The man nods, and retrieves a small emblem made of brass. ”This will allow you passage into our lands. I trust you will find your way, though direct passage via teleport will not function.” The thin man snaps his fingers and the bubble falls away.
The bubble falls away, and the five adventures pack their things up and start leading their horses and cart away.
The giantess shrugs, watching them pass, and scratches her dweomercat, waiting to be led back to wherever she’s supposed to go.
She says in her archaic sylvan, ”some in my home refer to my name as Warden. Others were to have called me Galiana. You call me either. I have other names but they are not for you to know.” She does not ask any more questions.
The party begins to prepare the mechanism to take them to Gliocas
The party is checking out what looks to be an old ruin of a castle, next to a muddy, swampy area of the foothills southeast of Denzgrazod, on the way back south to start the Rushlight festival.
There seems to be some sort of chest in a ruined tower within the middle of the pond. As the party thinks about the best way to get in, they are standing next to the muddy water’s edge, when three immense dragon-like beasts emerge from the water. Their serpentine maws snap angrily at the end of a long, sinuous neck, and steam issues forth from between their razor-sharp fangs. A powerful tail moves in rhythm with the bobbing head, displaying a wicked set of spikes. Scores of quills jut from the beasts’ flanks, bristling outward with menacing intent.
These are peludas, a type of lesser dragon - like a drake. They have a fire breath weapon, a poisonous tail attack, and can shoot quills out in a small area if surrounded. They are also of the dragon type.
They are immune to fire, have ferocity, have damage reduction (magic), and spell resistance.
They have a weakness in their tail - if it is attacked (and it can be attacked separately) and separated they lose their tail slap, associated poison damage, and take bleed damage every round. To attack the tail is a sunder attack.
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"Focus on their tails." Vincent says sharply. "If you sever them it will weaken them severely. Don't use fire. I will be of little use in this fight."
Knowing that such creatures exist is very different from having to actually face them in person.
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Tikroch watches as the creatures rise from the water. Surprised they don't seem familiar to his extensive knowledge of the natural world, he is caught a bit off guard. He glances to Vincent as he explains the situation and looks back to the creatures, a plan of action coming to mind.
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Donovan has remained quiet during much of the traveling. He seems to be gathering his wits as best he can, but confused about the state of affairs in the kingdom. Having only a partial picture, and not being clever enough to suss out all of the deceptions going on, means that he feels a bit on the outside, and isn't sure of the best way to help.
Once the group reaches a ruined keep with hostile creatures, though, his old reflexes go into action. Before he draws his blade, he takes note of the spikes and draconic features, and decides to cast a bit of defense.
Mila summons a spell and starts singing a traditional song of Brevoy, quietly but with firm conviction.
She prepares herself briefly to fight, raising her bow, ”and they’re actually dragons. Or at least I think that’s what peludas are! In this case, don’t use fire, and spread out!”
**********
The hissing peludas clamber out of the water and move close to the party, with two eventually exploding into a flurry of poison quills.
The last one simply steps up to the front, and sends a blast of singing fire at Mum, Tickroch, and Luca.
Round 2
Round 3
Round 4
Round 5
Mum dives into roll, easily avoiding the horde of quills coming in. She ends in a stand, looking at the opening mouth of the last lizard beast. "Hells" she swears before twisting quickly to the side, avoiding the cone shaped blast.
Covering himself with his cloak, the druid takes quite a few quills to his arms and back. Feeling the poison coursing through his veins, he looks up just in time to see a gout of flame roaring from the third dragon.
Tikroch creates some separation from the group by walking up and away. Meanwhile, he orders Luca to attempt to vanish into the stonework. Making sure he's not going to trample any party members, he gathers the deep magics of the natural world to himself as he transforms into a huge hippopotamus! Besides the fact that the huge beast is just standing on the air, there seems to be wisps of evil emanating from the thing.
Vincent gets pincushioned a little less than the others - mostly thanks to be smaller and at the back. He swiftly incants words of power and then uses his enhanced speed to gain distance from the dragons.
Donovan is on a ticking timer now, and with the team surrounded he can't really defend everyone at once. He hopes that the spellcasters can wisk themselves away or explode the enemies before he falls over. He pivots right and steps in on the nearest foe (green).
With the blur of Vincent's magic in her, Mum rushes past a Peludas'snapping maul. She breaks up their clumped mass as well as potentially distracting the beast from Mila. An added bonus that her sword is at the beast's tail which Vincent said to cut into.
Mila fights the poison, but looking at her new companions she realizes they aren't in a great shape. She stops stringing her bow and instead sings a hymn of such beauty that it touches their souls.
With other peluda in close range, the existing creatures move to simply attack.
Another one steps up and looks like they want to attack a few times, but can't due to the difficult terrain
The last one, seeing a little more effectiveness of their spines, does a similar tail quill explosion, trying to avoid their compatriot in the attack.
Vincent is delighted that the creatures are ignoring him - having shaken off the poison that gives him precious time to consider his options. He crouches among the rocks, making himself an even smaller target and starts flicking through his spellbook as fast as he can.
Unsurprisingly the giant hippo cant avoid all the quills but he does manage to deflect most of them with his thick hide. Luca positions himself just right to avoid the attack all-together.
Finally recovering from his transformation, the hippo reaches out his huge jaws to bite a chunk out of the closest dragonette.
Dashing from behind the rocks, Luca pounces on the paluda his master is attacking.
Her hymn finished, Mila starts her song about courage once more, before shooting at one of the peludas, which she fumbles graciously. "Damnit!"
The peluda attacked by Mum is eviscerated so badly that the floating hippo is able to move down a bit and help Donovan.
The top one goes after Mum with some attacks.
The bottom one attacks the biggest threat, the floating hippo.
Vincent watches Mum do what she does best and holds his spells for now. It doesn't look like he's going to be needed for this.
Seeing all the pain Mum can cause, Mila rushes to her side. "Quick shortcut, Dear." She says, as a tear in reality appears by their side. Mila pulls the fighter along and after a moment they leave opposite to the healthier Peluda.
"Thank you, Dear" Mum grins as she finds herself in perfect position to cut down the remaining beast.
The hippo moves to take another bite out of the closest peluda.
Meanwhile, Luca charges at the same target.
Mum eviscerates one of the Peluda, and with the hippo chomp, the last peluda collapses, dead.
The party investigates the tower, including the ruined chest.
Within, they find what appears to be an oiled ranger's cache, long abandoned. Within lies a mithril chain shirt, a darkwood composite longbow (+2 str), a masterwork cold iron falchion, a pair of boots of friendly terrain, a bracers of falcon's aim, and 60 darkwood arrows.
Donovan is quick to deploy healing magic as needed to deal with the poison first and the wounds next.
"That was rougher than I'd have liked," he muses.
Chrysa sags to the ground, her heart thudding in her chest, her swords dropped as she holds her belly. When Donovan comes to cleans the poison from her, she looks up and says "Thank you with all the sincerity on the planet.
Mila shoots a number of arrows towards the creature, her holy power lancing towards the tall, thin man, and for the first significant time - the arrows connect and the creature is wounded significantly. Dark blood oozes from the new wounds, and the creature staggers, but not nearly as much as they stagger when Fantol’s axe connects with its torso. The wound gushes now with a torrent of purplish blood, and reflexively, the creature lashes out, back to Fantol, and it’s the ranger’s own turn to be wounded.
Denisa doesn’t back down, though. Not being able to revive Cerny for the moment, with one hand open, the Aldori slashes forward, and again, distracting the monster.
Even Nicolas manages to send out a blast of magical missiles which bury themselves in the body of the creature, who seems even more wounded than before. The creature recognizes the danger that Mila poses and creeps around Fantol, only briefly, before realizing that the Ranger’s presence is only making it harder to deal with the true threat.
Wordlessly, a double appears behind Fantol, and the creature drives a pair of claws into Fantol’s gut, this time from behind, so deeply that they emerge from the other side.
Fantol gurgles and reaches out weakly to try and strike at the creature, to push it off, but it doesn’t work. The monster seems satisfied as another in the party crumples to the ground.
Finally free to deal with the threat, he starts to advance on Mila - but a final barrage of arrows thud into the creatures’s head, the last passing through with such force that it splits the head apart, and the monster falls, dead, its form staying fixed for only a moment longer before turning into a vitreous goo.
The illusions in the area immediately dissipate, and the party lies in a derelict basement in an old building.
The suddenness of the violence abated, with Denisa desperately trying to staunch the wounds on Cerny, who is taking shallow breaths - Mila has a choice: move to save the cleric, or try to save Fantol?
It isn’t much of a choice, and the young Paladin rushes over to the cleric and lays a hand upon his torso, staunching the bleeding immediately. With a gasp, Cerny sprays out a splatter of blood and sits up.
Thinking quickly, Mila moves over to Fantol, and discovers a grievous wound. As she is reaching out a hand to do her own stabilization, she sees the form of the nobleman exhale once more quietly. It is too late.
Cerny scrambles up and rushes over, using his own spell, but the magic is not powerful enough. Spitting out clotted blood, and holding his side while kneeling over the nobleman, Cerny shakes his head. ”Too late.” Denisa puts a hand to her mouth, and stares down at the carnage, and the realizes the situation remains dire. Pointing at the teens that are still tied up, she says ”Cerny, the kids. Check the kids.” The cleric is muttering a prayer above the body, while clutching his holy symbol and looks up, quietly cursing in Old Brevian, before lumbering to his feet again and moving to heal them.
Nicolas has been sitting quietly in the corner, ashen-faced, and without reaction - he nods gravely when asked to help carry the dead, and once everyone has recovered, the remaining party pulls the survivors and the dead up the stairs, where they fashion items to pull the corpses out of the forest, and start the arduous task of returning to the village.
The illusions broken, the small group sees far into the woods now, and sound and light have returned. The menacing ruined street is - in proper light - just a few overgrown buildings. Dragging the corpses behind them, the party slowly makes their way back to town, and after about two arduous hours, they reach the edge.
Heading back to the inn with the captives, the party, bedraggled, beaten, and bloodied, staggers back into the tavern.
Denisa says to Mila, ”you - you’re a noblewoman, you have to speak to the Surtovas. Let them know Nicolas and the kids are safe.” Nicolas stays downstairs, almost protectively standing by the corpses, while Mila moves upstairs and knocks on the door of the suite where she’s directed to go.
Opening the door is a sallow-cheeked man with spectacles, and a hand on a sword, he opens it only a crack and says to the Paladin, ”you must have a good reason to intrude.” Mila explains, and the man, frowning, nods, and replies ”fine,” but does not respond otherwise. A few moments later, the door opens - and the well-dressed sort of vizier or butler emerges, followed by an older gentleman with a stately bearing, and what are obviously profoundly expensive clothes, follows. The man has a gold-tipped cane, and a shock of well-groomed gray hair. Though older, he seems to carry himself, with grace and heft to his steps. The man has brilliantly intelligent eyes, and cautiously watches Mila for a moment before nodding at her, ”well done, miss.”
The butler gestures for Mila to head downstairs and the paladin turns and stumbles down to the now-messy common room.
Other patrons have since evacuated, and only the adventuring party remains. Nicolas stands in the corner, near the corpse of his bodyguard while Fantol is sort of, attended to by Cerny and Denisa.
Nicolas looks up, ”uncle, it was horrible.” The elderly gentleman steps down the stairs, replies, ”a success, though?” Nicolas opens his mouth, and closes it, ”I suppose - we rescued the kids, but Vlad and Fantol - they were killed. A horrible monster had kidnapped kids!” The man leans forward on his cane, ”life is difficult - Nicolas, it only gets harder when you get older. What did you expect.” Nicolas stammers, ”but - but he implied it was us, we owed them something.” The older man glares at Nicolas, ”what could we possibly owe a monster. Do not be foolish.”
Nicolas steps forward, ”Lord Fantol died! Protecting us! And … Vlad wasn’t exactly kind but didn’t deserve to bleed out like this.”
The older gentleman, replies, ”keep your mouth shut, Nephew. Lord Fantol did his duty.” And he moves closer to the young man, ”if you value the lives of these … friends of yours.” He raises an eyebrow, and seems to collect himself - and looks around, ”my apologies - I mean to say that our matters, our family matters - knowing more about them would put everyone at risk.” He seems sincere, but there is an undercurrent of threat. Nicolas blanches and sits down, carefully, and folds his hands.
He continues, ”the Surtovas will, of course, compensate you for your troubles. And for your discretion. Remember, whatever the monster you met spoke about - these fey creatures - they traffic in lies.” He snaps his fingers, and the butler retrieves a small satchel from an extradimensional pouch and opens it.
With a broad gesture, the older Surtovan opens his hand, ”please - for your services, and as I said - discretion.” The butler retrieves a number of very expensive gems and moves to give them to Denisa and Cerny. The pair look at each other, accepting the payment, and Cerny looks like he wants to say something, but shuts up. Denisa nods, obviously tired, ”Yes, Lord Anatoli.” and the woman bows. Cerny can barely muster his own bow, but he does, and the pair looks down at Fantol briefly before giving Mila a sad look and exiting through the door.
The butler turns to Mila, ”please young lady. I’m sure it will help your family in Eagle’s Watch, and you need not worry about the Medvyed lord. His family will be receive what is due for such a sacrifice.”
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Outside of the tavern, Mila has her jaws set as she looks for the families of the children. Not only those they were able to rescue, but also those who lost their children to the monster in the woods. She splits the Surtova's coins among them.
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Mila distributes the payment and for a moment, she’s overcome with a sense of loss. Whatever their success, it came at quite a cost. Burying her emotions, and with a small decision made, and a sense of resolve, she quickly checks her bag for supplies and heads back into the forest, the secret paths now well-known to her. Before too long she’s at Korodri and Navessa’s tree. The cheery little Paladin is sitting on a stump, chatting with a few small animals and a sprite while whittling, and sees her. Noticing her expression, he asks what happened.
Mila explains what she experienced and saw, and Korodri pauses for a moment, and then excuses himself. He beckons Mila to head into the boughs with him, and as they ascend with magical assistance, he’s quiet.
Mila had been in the room before, but not often. The Paladin had kept a few knickknacks and keepsakes in trunks, along with a number of books - some old, some new, many fine, and many tattered.
He explains, frowning slightly, ”what you met was what is called a Bogeyman. The bogeyman, even, or an avatar of it. But it was supposed to be…” Korodri pauses and thinks, ”I have a suspicion that the current ruling house, of that family you met, they… well…” He trails off, ”I cannot speak on the matter in detail. But there was an accord, outside of my control. Part of the accord led to those ruins you saw. There were other payments, and services rendered.” He doesn’t look frightened, but for the first time, he’s almost dismissive towards her, ”Lord Fantol did not know. Few is Brevoy do, and those who speak about it often find themselves dead. The reach of the Surtovas is long, and I have a duty to the creatures of the forest. If you’d like time to mourn your friend, please take it, but you can’t do anything about this and the matter is outside our control.”
Sighing, ”At least you didn’t take their money. But stay away from that ruin, it is cursed - and nothing we can do will help, okay?” Feeling as if the matter is settled, the gnome pats her on the shoulder and departs to speak with Navessa. Curious, Mila tries to follow and listen at the door, but try as she might, the only thing she hears is a muffled, animated conversation.
Mila is a little bit torn as to what to do, but she soon excuses herself from Korodri to see that Fantol’s body is returned to Stoneclimb. She escorts the man, wrapped in funerary garb, east and uphill, slowly, until they eventually reach the seat of house Medvyed’s power. She’s greeting by Fantol’s brother, Gurev, and she explains what happened. It doesn’t take long for Gurev’s expression to harden, and while the smaller man is listening he seems to be thinking. The older noble, his shorter beard flecked with grey, says to Mila, ”thank you. If you ever learn anything more, please let me know.”
She nods and takes her leave. Returning back to the forest, the events keep rattling around in her head. Why did it happen? Who was truly responsible? Why did everyone except the Medvyeds hide things from her?
She started hanging out at taverns more often in surrounding towns, listening to gossip and plying her musical talents. Drunk people spoke easily and fluidly, and she found herself charming them. As time went on, she spent less and less time on her forest duties, something which Korodri noticed and commented on, disapprovingly. She never seemed to get any closer to solving the mystery of the Bogeyman, despite disobeying Korodri and returning to the ruin a few times.
But the sense of control, the sense of knowing seemed to dramatically improve Mila’s own mental state. Even if she wasn’t making progress about the mystery, she figured out a lot about the country she lived in, and that something rotten had infested it. The Surtovas, the former stewards of the Rogavarians, had been in power ever since Mila was a young girl. She hadn’t thought much of them, but the barest hints of whispers served as the mortar that was building an edifice in her mind: the Surtovans were the problem. The source of all the problems.
Korodri wouldn’t do anything about it. Mila grew frustrated as she entreated him. His only response? He would not get involved in politics - his duty was to the forest and the villages which relied upon it. In some ways, Korodri did not seem to want to take this position, but his stubborn honor or something else that seemed to bind him, got her nowhere.
She reported much of this to Gurev, when she had time, and she seemed to try to make time. Sleeplessly and furiously combing through her notebooks, she invented ciphers to prevent their discovery, and found that she had some skill at … creative obfuscation. Her paladin code frowned on lying but most people don’t pay close attention to what you say, as long as you know how to say it in the right way. It wasn’t long before she started having nightmares - where she screamed at an
Oak tree asking why? Why? Why?; the tree never responding.
The second time she had the dream, she realized that there was a large bat in the tree, watching her. As the tree stood placidly, the bat shuffled its feet as it hung, and then spread its wings. Nearly imperceptible against the starry sky, the bat flies off into the night. Mila wakes up with a start, only partially rested but the next night is no better - the same tree, the same bat.
The fourth night she yells at the bat what? What could you want? You’re a bat! Go away!” A childish response, and the bat doesn’t stop. The fifth night in her dream, she has her bow, but as she raises it to fire at the bat, the bow warps, and the bat flies away, as she screams at the tree again and again.
Getting more exhaused, after nearly a week of no sleep, the next time she encounters the bat, she simply tries to follow it as it flies away. But her mind isn’t fast enough, her senses not keen enough to, the dream logic not strong enough with her, and though she is able to rest completely for the first time in a while - she realizes that the hunger in her for knowledge is also partially sated. She makes a connection, in her own mind, and the next day, tries to find Denisa and Cerny. This proves more difficult than she expected, and when she is finally able to track down Denisa, she finds a broken woman in a bar, drinking. The bravado exhausted from the Aldori, the woman she knew on her trip is a shell of herself.
Denisa doesn’t seem to be able to recognize her, but eventually the Paladin is able to glean a few tidbits of information. It seems Cerny was killed in a robbery, after the pair fell on hard times. The money they got from the Surtovas had dried up and they seemingly had been looking over their shoulder as people trailed them here and there. They had struggled to find new work, and both were arguing with each other. Seemingly, Denisa blamed herself for Cerny’s death. Wallowing in her misery, Mila began to ask questions about who was it that got them. She realizes that the people who killed Cerny were too well equipped to- and that the pair had been loose ends. The Surtovas didn’t like loose ends.
Growing ever more anxious, but finding solace in her dreams, she steeled herself - focusing on the bat, night after night. Moving, cloaked, from village to village, watching her back - and neglecting her duties. If Korodri noticed, he didn’t say anything, the elder gnome seemed to be accepting of whatever was happening as his mentee slipped away. Each night, she was able to follow the bat further and further, until the oak tree was no longer visible, the bat grew larger and larger, enveloping the sky and blotting out the stars. Eventually its wings wrapped around her, and she was surrounded a velvet softness of the dark.
She did not return to the forest.
But as she became a shadow in New Stetvan, she leveraged her singing voice to unlock hidden magic of subterfuge and enchantment. She followed a code, still, she didn’t directly lie to anyone, and while she no longer had a trainer, she felt guided by the darkness itself. The shadows helped her. But the reach of her enemy was long, and they seemed to be able to find her wherever she went.
The only people she could trust were her own family, who she could no longer visit, and seemingly the Medvyeds. Feeling like she owed them for Fantol, she watched from the shadows until something unexpected happened.
Fantol had had a daughter, a girl with purple eyes, who showed up suddenly and seemingly with purpose. She had pointed ears and seemed to know things, almost as much as Mila, and learned quickly. With no other surviving children, she became the Scion of the house, a minor scandal considering she wasn’t fully human - it wasn’t quite clear how that happened but the girl was clever, and she seemed to learn things before they happened, and seemingly she got a charter for the stolen lands.
She watched her from afar until the woman caught her, in a disguise, and basically offered Mila a job. Off of every book. The reward would be answers. Revenge. And maybe justice. All she had to do was extend Sophiel’s eyes. She couldn’t be everywhere, and she could trust few people, but she trusted Mila - even if she didn’t know much about her.
Mila began to spy. Her disguises were impeccable and she infiltrated every other chartered barony. Periodically she would return to Gliocas and for the first time felt safe. There was crime, and some corruption, nobody was perfect - but the people of the country had a common mission. So many had been rejected by others. Had lost people. It was a barony, and then a republic, dedicated to the idea that the broken and the lost could find a home where they could become their best selves. That they could trust each other. Talk to each other. They were all part of the same family, and everyone was worth something. Everything. Not just the forest, or the mines, or the centaurs, or fey, or anything else. Mila now had a duty, a calling that was personal and professional. To serve as the eyes and ears of a country and cause bigger than herself. If necessary, to act as a knife in the dark, but only when necessary, and never lightly.
As they are traveling, a thrush appears near Chrysa. Curious, she watches its, and it whispers something to her, ”you may drop the disguise, it doesn’t matter anymore. Shadowfall’s ruse is broken and we mobilize for war. Tell your people to execute the plan.”
The plan of course was discussed by Chrysa and Sophiel, and consisted of turning Shadowfall into the first line of defense against attack from Brevoy. Bristling with weapons and dangerous people - the Surtovans would have to contend with them, or split their forces in order to get tactical advantage, and now reinforced by Gliocas, they were even more formidable. All of the maneuvers Sophie had executed had left the impression of withdrawal from the forest, which they were, but the rangers now had built guard stations and traps all along the northern border, making it a wall of foes with long bows and keen eyes. The delays and diversions had bought time enough, for now.
The Rushlight Tournament is held at a massive festival ground erected by King Irovetti a dozen miles northeast of the city of Pitax, about a half-mile from the southern shore of the Rushlight River itself on the banks of a minor waterway called Cutter’s Creek. Once the tournament gets underway, the festival grounds become thronged with people, essentially transforming the area into a town overnight. Merchants from numerous River Kingdoms come to hawk their wares at this event—traditionally, even Brevoy sends some representatives, although this year marks the first with no official Brevic presence as internal tensions in that nation are nearing a breaking point.
Wandering merchants jockey for space, crying their wares, whether hot from a basket or cool from a cask. Stages with jugglers, minstrels, mummers’ troupes, and trained animals dancing and leaping all vie for the attention (and the coin) of the throngs reveling in King Irovetti’s bounty.
The first day of the tournament is given over to trading, feasting, a preview of the beasts of the traveling menagerie, entertainment (of varying quality), and (after sunset) a grand display of fireworks. The next 3 days are highlighted by contests at the Coliseum, then followed by a day of rest. Finally, on the 6th day, the tournament culminates in a nightlong celebration of wine in honor of Pitax’s many vintners—all culminating in the traditional Midnight Joust, after which the final winner of the Tournament is announced.
This year, the participants consist of six kingdoms in all.
Daggermark: Daggermark, as one of the most successful River Kingdoms, attends the competition out of a sense of duty, although their competitors are generally more interested in the entertainment than they are at actually competing for the prize.
Gralton: The kingdom of Gralton has suffered long and hard to survive, and their reasons for competing this year are the same as every year—if they can win, the fame and glory and monetary awards will help their nation greatly.
Mivon: Although Mivon’s relations with Pitax are shaky, with skirmishes common along their borders, the two nations are currently in something of a peace.
Pitax: Although Pitax hosts the competition, its champions feel no shame or awkwardness over competing themselves.
Tymon: The kingdom of Tymon is famous for its own competitions and gladiatorial battles. King Ungin sends representatives to all of the competitions and tournaments that occur in the River Kingdoms if he can, large or small.
Events:
The Rushlight Tournament has all manner of
common entertainments, minstrels, mummers, singers, jugglers, tumblers, trained animals, and on and on, but much of its allure lies in the glory of competition. All competitive events take place in the Coliseum and, with the exception of the Midnight Joust, begin an hour before noon. Typically, the competitions last for a few hours, with the day’s winners announced at the rotunda in the Commons in the early evening.
The schedule of games is posted throughout the festival grounds. Each competition has its own rules, but there are three rules that govern all of the events: harm no spectators, kill no competitors, and don’t get caught cheating. Breaking any of these rules is grounds for disqualification from that event.
Each contest has a first-place winner and a second-place winner—those who don’t place first or second win no accolades at all and in fact are often mocked by the crowd
during the competition. Contestants can always yield in a contest if they wish. Most of the contests are timed—time is tracked by the use of a large and extravagant water clock kept in the noble’s palisade to the east of the coliseum.
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Tanned from constant travel, with dust-stained boots and utilitarian clothing, a petite and vaguely pretty woman with a wild mane of wavy brown hair, sets up a chair and table under an awning among the wandering merchant stalls. She paces before the table, holding loose pages crammed with drawings – hawking her talents loudly:
”Tattoos! Tattoos by Senna! Holy symbols, weapons, phrases, monuments, portraits, symbols of luck, creatures – real or mythical! Ward off evil with a protective gIyph! I can draw anything you describe. Any style, any size! Reasonable prices!”
To the casual observer, the woman is merely another peddler at a festival brimming with them. But to anyone with a passing knowledge of equipment… some of her gear is entirely too fine. The holsters on her double belts hold what appear to be an eldritch rod, a folded three-sectional staff, a scroll case, and a curiously shaped blade. She is certainly a tattooist but her gear suggests she is likely something more.
Senna works diligently to sell tattoos at the festival as her belt pouch is feeling light of coins at this moment. But she is also observing the coming and goings of the locals and keeping an ear open for any interesting bits of news… and the news she dreads to hear.
In a good-natured way, the tattooist continues to pitch to all passersby (especially the ones that scowl at her). ”Madam, your child is lovely! In future years, wouldn’t you like to have a memento of how perfect she looks today? I do portraits at fair rates… Or perhaps you’d like a butterfly painted on her rosy cheek to bring Desna’s favour on her? No needles, no pain, and it will wash off in a few days. Just a bit of paint to brighten her day and make her the envy of her friends…”
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"Greetings and good fortune to you, your majesty," the richly, but tastefully dressed emissary from Pitax offers her courtesies, "and assembled worthies. I am Naomi Ravasz of Pitax, diplomatic minister both extraordinary and plenipotentiary, and I bear an invitation from His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence, Castruccio Irovetti, by the grace of the gods the rightful king of Pitax, Marvel of Numeria, Master of Mormouth, and Prince Regent of the Sellen. His Magnificence bids you welcome to the Jewel of the River Kingdoms that you might celebrate and compete in this, his Rushlight Tournament. Witness and indulge in the wonder and grandeur of Pitax, and it is His Magnificence's fondest hope that this will bring about true amity and bonhomie with his fellow River King who has so ably piloted the ship of state with perspicacity that has captured his admiration from afar."
She rises, scroll and credentials at the ready to present to Sophiel should she request them.
Pitching her voice lower, a warmth bubbles up as Naomi ratchets down her formality, just a skosh. "And if I may, your majesty, it is not only His Magnificence who has become enraptured with the little wonders of your kingdom. I would be honored to serve as your liaison for your journey, and I hope that in so doing, we could form a bond as personal as it is political."
A darkly armored woman with splashes of red accents and twin swords laying comfortably on her hips had been discussing something with the leader of these lands when Naomi enters. Even without the coal black horns twisting from forehead to crown like sharp roots, an accomplished emissary like Naomi would recognize another peer of the realm.
The Iron Baroness of Shadowfall, the dark kingdom to the north. Rumors of the two kingdoms merging with Sophiel Medvyed as the undisputed (and elected) ruler seems to be true.
Chrysa folds her arms and leans against the heavy wood table. "Greetings, Naomi Ravasz of Pitax. If you don't mind?[/]" she looks to Soph, knowing she won't but still making it known she is deferring to her, at least publicly. Her friend smiles but nods "[b]Pitax and Gliocas has had... altercations of late, minor ones, but still troubling. What promises of security would our lady here be given by your lord?" Chrysa knows Soph is one of the most powerful spellcasters in the land, so she doesn't really need anything, but still the answer tells much.
"Greetings and good fortune to you, your majesty," the richly, but tastefully dressed emissary from Pitax offers her courtesies, "and assembled worthies. I am Naomi Ravasz of Pitax, diplomatic minister both extraordinary and plenipotentiary, and I bear an invitation from His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence, Castruccio Irovetti, by the grace of the gods the rightful king of Pitax, Marvel of Numeria, Master of Mormouth, and Prince Regent of the Sellen. His Magnificence bids you welcome to the Jewel of the River Kingdoms that you might celebrate and compete in this, his Rushlight Tournament. Witness and indulge in the wonder and grandeur of Pitax, and it is His Magnificence's fondest hope that this will bring about true amity and bonhomie with his fellow River King who has so ably piloted the ship of state with perspicacity that has captured his admiration from afar."
She rises, scroll and credentials at the ready to present to Sophiel should she request them.
Pitching her voice lower, a warmth bubbles up as Naomi ratchets down her formality, just a skosh. "And if I may, your majesty, it is not only His Magnificence who has become enraptured with the little wonders of your kingdom. I would be honored to serve as your liaison for your journey, and I hope that in so doing, we could form a bond as personal as it is political."
The prime minister has a serious look about her, and her temper has flared more often than would be normal. A spectacled androgynous elfin being hovers nearby, seemingly taking notes - who accepts the scrolls - and there is a young Taldan woman in her early 20s off to the side, seemingly also taking notes but with a winged helmet under her arm. She gestures to the elfin being ”it is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Ravasz. As I’m sure you know, this is Marcanth. But that woman is Penelope. A reporter.” She turns back to Naomi, ”we value honesty here. The truth.” When Naomi gives an explanation for all of Iorvetti’s titles, Sophiel waits patiently, though one eyebrow is raised slightly about halfway through the list, and doesn’t descend until Naomi is finished.
The prime minister is dressed in a suit, with a simple headband of lavender serving as a crown, of sorts. The ruler unabashedly shows off her pointed ears, her hair pulled back into a neat bun, and is unadorned except for a small, triangular pin on her left chest.
They were meeting in Sophiel’s simple office, and there is a red stain on the ground where Naomi stands - faint but noticable to the trained eye. The prime minister stands when Naomi finishes and Chrysa introduces herself, ”Kind words, and they are appreciated. You may bring word back to your King that Gliocas will participate, but unfortunately” she pauses, ”I am indisposed.” She moves over to the window and looks out. ”We’re installing water and sewer lines all over the city - I need to be here to manage things, magically and administratively.” She smiles slightly as she turns back to Naomi, ”with the tales of Iorvetti’s wisdom and foresight in matters of statecraft well-known, I hope he will indulge me on this occasion.”
She returns to her desk ”Chrysa may serve as a champion of the realm in my stead, along with some of my other agents and friends - Donovan and Tikroch at least, possibly others.” She sits down, ”but please send my regards to your King with a promise. I will attend the next festival, no matter what happens. Please - speak with Chrysa and get to know our… little country. Trinity University has a museum of wonders, and our shops, pubs, and restaurants are a taste of Andoran luxury rarely found in this part of the world.” She inclines her head as a sign of respect and waits for the woman to either excuse herself or ask any follow-up questions.
"Your excellency is most wise, and it is a true wonder to see that your vaunted openness truly extends even into the heart of your study, despite your previous... setbacks." Exactly on cue, Naomi's eyes flash to the bloodstain, and then back again, her warm smile never wavering.
"Though, His Magnificence will no doubt be grievously wounded by your absence, I am certain that Gliocas will stand well represented while you tarry in such offal matters. Your forbearance and abstemiousness will no doubt be spoken of as truly befitting your manner of leadership. I fear that there are certain private matters of security that would not be appropriate for the ears of those who are in the habit of stereotyping secrets as far as their broadsheets may be carried.
"Should I speak of those matters with our baroness, whose wit and effervescence surely holds every sparkling mote of golden beauty that her name suggests, but her locks lack?" Naomi favors Chrysa with a gleaming smile, and moves to plant a chaste kiss upon the back of her glove. "Please My Lady Shadowfall, lead on."
Sophiel laughs quietly, ”I think you would fit in quite well at the university, Ms. Ravasz, but there’s no need for airs. I’ve gotten my hands dirty before and I’m certain they will become both dirty - and bloody - again, before my task is done.” She shrugs, ”secrets have their place - but not here, unless we have a compelling reason. Penny reports the truth, it is one of the finest bulwarks I have against subterfuge. A lesson learned, all. too. well.”
When Naomi speaks of Chrysa’s wit and effervescence, it’s almost hard for Sophiel to contain herself, but she does, ”mmhmm, yes, you are the very model of levity, aren’t you, Chrysa?”
Sent as an emissary, Donovan plans to participate in the tournament fully on the up-and-up and make a good name for Gliocas in the process.
Donovan arrives for the Tournament—and who in the Stolen Lands hasn't heard of the famous Rushlight Tournament?—in knightly panoply, as befits a crusader, complete with a tabard and a flag bearing Iomedae's symbol (showing that he lists on behalf of the goddess of champions, rather than for a house). His horse's mane is braided and ribboned, his armor polished, and his lance pennon'd.
But, things being what they are, there will be more than just a display of martial prowess.
While practicing mounted passes in the field, Donovan pauses as a page runs up with a message. He immediately dismounts, doffs his helm, and proceeds to Sophiel's audience chamber.
"My lady," he says formally. "My arms and accoutrements are prepared for the tournament, along with the squires who shall assist me in armoring. Diplomacy being what it is, I expect that you may have other instructions for me?"
Chrysa appears amused, but there is a hint of warning in her dark eyes when the emissary approaches. She does smile though at the kiss "I am but her lady's bit of fluff." her eyes turn to Soph, passing a message between them. As Donovan enters, Chrysa nods to him "Our lady's knight in faithful armor. Donovan meet Naomi Ravasz. She is to see us to the Rushlight Tournament."
--------------
The contingent from Gliocas arrives smaller than most of the others. A dozen attendants accompanying a knight and a baroness, one gleaming in shining armor and a powerful warhorse and the other on a horse breed for speed as dark as the armor she wears.
The baroness dismounts and looks over at the stall where a woman cajoles about tattoos. Her eyes take in her equipment, a small widening of those eyes say she notices the oddity. A quick incantation makes those eyes. narrow.
The city is a hive of potential betrayal and death so does one more lethal element matter? Chrysa isn't sure in truth. But information is important.
"A butterfly, no. What about a whippoorwill?" the small redhead asks with obvious interest.
Mila follows Donovan in, but while he announces his presence, she slips by to sit on a nearby bench, absentmindedly inspecting her lyre. Dark leather armor, outdoor-looking cloths and cloak, she doesn't make any effort into being noticed.
=====
Eyes out for any sort of trickery, Mila does notice the abundant magical nature of the tattoo girl, but again she keeps to her own, pretending not to notice. Lies within lies within lies. She was getting tired of this life.
Back in Gliocas.
Chrysa waits for the moments to pass that greeting the knight will take, then she will excuse herself "Soph, I believe it is time to work through the details of my official visit to Pitax. Boring details that will not require your overtaxed abilities." the message earlier between the two women was enough to get a nod, then the Baroness gestured to the emissary. "This way, Ms. Ravasz."
Down the halls of the main keep, Chrysa takes the other woman to one of Soph's protected rooms, still adorned with comfortable seating and a desk (nearly every room has a desk since its ruler is a workaholic). Chrysa leans against the wall, crosses her arm, and asks simply "You wanted to go over security?" there is doubt in her voice.
Senna is distracted by the knight in the shining armor with all the fluttering ribbons and pennants. His horse is more dolled up than a Varisian strumpet, which takes some doing. So, the tattooist is caught off guard when some portion of the highborn-looking retinue, led by the dark-armored woman, pauses at her modest patch of earth.
Perhaps Desna is smiling my way?
She offers the redhead a deferential bow and an open smile, ”A whippoorwill, milady?” She pulls a sheet of fine paper from her stack, rolls the rest, and inserts them into the scroll case on her hip. ”This may be a first. I’ve done songbirds, falcons, eagles, robins, crows, ravens, and owls, but not a whippoorwill. I have seen them so drawing one is no obstacle. And no needle will touch your skin until you are happy with my drawing.”
She offers the sheet to her potential client. It is covered with all sorts of birds drawn in pen and ink (from very realistic to tribally abstract). Birds standing, on branches, in flight, fighting, and even one that is skeletal. Many are painted in subtle or bold color palettes and some are in grey scale or simply black and white. What is readily apparent is the skill of the artist .
As Chrysa looks over the samples, Senna continues, ”Will this be your first tattoo, milady? Would you like the bird in color? Flying perhaps? Do you have thoughts of how large you’d like it and where it should be placed?” Senna looks over the warrior’s visible skin, considering how different pigments would complement her skintone.
"As I speak here as the voice of my king, it would be Your Excellency, or perhaps Madame Ambassador, rather than Ms. Ravasz, but that couldn't possibly be of any importance," Naomi corrects with an impish grin. "I'm so charmed that you jump straightaway to informalities as though we're already fond friends. I do hope that means you'll forgive me my wickedness?"
Naomi keeps up her courtly patter until she is within the room. She examines the room herself with an apologetic smile and then begins. "Now, you were inquiring as to what guarantees of safety could be offered? I'm afraid this country is still too new for those to be particularly relevant. If Sophiel is removed it will almost certainly prove sufficiently disruptive that any costs that could be extracted from Irovetti would not prove sufficiently prophylactic.
"But, I do think you'd win in any case. Irovetti is developing several nasty habits after all. He picks favorites, acts in sweepingly paranoid ways, and worst of all, is in the midst of seeking to actively disrupt neighboring kingdoms in the hope of then conquering them. Any student of the River Kings knows that you just wait for them to destabilize themselves, lest you yourself overreach into danger, and yet.
"So, yes, guarantees. None Irovetti would give you would be of any worth, but fortunately, your foe acting in such a way as to make your most skillful agents and ministers seek additional options does present options beyond placing trust in His Magnificence."
Naomi smooths out her skirts, carefully not reaching too close to the blade at her side. Glancing up she fixes Chrysa with a piercing sidelong gaze. "You should still attend the tourney though."
Donovan bows to the ambassador, Naomi, and says, "My lady. Thank you for visiting. I do hope that you find your brief stay here inviting."
He turns his attention back to his liege and absorbs her instructions, then gives her a customary salute.
"I shall endeavor to give the nation a great show of valor on the tournament field," he says. With Chrysa dismissing him, he turns slightly on his heel to address Naomi. "If you will be joining us on the road to Pitax, I shall be delighted of your company." He bows once more and then makes his exit, as instructed by Chrysa.
Donovan pulls up his horse short as Chrysa stops at the tattooer's tent. He seems accustomed to sitting horseback in heavy armor for long hours. With his greathelm closed, it is near impossible to see where his gaze lingers, but it is clear that he is in the retinue of the nobles from Gliocas, even if he does represent for Iomedae.
Her gaze takes in the skill of the artwork around her, not hiding being impressed in the least. Adding another question mark to her internal tally sheet.
"Not my first, no." she says lightly "A previous... occupation made them a requirement. Though magic has proven the better against their permanence." the lightness slips into a dark place for a moment at the word occupation.
"I am Chrysa, and you are?"
"My apologies, Madam Ambassador." Chrysa says with the same irrelevance as Naomi "Titles are only important to get people's attention, which is unnecessary for you." a compliment stated as a simple fact.
In the room, she listens attentively. Stepping away from the wall, Chrysa moves around the room, adjusting nik naks that Soph collected or made. "I met your lord once. He invited a group of 'like minded' rulers of the River Kingdoms for a social gathering. That was before I decided to merge the Fall with this land, of course. Soph is anything but like minded with Castruccio Irovetti."
Turning back to the Ambassador "I will attend. The question of security was a formality. The real question is why do you feel the need to travel here to present the invitation, to 'a country is still too new ... to be particularly relevant'?"
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A hulking human follows behind the perfumed nobles looking distinctly out of place though still a part of the retinue from Gliocas. Although if one knows anything of the country, druids are somewhat common having one in almost every village. He threads his way through the crowds and vendors making sure not to disturb anyone's wares. Stopping at the tattoo artist he looks over the sheet of birds from behind the others taking note of the artistry at least. Leaving the intrigue to those more equipped, he instead looks around for anyone paying too much attention to the group.