Syretia, quill scratching furiously, stops for a moment as she considers Bydar's comment. "I suppose it's an improvement, of a sort, over the usual 'robbery and murder' banditry. Still unacceptable, of course, but at least these fake tax collectors leave living victims behind instead of corpses. I wonder if they've done this as a turn of convenience, or perhaps their consciences itch at the thought of violence?" She shrugs, then returns to her stenography.
"I'd certainly like the chance to interview some of them."
After reading the letter, Orlog walks back toward Christian. "Fixing a roof. You know, if you make the roof out of copper, it would need repairs less often." He unfold the letter and points at it. "Finally got news of my kin. While some are ready to pack up and move to Charis, a good portion are still dwelling of a past fail attempt to colonize this place. We might need to talk to them in person, but they are stubborn and will not sway easily. I say, we invite those that a willing and once we have the mine up and running and a good town wall around the capital, the others might just come over by themselves. No point of wasting time to convinced them."
He turns to Oleg. "You got some paper and ink in this place of yours? I should write a reply. Then again, I think I saw your wife inside. I'll go ask her." He starts walking toward the door of the trading post. Just before walking out of hearing distance, he adds a few more comments. "Maybe we get you some copper roof sheets on our way back from Restov. They turn this nice shade of green over time. It would look really nice."
Christian nods at the suggestion and continues to listen.
I agree. Make an offer and those that wish to venture out may do so. I also like the idea of leaving the door open for those that change their minds.
Christian continues to help Oleg with the roof as he relates the latest events that transpired.
He stops for a moment and looks up at Oleg.
What is the view of the people that are traveling to and from Charis? What can you tell me of the Redshields. That name seems to be popping up more and more as of late.
He then continues to work on the roof.
"The Redshields?" Oleg snorts derisively. "I trust them as little as I trust any of the noble houses back in Brevoy.
"All that separates them is where they place their loyalty. In the houses, they place their loyalty in a name and legacy, both of which are embellished to high hell. The Redshields place their loyalty to money alone. In either case, they plot and scheme for the sake of it.
"I left Restov to get away from all that: the criminals that ply the streets and the criminals that scheme in gussied up parlors. I just regret that the Redshields seem to have followed me, sending out their merchants and traders wherever there's money to be made."
It's clear that Oleg doesn't trust the Redshield merchant house, but it's also clear that he doesn't trust any of the "city folk" back in Brevoy. Although Oleg's opinion is biased, it does offer a reminder to be wary.
Christian nods his thanks to Oleg for his truthfulness.
Money has its way of showing the true colors of a person...Good or bad.
He looks to Oleg with concern.
Do you need some guard here permanently? A lawful force of sorts?
The young lord climbs back down after the job is done.
He gathers all together and...
Let us enjoy an evening with friends and come morning we ride for Restov. Agree?
Since the trading post is still somewhat removed from the territorial boundaries of Charis, Oleg doesn't recommend dispatching guards so far from their supply lines, especially when the southern frontier remains wilder than this area.
However, he asks that you make it clear to immigrants not to trust anyone trying to bilk money out of them by claiming to work on your behalf.
"It does present an interesting issue, though," Syretia says, chewing on her lip in thought. "We'll eventually have real tax collectors, and we'll need some way to indicate they're legitimate. I'll have to think on it. Anyway, what's our next step?"
Perhaps we will run into these tax collectors.
As the group settles in for some private time, Christian explains all that has transpired with the Whitehollow brothers and the latest topics that have happened as of late.
"Agreed..." A brow lift at the news "Clearly some punishment for imposters pretending to be tax collectors will have to be enforced. We should be just, but that should discourage some."
The Ulfen pipes in, If we are able to eventually form a military, then they could accompany tax collectors in uniform. But if we do catch these false tax collectors, they should probably be hung like brigands or thieves???? he asks the group.
"Hanging them could be a solution, but first we must make sure that they are not working together for a hidden figure. I suggest we don't identify ourselves for the rest of the way. If they know we are on the road, they might hide for a few days while we pass. We should spend the night here and leave before sunrise tomorrow.".
"I don't think execution should be our first resort," Syretia says, uncomfortable with the trajectory the conversation is taking. "That would take us down a very dark path."
Christian listens as the others talk of their personal opinions on how best to deal with the tax collectors.
All of you have valid points. I agree that we should be discreet with our identities until we get more information on the situation.
He scratches his chin in thought.
We need to tread lightly when dealing with punishments. Too harsh and we could end up alienating those that we are protecting...Too lenient and the criminals will run rampant around us. I see that you all agree that some form of punishment must be imposed and I concur. I think it might be best to see what we are dealing with first and adjust accordingly as we see fit. We do not understand the whole situation yet and it might be best for us to get all the information before making our decision.
Does this sound fair?
"Oh, quite fair. Justice can't exist without truth to light the crime in the first place." He nods
Brandt grunts in agreement, No you are right, too many years bounty hunting has me sometimes on a one-track approach to banditry and lawlessness. he puts away the rope he'd been fashioning a hangman's knot in. We can definitely not advertise who we are on the road, just a nobleman and his companions, which may actually work to our advantage. I'll take a quick loop around Oleg's ensuring that the place isn't being watched and that any observers don't necessarily know whom we are? he stands, fastening the cloak about himself, which blurs his form slightly, as he heads out of the outpost to do just that.
Satisfied of his perimeter check and that there are no scoundrels lurking outside the outpost, Brandt returns and prepares for sleep.
The terrain around the trading post is nothing but wide open plains, leaving Brandt feel quite exposed, contrary to his usual environment. Nevertheless, he does his best to blend in among the visitors at Oleg's.
He sees that the road in either direction, whether leading northwest to New Stetven or eastward to Restov, is devoid of travelers for now. Though he spots some deer grazing to the north, he can see no sign of lurking scam men or con artists awaiting their marks.
"Bokken?" Oleg snorts. "Weird old hermit, that one. Every couple of weeks, I'm sure he's finally died, then he shows up again with more potions to sell. My regulars like to buy them. Hmph."
Svetlana speaks more kindly of the man.
"He's just a tad eccentric. Actually reminds me of Oleg, in a few ways: Keeps to himself, likes his privacy.
"Unfortunately, I think he's spent the rest of his life recovering from a difficult youth. He's spoken of a brother, although not at all pleasantly. In fact," she says, wincing as she thinks about it, "he's quite fond of showing off the missing finger that he lost to his brother. Apparently his brother and father were both rather wicked men, but he at least remembers his mother fondly."
Christian's face changes to a slightly paler tint as the story is told.
No no no.
He turns to look at the others
Shit. Did we..
Returning his gaze back to the Levetons
Umm, well...wow...umm, that would make for a very awkward family reunion.
He had trouble getting those words out
We did...oh gods please let me be wrong
Do you know where Bokken's family members may be?
Please say somewhere else...anywhere but the stolen lands...please...
"Oh my, no," Svetlana laughs, unaware of what has unfolded elsewhere. "In fact, I don't think Bokken has seen them in many years.
"Actually, and this is quite sad, I believe the toll of years has been hard on the poor man's mind. I suspect he avoids talking about his family and youth not just because the memories are painful but because the memories have faded so badly."
Oleg harrumphs.
"Just say it plainly. The man's going senile," he spits.
Brandt's mind follows Christian's thoughts, and he blanches a little at the thought of telling this potential ally that they'd slain his cannibalistic brother, but breathes out possibly when Svetlana reasssures the group. We should be prepared with information about his brother just in case the cannibal we met is one and the same. Fingers being bitten off is too much coincidence for this.
"Ah. I wonder if a prayer of minor restoration would buy him some temporary respite."
"So, an old half senile man that live by himself out there. As missing fingers on one hand and he makes potions. Not the weirdest thing we saw so far since we got here... sadly."
Syretia's sudden shudder serves as her commentary on the subject of the cannibal and his lair.
"Anyhow, surely you didn't come all this way just to discuss the potion maker and help Oleg with the roofs," Svetlana laughs.
She hands some ink and paper to Orlog, having retrieved them from the main building for him.
"I believe I heard you mention something about an excursion to Restov?" she asks with innocent curiosity.
Yes, we intend to visit Bokken on our way to Restov. There are a few matters that we feel need to be attended to in person.
"Are you in need of travel supplies?" Svetlana asks. "I can pack a few days' worth of food for you. With the increase in traffic, Oleg's been practically overstocking us on trail-safe food."
She doesn't even wait for a reply before jogging off towards the storage barn to retrieve the proffered supplies for you.
"Thank you, Svetlana" He calls out after. He knows better than to protest
Thank you kindly Lady Leveton.
"Thanks for the supplies, they are greatly appreciated." He shakes Svetlana's hand, then turning toward the exit. "Now, let's go see that senile old man... if he is still alive."
With directions from the Levetons, it is effortless to track down Bokken's home. You find the hermit's home about twelve miles southeast from the trading post. He lives in a turf hut built into a low hill amid the rolling plains.
You spot the wild-eyed hermit in front of the hut, stirring grasses and berries into a brew he's mixing in a hide bag suspended above a low fire.
His curved posture straightens as he notices your approach, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.
Brandt, riding in the front of the group, fishes out his holy symbol of Erastil to hang in front of his tunic as they approach, trying to put the hermit at ease. He hops down from his mount, with Fenrir following closely at his heels, You are Bokken? I am Brandt, son of Oluff the Tall. We come to meet you at the advice of friends and councilors and are honored to visit your home.
Fenrir sniffs at the old man, deciding he's mostly harmless, instead looks around the area for anything interesting. Brandt glances down at the large wolfhound and contemplates the dogs reaction for a moment, before stepping to his side, and motioning with his free hand, Lord Christian? I seem to have run out of words. he looks over at the others with a grin.
Syretia, still mounted, gives Bokken a hesitant wave and a smile before digging out her journal to make a quick sketch of Bokken and his hut.
"Oh. Hello," the words stumble out of his mouth. He takes nervous steps back, away from his brew pot, seeming ready to retreat into his hut at the first sign of danger.
"What...um...what do you need?" Bokken asks.
"Oleg and Svetlana sent us. My name is Bydar, I'm a servant of Shelyn."
Christian dismounts and steps in front of his horse. His hands far away from his weapon.
Hail Master Bokken and well met.
He nods towards Brand with thanks.
I am Lord Christian and that there is Syretia and Orlog.
The young lord points to the changeling and dwarf.
As Bydar has stated we were sent here by the Levetons. It is said that you are very talented when it comes to potions. We were hoping to speak to you on such maters and more if you would have us that is. We do not wish to disturb you if you are occupied.
"Oh, no. No. No trouble. None at all. I'm, uh...happy to help. This, eh...this needs to simmer, anyway."
He dusts his hands against his threadbare robes, then seems unsure what to do with them. He shifts his weight between his feet, unable to find a comfortable stance.
"So, um...what were you looking for?"
We are looking for healing mostly and
he looks the the others briefly and then looks to Bokken.
I would like to stock up on a few other potions. An emergency stockpile so to speak. Purify Food and water, Create water and maybe some stabilize. That is just off the top of my head.
He steps forward slowly.
We are willing to come forth with the necessary materials on a regular basis. Coin as well or if you are wanting something besides coin, I think we can come to an arrangement.
Christian stops and braces himself for the outcome that may come after he speaks his next words.
There is one more thing. In our travels across the region we came across someone that was carrying these carved wooden flasks. I was wondering if you are the one that carved them. This person...had a tarnished silver locket with a faded portrait of a young woman. It would appear that this person treated this locket with great reverence.
He pauses for a bit and takes a deep breath before continuing.
The reason I bring this up is that we believe you may know this person.
Bokken grows serious, and his expression stiffens as Christian describes the encounter you had with the crazed hermit in the cave on the edge of the forest. Once the lord is finished speaking, Bokken spits upon the ground then holds up his right hand can draws attention to the stump where his pinky finger should be.
“Bastard bit that right offa me when I intervened the last time he hit our mother, Desna rest her soul. But he took off right after to live in a hollow tree down south rather than face the guards, so I guess it all worked out well enough.”
He stomps back to his leather pot and angrily stirs its contents.
"Of all the things I've forgotten, I miss his name and his face the least," he growls, staring into the murky surface of whatever he's brewing. "He should feel lucky that there's too many frightening beasts between him and me, else I would've tracked him down to avenge myself and me mother. I hope that's his only blessing, 'cause it would still be more than he deserves."
"Well, I don't think he will be bite any fingers off anyone nor will he be hitting anyone's mother either. Not in the state we left him." Orlog walks toward the brew and takes a sniff. "So, what are you making in there?"
Christian has found a liking to this old man. A shared desire to protect a mother no matter the consequences.
Bokken, I can understand your desires to protect your mother and I am sorry that you suffered for it. I do hope that this brings you some form of solace. Your brother is no more. We did not know who he was at first. As evil as his actions were, he was still your family and we are sorry for your loss. He was attacking travelers on the roads and his actions had to be dealt with to protect the innocent. We marked his grave if that matters to you or not.
IT may be good if you want to talk to Bydar, he's got a good ear and can listen. Anger lays heavy on the soul at times, and unfinished deeds can cause many a man to loose ends. Tell us about yourself more though, Bokken the herbalist? Bokken the potion maker? It does seem like we could provide a pretty steady stream of opportunity for you if you were interested in such. the ranger chimes in, trying to offer counsel and present future opportunity to the old hermit.
Christian smiles and nods at Brand.
"Nothing fancy," Bokken says when Orlog inquires about the leather pot. "Just a remedy for warts. Oleg says his customers buy it right up."
He listens intently as the party confirms that his wretched brother is dead and buried.
"I considered the bastard good and dead long ago. Now I just know that it's true. Revenge? Family? That's all in the past."
As talk turns to Bokken himself, the hermit's mood shifts back to his initial nervousness.
"I'm...oh, I'm nobody. My mother taught me some home remedies, and I expanded on them over the years through trial and error. Gave myself the runs more times than I can count."
Bokken does hazard a request. Apparently, one of the crucial ingredients for his more potent mixtures is fangberry juice. However, he's running low on the berries, which are somewhat hard to find and are often found near "nasty critters" that he's too skittish to deal with. He offers a permanent discount on his potions in return, although you suspect he would have only made the discount temporary if you hadn't "pruned" the wicked branch from his family tree.
"Everyone is somebody," Bydar assures Bokken, "And I'm happy to lend an ear. Ask my friends here, I've rarely had trouble getting into anyone's business" He tries to say it with gentle humor, "Do you need healing? I can't regrow fingers or the like, but Shelyn has given me some gifts in that."
At the mention of Fangberries, and the discount, "Brandt's got a way with the wilds. Maybe we'll find some of these for you... as you offer a good bargain. What KIND of 'Nasty Critters'?"
"Wolves, if we're lucky. Spiders, centipedes, and wasps if we're not."