise of lucrative business should be true, our employer has the pockets to back up the promise. If he takes after his grandfather..." The elf nods towards the painting. "This job may very well be high risk high reward. Though might have been just following orders. I hope the church isn't involved though. Religious matters tend to get ugly."
The stocky, bronze-skinned man beside the elf shrugs. "His lordship has extensive commercial concerns. It may be a simple matter of trade. I remember my father trading ivory and sealskins with the southerners..."
This man is dressed in the square-cut muted browns of a junior merchant officer. The heavy cutlass at his waist hangs low, its point mere inches from the ground. That low clearance is the result of the weapons length, and the man's short legs. His hair is short, black, and so straight that it nearly seems plastered to his head.
He tilts his head to consider the painting. "The artist has done a fine job capturing the quality of the water. It's a coldness in both its dull gray sheen and the diamond reflections on sunlight."
Kaerishidlon looks at the painting and listens to the others’ remarks. He turns, conveniently putting his back to a wall while he studies the rest of the room.
The tall man shows wrinkles on his face despite not yet having greying hair or an elderly stooped gait. He stands behind a high-backed sitting chair, his hands on it, waiting for the polite time to sit after regarding the painting that commands the room. He makes no mention of what he saw in it, his eyes shrewd (if somewhat bloodshot) behind his glasses. Beneath his five o'clock shadow from yesterday, he is wearing doctor's clothing. Button-up shirt, slightly loose except around the gut, vest, jacket, slacks, boots, and a white coat that drapes down to around the knees.
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The door opens and two well-dressed men enter. The first is in his fifties, strongly-built running to fat. He has a large florid face, his thinning hair combed back across his head. He strides confidently into the room and booms in a cultured voice, “Greetings! I am Ivor Elveden, this is my son Cedric. Thank you so much for accepting my invitation. Please take a seat and we can get to business.”
Cedric Elveden bears little resemblance to his father besides sharing his dark hair. He is slender and pale, aged about twenty. His manner is diffident and he says little, nodding silently in greeting, although his dark eyes carefully take in the details of the adventurers in the room one-by-one.
Two footmen enter, one with a tray bearing crystal glasses, the other carrying a salver with two bottles. They place the glasses in front of every person seated and then pour honey-coloured wine from the bottles into each. Both aristocrats sit politely until all the guests have been served before Lord Elveden dismisses the servants. He then picks up a glass and sips. “Fournarl ’63. Very pleasant, although the best vintage is supposed to be the ’57. My palette is too unsophisticated to tell the difference and I simply can’t justify spending that much money on a bottle of wine.
“But I expect you are wondering why I requested your presence here rather than wishing to listen to me blather ignorantly about viticulture. You were recommended to me by Lord Stevven, who said that you handled that business of his in the east with both aplomb and discretion. Hopefully this task of mine will be less arduous than that! I need you to… Well, tell you what, Cedric, why don’t you explain to them what this is about?” he says.
Cedric looks slightly surprised and stumbles over his words at first. “Ah, y-yes, um… You will have noticed the painting?” He looks to see if he elicits a few nods before continuing. “While this is a f-fine painting in its own right, colleagues and I are seeking to step away from the formality of Church-sponsored art.” He begins to warm to his subject and speaks with increasing fluency. “In particular, Church art has a moral and didactic purpose, rather than an intention to reflect perception. Church artists, for example, rarely paint from life. Bezant painted the original of this work here in Dornos based upon written reports of the b-battle and never set foot on Skull Beach. Our aim, m-myself and my c-colleagues, is to p-produce a more realistic depiction of the world, sh-sh-shorn of m-moral j-judgem-m-ment and ins-s-s-s…” Cedric’s stammer interrupts his flow and leaves him unable to get the words out.
Lord Elveden smiles encouragingly at his blushing son and continues, “So the purpose of your visit is to offer you employment. Given our family’s connection with the Isles of Allam, Cedric intends to visit them as a field trip to inform his painting. Your role would be to provide him with protection during his journey. While I do not expect there to be any danger, a family of our status will always have enemies, and Cedric is my heir. The Isles are also largely untamed territory and present dangers of their own. As such, you would ensure that he comes to no harm. In order to provide this service, you would be paid 8,000 gold talents each upon Cedric's safe return.
“I expect you will have some questions before making your decision?”
Daenan savors the wine for a while not quite finishing the glass yet. "Not the best I have had, but certainly better than what I can afford." The elf notes with a content smile before taking more serious expression as it is time for business.
"Correct assumption. Well for starters how long trip are we talking about? I would wager some sort of travel arrangements have been made? And what off the enemies mentioned, anything or anyone in particular to keep an eye out for? Mayhaps the locals bearing a grudge? Also your son mentioned colleagues?"
"My colleagues," says Cedric, "We are a group of l-like-minded artists."
"But they aren't going with him," adds Lord Elveden. "As for the journey, I believe you said three to six months, Cedric?" Cedric nods. "It's spring now, and no one in their right mind wants to spend the winter in the Isles of Allam, so a return some time before autumn would be the latest. It's about two weeks by ship to get there.
"Concerning potential enemies, we have no particular concerns. But I have business rivals, political rivals - they may wish to strike at me in various ways, including through my children. Then there are less personal motives, such as kidnap for ransom, or simple banditry. Rather than trying to anticipate every eventuality, my intention is to hire adequate security to address them."
He fixes Daenan with a sardonic eye. "And I'm glad you are enjoying the wine."
Ujarak sips the wine slowly while he listens to the Elvedens.
"That's a very generous offer, sir."
"It sounds like a simple job, but there is much to discuss. What will the transportation and living arrangements be? Will the ship remain in the islands for the duration? If not, is a ship already hired to fetch us back or will we try to book passage with one of the traders? Will we be camping on the beach?"
"You will not be sleeping on the beach," replies Lord Elveden archly, and Cedric tries to conceal a smile. "You have been booked passage on a ship leaving in a week. However, it hasn't been chartered for the whole duration. The Isles are not completely cut off, you will be able to communicate with the outside world. A ship can be sent to collect you if a suitable alternative is not available.
"As for your accommodation, Governor Briavels has generously agreed to provide you with your bed and board in his mansion for the duration of your stay."
”The wine is very good, thank you.”
After listening to the more business-minded in the group, Rish says, ”I know little of art, but I have a strong appreciation of nature in all her forms. And appreciate those that can capture her essence.” He bows to Cedric as he finishes. He pauses, then adds, ”However, I do know something about providing protection. It’s good to hear you live a life without overt enemies - it’s a burden to live otherwise - but we must proceed assuming there are concerns we just don’t know of. Who knows of your plans to travel and how much do they know? How much do you trust them? Who else will accompany you, Cedric, on your journey, other than your protection detail?”
It is clear that he is running possibilities in his mind already, even with the limited details available thus far.
Cyriphrain considers a few moments, swirling his glass, before joining the conversation.
Is this a critique of Church art, or a criticism of the Church? Well, one could certainly frame the desire for more accurate depictions or better sources as a quest to perfect one's art. And, if it is nothing more than attempt to elevate one's family...well, who am I to speak out against that. Well, I am no Inquisitor. So long as no outright blasphemies are committed in the name of art, I can see no bars to accepting this mission. And certainly, the scion of such a noble house deserves a sheltering shield.
"Might we know more about your colleagues? No offence intended, my lords, but do you have any grounds to wonder if leaving those behind with knowledge of the journey might pose a risk?"
"You will not be sleeping on the beach," replies Lord Elveden archly, and Cedric tries to conceal a smile. "You have been booked passage on a ship leaving in a week. However, it hasn't been chartered for the whole duration. The Isles are not completely cut off, you will be able to communicate with the outside world. A ship can be sent to collect you if a suitable alternative is not available.
"As for your accommodation, Governor Briavels has generously agreed to provide you with your bed and board in his mansion for the duration of your stay."
The Allam Islander smiles. "I am gratified that we will not be sleeping rough, sir."
As the questions flood in from the others, Ujarak waits for an opportunity to follow up. "Do you consider the governor a good and trustworthy friend?"
Cedric looks a bit surprised at the questions concerning his fellow artists. "We are interested in how we depict the world. I could never imagine that they would want to c-cause me harm."
"Most of them are friends from school," adds Lord Elveden, "I've met a few of them. Charming young men and women, in the main, but their concerns are not, shall we say, worldly."
"I would say that our concerns for realism are especially worldly," says Cedric to his father with a smile.
"I wouldn't, not while your respective fathers are paying you allowances to discuss theories of art without the need to consider vulgar commerce," replies Lord Elveden dryly, before winking at his son.
"As for who may know of the trip," he continues, "I suppose there is my chamberlain, who has made all the arrangements, the captain of the ship, and Governor Briavels. Plus any of their staff, I imagine, who needed to be informed. The journey has not been publicised, although it is also not a secret.
"Governor Briavels I do not know well, but acquaintances have vouched for him. There is nothing in his record that would suggest we should have any concerns regarding him."
Deanan has been stroking his chin in contemplation for a while. "Well personally I do not see a problem with the task itself. Though some details certainly interest me if my companions agree, to make sure we are successful."
His gaze turns to Cedric, measuring the young man. "Well we have learned that you are an artist and I could make some educated guesses but better to ask. Do you know how to swim, how about riding and if it comes down to it can you manage yourself with a blade?"
"Cedric isn't joining your group, your job is to protect him while you are in my employ," says Lord Elveden, his face clouding. "You would be being hired to wield blades, swim and ride on his behalf, should the necessity arise, and to avoid placing him is situations where it might. As for your educated guesses, all young men of breeding learn the basics of horsemanship, swordplay and physical education."
"Lord Elveden, you are considering entrusting the safety of your heir to us. I am taking the matter with the gravity it deserves. Consider the amount you are paying us for months of work. Now let's assume one of your rivals is willing to invest even half of that amount for a single attack. There may come a situation that the best tactical choice is for us to hold back the attack while your son escapes. Now imagine that he had hurt his knee in youth that prevented riding at full gallop. I am sure neither of us would want us to learn of the fact at that moment." He takes a small pause.
"I am not trying to offend you by questioning your parenting or your son by his capabilities. I am trying to make sure that if this job turns into more than acting as a safety net and deterrent that I can use my abilities to their best to accomplish our task."
Lord Elveden scowls but Cedric answers, "Father, it is a reasonable question." He turns to Daenan. "I have been taught to fight with sword and shield, and I ride occasionally to hounds when I am in the country. And at our school we started the day with a swim in the lake, and I still remember the winter mornings with p-particular horror."
Lord Elveden grunts, "Prophet, yes, I remember those too when I was there."
They smile at the shared memory before Cedric adds, "Of course, I would describe none of them as my metier."
Walker sat in his chair, drinking the wine neither leisurely nor chugging it.
He then says, somewhat jovially, "Well, worst case, if he gets a little banged up, we can fix him."
"So we will be staying in a mansion for several months, and it is to be assumed that we will take regular excursions out into the world for the young artist to view the world through his own lens. I'm sure troubles will arise, they always do on these sorts of things. Do the locals have issues with the governor?"
Lord Elveden gives Walker a cold look. "As I said, you would be being paid to avoid such an eventuality. Concerning the Isles, as far as I am aware they are quite pacified."
"Another practical concern." The elf nods towards the painting. "Do you also paint or do you work with some other medium? Or for that matter do you intend to make works during the trip or do things later from memory? I am asking because depending on the supplies needed it can change how we can move about. Also given that we would have a week for preperations I would be interested in the names of any spesific locations on the isles you would like to visit, this would allow for research."
"My intention is to sketch" replies Cedric. "It obviously would not be practical to create a work like this in the field. I would then create the final paintings on my return. My main location of interest is the area around Skull Beach. This is close to Port Elveden, the main t-town in the Isles."
”I think we understand the task. What remains is to decide and work out any remaining logistics - of which I see few.”
"Excellent," says Lord Elveden. "And the rest of you?"
Daenan throws rest of the wine down his throat. "Well enough, trip on a ship is long, I can sate my desire for minutia during that." The elf concedes, not quite happy with it, too used to planning military operations and how those should be done.
Ujarak looks at the others, then steps in smoothly.
"Lord Elveden, as I mentioned before, your offer is quite generous, and it seems you have planned the trip to the last detail. Our clients are seldom so thorough. I hope we have not tried your patience overmuch with our questions. "
"I believe all of us are willing to accept this charge, and pledge ourselves to the safety of Master Cedric."
Lord Elveden says, "Excellent! Then let us drink a toast to a quiet and uneventful journey, then." He raises his glass.
After the toast he adds, "As I think I said, the ship leaves in a week. She's the Ocean Tern, a merchantman under the command of Captain Budd. She's an experienced navigator in northern waters. Please present yourselves at the dockside first thing next week. In the meantime, we can advance you up to five hundred talents of your fee if you wish to purchase further equipment - my chamberlain will make the arrangements."
Berrycloth raises his own glass in reply.
Rish raises his glass for the toast.
He sips the wine once more, looking thoughtful.
Rish will accompany Daenan on his research foray to assist, if Daenan allows him to do so.
Walker will also accompany the library trip, and his single focus will be flora and fauna; even in that topic, he will search specifically as pertains to uses of flora and fauna (medicinal, intoxicant, hallucinogenic, psychotropic, poisonous).
"Good afternoon, Captain Budd. I am Ujarak Berrycloth. It was very nice of you to meet with me.... "
Wearing a long jacket and a tricorne hat, Captain Budd is a severe-looking woman of middle years burnt brown and leathery by the sun off the ocean. She gives Ujarak a beady look when she greets him on deck.
“Welcome aboard the Ocean Tern,” she says, her gruff tones redolent of the northern lands of the Empire.
[dice=Knowledge (geography)]1d20 + 7
[dice=Survival]1d20 + 12
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