Earlier...
Anselm listens to the Major and Elen as they struggle with the trappings of their new station. "How we feel about mockery or no is not the mission we have before us. It is to make a favorable impression on Count Lotheed while we work privately to undermine his position in County Meratt. If that means riding in a fancy carriage, dressing in finery, and putting on airs, that is what we must do. It seems, though, that we'll be able to help a lot of people along the way."
In Stachys...
The diplomat watches Mrs. Piscum while Elen speaks ill of the village. "I would say, the people of Stachys have made the most of things with little investment. It is our duty to bring new plenty into this hold. I swear we shall do it."
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"'Mocked'? Who said anything about being mocked? I care not if they wish to make us objects of derision, I just don't want to be held up and harassed. I am just saying -- this is at bit over the top, don't you think?"
The halfling shrugs. He doesn't immediately parse the difference between harassment and mockery, and he certainly doesn't feel any threat of being held up. The thought lightly troubles him, as he pictures a group of indigents better armed and stronger in number. He watches the others board, then mounts up after picking a piece of trout skin off Underfoot's muzzle.
...
Muri starts to enjoy riding, as the halfling and sheepdog pace the carriage, sprinting forward, then waiting, before sprinting off in tangential arcs to the main road. He pays particular attention to the responses Underfoot demonstrates as he leans in all directions in the saddle. She seems most confused when the halfling leans towards the rear, pulling her tail under her haunches for fear of a yank. Eventually, the two come to initial understandings of the rider-mount dynamic. Awkward abrupt adjustments and scruff-pulling become less and less frequent.
...
Muri nurses the pale ale, a little bitter for his liking, but cold enough to sate his thirst. He listens politely as the introductions are made for him, and offers only a smile to their host. He expects they'll have time for questions and answers after the drinks and the meal. He kicks off his boots, and kneads Underfoot's ribcage under the table.
"That was a delightful meal," K'Aldrian feigns his noblest manners for the entire meal, instead of eating like a grunt in a ditch. "Back in the carriage and let's get moving." Kort rises stiffly and ensures a generous tip for the meal.
The woman is very appreciative of the gold and curtseys as you leave.
You all seven settle down to dinner (the expectation was always that Onora Piscum would join you - but I wasn’t clear), or at least drinks, and you immediately pile on with your questions, putting poor Onora on the spot.
"Thank you for your hospitality. Which of your many titles do you prefer, Onora? After we are settled, perhaps you could also share with us a little more abut each of the positions you hold."
She bows her head in thanks, and looks thoughtful as she begins, ”Oh. OK. I am Honorary Tribune of Stachys, though if you’ve already visited Count Lotheed that title is no longer mine to hold.” She waits briefly for a nod of comprehension before continuing, ”I am also Mayor and Sheriff of Stachys, though once you’ve become Tribune’s you may of course select whom you please.”
She explains that, as sheriff, she keeps they peace in the small hamlet, which is more a matter of dealing with the drunks she creates in her own public house, and the occasional argument that spills over into something more violent. As mayor she would bring matters relevant to the town before the Tribune, and handle the implementation of Tribunal law.
Anselm gives a respectful nod to the young widow and smiles politely at Kamari's introduction. "Well met, Mrs. Piscum. I am Sir Anselm Basri. I'm very grateful for your hospitality and your service these last many years. I hope our late arrival is not an inconvenience." He happily accepts a flagon of rosé.
”It’s Miss, my husband died five years ago. And, until I’m relieved, I prefer to be called Tribune, Sir.”
"Well met, Tribune Piscum," Kort nods stiffly, but not in an unfriendly manner. He introduces the party, using all the formal sers and whatnot.
"The rose wine for me. I will admit that I have not had many brewed wines in my time, so this might be a first," he asks stiffly standing and offering a toast when others have their drinks. "Let us drink to the health of the realm."
She seems to appreciate the introductions, as does the rest of the bar who are drinking and eating nearly in silence as they watch the show. Onora smiles for the first time, if only briefly, ”It’s not much of a wine, never has time to sit and age properly, so it’s a little… fresh.” When the wine does come, you’ll find she is being kind.
- - -
"Oh," says Elen holding up a finger. "Let us drink to the soon to be improving health of the realm. I mean -- we thought it might be bad -- but what happened?! The mill up the road is broken, and the Town Square appears to be crumbling. The streets are washed away in all of the mud. It is as if Stachys is decaying."
Tribune Piscum nods as she sips her wine, ”It is simply a small village my lady, you’ve never been in a small farming community before? I admit, the fallen building should be taken down, but harvest is upon us, so such things must wait,” she seems about to say more, but her lips firmly fail to move.
The diplomat watches Mrs. Piscum while Elen speaks ill of the village. "I would say, the people of Stachys have made the most of things with little investment. It is our duty to bring new plenty into this hold. I swear we shall do it."
”Yes, of course my lord.”
Anselm blushes a bit, realizing that he has yet a few things to learn about the complexities of local titles.
"Yes, of course, Tribune Piscum. I am very sorry for your loss. I pray that peace and some goodly amount of joy have found their way into your home."
He sips at the grape juice rosé politely. "I wonder: What is the most pressing matter at present for you and for Stachys?"
He sips at thegrape juicerosé politely. "I wonder: What is the most pressing matter at present for you and for Stachys?"
She looks at the populous in the dimness beyond your table, but does not hesitate, ”The harvest of course. We need to bring in the rye and could use some strong backs to assist with the reaping.”
Kamari understands Onara's caution. We are the newcomers after all.
If there's anything else to it, Kamari is missing it.
"Tribune Onara, this wine is indeed... fresh." Unlike my wits tonight.
Kort asks a question or two when there is an appropriate break in the conversation to see if he can learn something of the Tribune.
"Ah! So you're the Sheriff too, are you? And do you have loyal deputies to help you with trouble? What happens if an owlbear waltzes into town? Or a goblin band comes near?" he asks, trying to gauge her leadership or skill at arms.
Sense Motive (Aroden's Luck) - Weakness/Strength
Muri decides that entering the conversation will be a polite way of setting aside his pale ale, half-finished and likely to remain that way.
"Tribune, you are patient with our questions. And thanks for your hospitality. I hope we can repay you. I hope you'll give us the chance. We've come to Stachys with nothing but the best of intentions. You need support, we're here to provide it. We chose Betony Estate, over several possibilities. Your late husband's reputation certainly helped, as well as your selfless dedication." Muri picks up the ale, and toasts her, suppressing a wrinkle above his nose from the bitter.
"I know we've just met, but I promise we'll not make any trouble for you here." The halfling smiles, then sits back in his chair to allow others their say with the Tribune.
Mama D, understanding how the Lotheed name can work for *or* against one depending on the company, keeps fairly quiet, though at the mention of strong backs needed for the harvest, she perks up a bit.
”My back is not quite what it used to be, but I should be able to find some way to help. We do truly wish to be as helpful as possible.“
"Of course we'll help in whatever style, -- the King's is a bit over the top for me, but since we are in a hurry, I just thought it would be nice to get where we are going first without having to be held up at every crossroad."
~~~~
"It is simply a small village my lady, you’ve never been in a small farming community before? I admit, the fallen building should be taken down, but harvest is upon us, so such things must wait,”
Elen brings the glass of wine to her lips, but before it can get close enough her nose detects a harsh sharpness, and she slowly places it back onto the table before her. "Wait"? For what? It already looks like it's been waiting for awhile.
""Yes, of course, Tribune Piscum. I am very sorry for your loss. I pray that peace and some goodly amount of joy have found their way into your home."
Elen looks away, not convinced that Miss Piscum feels too much loss at all over the death of her husband.
"I know we've just met, but I promise we'll not make any trouble for you here."
Elen doesn't move, thinking she's detected a tone in Muri's voice. You bet we will!
”The harvest of course. We need to bring in the rye and could use some strong backs to assist with the reaping.”
”My back is not quite what it used to be, but I should be able to find some way to help. We do truly wish to be as helpful as possible.“
"No, surely no one is asking you, Mama D -- to manually reap the grain!" Elen exclaims, addressing Piscum. "How have you been managing thus far?! There must be a more efficient way than using nunchaku," she states.
Likely not winning any friends here, I should clearly bow out of this whole mess. I'm simply not good at this.
The meal is brought, and it’s simple fare, largely vegetarian, though there is a little meat on the menu in your honor (goat). The sauce is, well, plain, and the veggies a bit overdone, but the food is passable, and fairly hearty.
"Tribune Onara, this wine is indeed... fresh." Unlike my wits tonight.
She smiles thinly, and you note she’s scarcely sipping hers, though whether that’s due to the importance of the meeting, or the flavor of what’s in the glass, you’re not completely sure.
"Ah! So you're the Sheriff too, are you? And do you have loyal deputies to help you with trouble? What happens if an owlbear waltzes into town? Or a goblin band comes near?" he asks, trying to gauge her leadership or skill at arms.
”There are no deputies. I’m afraid we hug the shore here, as it were. Nothing much bothers us though for we are but simple creatures of the earth.”
"Tribune, you are patient with our questions. And thanks for your hospitality. I hope we can repay you. I hope you'll give us the chance. We've come to Stachys with nothing but the best of intentions. You need support, we're here to provide it. We chose Betony Estate, over several possibilities. Your late husband's reputation certainly helped, as well as your selfless dedication." Muri picks up the ale, and toasts her, suppressing a wrinkle above his nose from the bitter.
"I know we've just met, but I promise we'll not make any trouble for you here." The halfling smiles, then sits back in his chair to allow others their say with the Tribune.
She looks at Muri, somewhat surprised by the offer of aid. Pleasantly so.
”My back is not quite what it used to be, but I should be able to find some way to help. We do truly wish to be as helpful as possible.“
Tribune Piscum looks over the party, and isn’t exactly surprised at their inability to handle any sort of labor, but the offer means something to her, and she appreciates it. A little.
"No, surely no one is asking you, Mama D -- to manually reap the grain!" Elen exclaims, addressing Piscum. "How have you been managing thus far?! There must be a more efficient way than using nunchaku," she states.
Onora thinks a moment on the word ‘nunchaku’, but it’s clear she does indeed expect actual reaping. ”We are farmers, and when the rye harvest is due,” she explains, ”we need to bring it in as quickly as we can so it doesn’t rot in the late spring rains. So we need as many people as we can out there in the fields… reaping. But I understand if you cannot.”
The food is finished and, thankfully, the wine. There seems to be no desert course, or coffee, and Onora Piscum doesn’t particularly continue the conversation. She’s a bit hard to read yet, but as far as she’s concerned the meal is over, and you’ve done your duty with a ‘formal’ visit. Feel free to continue conversing if you wish, but you are pushing your welcome, such as it is, by doing so you suspect.
As dinner finishes, Kamari stares for a second at her half-full glass of wine. That's never happened before.
She stands from the table and bids Onora farewll. "Thank you for your hospitality, Tribune Piscum. When we are properly settled, perhaps we can return the favor."
Anselm drains his glass and makes sure to clean his plate. "I am not very strong, but I will gladly help with the harvest. Thank you for welcoming us here. You have been most gracious."
He waives and nods respectfully at the inn's other guests before making his way outside. "There is much to do. But with prayers, spells, and what strength we have in our limbs, I believe we can be of real value here."
As ever, he offers Lady Lotheed and Lord Kort a hand up into the carriage.
K'Aldrian sits back and ponders the rye harvesting situation.
"You know, Tribune Onara, I am clearly not young anymore," he says stiffly, and echoing Anselm's theme. "I am not the cadet I once was, nor ever the strong soldier one might have dreamt to be. But I will do what I can to aid in the harvest. I have years of logistical and process training and if there is a way I can help, I will do it. And if it must be that I cook, or clean, or tend to the beasts of burden, I'll do what I can."
Kast departs, happy to move on.
Muri reads the room well enough to understand the time has come to depart. He slips his boots back on, and gives Underfoot several quick pats to convey the immediacy of the up-and-at-'em. He nods to the Tribune wordlessly, and adjusts the straps on the sheepdog.
When they gain the outside, the halfling practices his fast mount, hoping to mildly impress any onlookers with his riding prowess, odd as they may look.
His boot slips, sending his chin into the leather. A surprised laugh is clapped from his lungs, as he side stares for damage control.
"Stay safe, Tribune. It was nice to meet you."
Underfoot takes a leisurely circle about the carriage, waiting for its movement to point the way forward.
"Of course. We'll all do what we can." Elen states before taking her leave.
The party makes their goodbyes. As you leave the public house, the eyes of a dozen villagers watch you carefully in the flickering light. They’re not particularly smiling, but they weren’t when you came in either. Farming is a hard life - tedious and occasionally backbreaking.
- - -
As you begin to remount the carriage, and dog, Tribune Onora comes outside, ”Wait, one moment. I have the key to your estate. I had the doors boarded up excepting the main which was chained. Here, you’ll need this.” She hands over the key, and a spare she had made just in case. She hesitates a moment, before adding, ”I haven’t been inside in years. Around here, folks say it’s haunted, but I can’t say as I was ever attacked. Still.” She leaves it at that, and heads back inside, having shared more than she planned to already.
Myrna begins to guide the carriage up the decent cobblestone roadway to your estate. You’ll note that this is the only paved road you’ve seen since Pensaris - your private drive.
Atop this low hill stands a rather fine, if faded, estate, from what you can see of it in the darkness. Brambles and thick undergrowth crowd the gardens, while ivy creeps up the two-story marble facade. The building’s windows are shuttered, and its main doorway barred and gripped by a great iron padlock. The other doors are bolted and nailed shut from the inside according to Onora. A small tower, clearly far older than the main house, rises from the structure to the northeast to an indeterminate height into the darkness.
A substantial coach house sits a little from the house, large enough for two carriages and a dozen horses, at least. As you, presumably, get out, Myrna calls down, ”We’ll check out the coach house and see to the horses.” She and her silent companion ride the few yards to the building, dismount, and begin to investigate - weapons bared (a rapier for her, and his usual crossbow).
Anselm ponders during the short carriage ride, nibbling on his lower lip.
"Muri, does your family take part in harvest work? Other than my time in the Verduran Forest, I'm afraid my family always had me traveling from one city to another."
He takes in the large house, his sensitive eyes taking in as much starlight as possible. "It does look haunting. I'll give Tribune Onora that."
Ah, cobblestones.
The journey has been an enlightening one already for Kamari. She wouldn't have considered herself a city-girl before now--she had nothing with which to compare it--but she now knows where she belongs, and it's with feet firmly planted on worked roads, bridges, or even rooftops.
Kamari doesn't draw her rapier, mostly because she knows she can do so in a flash. She walks cautiously about the immediate area, waiting for the others before approaching the doors.
"The Tribune mentioned 'haunted' didn't she? I can't say I've ever encountered a ghost, but I'm open to the idea they exist. However, I'd also be glad to be wrong."
"You know, reaping such grain is tedious, even with nunchaku. If we can't reap, maybe we can bring food and other fuel to the reapers. Can we make scrolls of Unseen Servants, as well as ant haul? Not so sure how that translates to scrolls..." Elen thinks outloud as she makes her way toward the estate, not much heeding the rumor about haunts.
"Muri, does your family take part in harvest work? Other than my time in the Verduran Forest, I'm afraid my family always had me traveling from one city to another."/b]
Muri spends a little time rubbing his flanks, the prolonged time upon the saddle taking its toll. [b]"Harvest? No, we mainly tend to the flocks. I'm aware of the harvest season, but this is firsthand experience. Elen sounds more informed. I'm glad for our numbers. We have some experience to draw from, eh?"
The halfling gives the manor a good look from a distance. The size is impressive... and off-putting. He's all for simple maintenance, and this is anything but.
"When was it lived in, last? Again?" Muri looks at his companions, trying not to look like a student remiss in his lessons.
Sheepishly, Anselm looks at the others in the group before clarifying.
"I just mean, I did not grow up with estate duties. My grandfather insisted that we observe strict protocols when it came to fraternizing with servants in the house. I have done my best to unlearn these things, but want to make sure we don't break the custom of estate nobles in a way that would jeopardize our work."
He sighs. "Well, it seems that Tribune Orana thinks it's fine. I'd rather earn the people's favor that Count Lotheed's. As long as we don't invite his antagonism too early..."
Anselm turns to Mama D, presuming Orana gave her the key. "If you like, I'd be happy to open the door. Unless someone else would like to do the honors."
Know (Nature)
"I can't say I know how I'll help in the rye fields, but I'll give it a go. It's grueling work," K'Aldrian comments stiffly.
"The Tribune mentioned 'haunted' didn't she? I can't say I've ever encountered a ghost, but I'm open to the idea they exist. However, I'd also be glad to be wrong."
Kort smiles. "I have never seen them either, but this is quite a bit of belief that there are things we can't explain. And I guess we'll see if we have any visitors in our new home." Kort follows Muri through the front doors.
He pauses to cast Light on his palm so that he might see better as he canes his way in.
The home was last lived in a little more than 10 years ago.
You manage to make entry to the main doors without too much trouble and you head into the grand foyer. Cold and dark, there’s less of a musty smell than you’d have expected. In fact, fine features such as frescoes and statues in remarkably good shape adorn each room. Even after a decade sitting empty, the manor’s roof doesn’t leak, the interior paint hasn’t peeled, and even the remaining furniture is fairly dust-free thanks to being draped in canvas.
A single table of roses even continues to prosper in the conservatory .
- - -
Much of these investigations must wait however (though you may roll the above now of course), as when the last of the late evening light pierces the entry (along with your own light sources), the furniture begins to move, and shrieking can be heard coming from the walls! Things begin to heave themselves at you. The place must be haunted (image)!
round 1, Init 19
"What? Oh Goodness, whatever is going on?!"
Mama D reaches out to cast mage armor on Kamari as she tries to figure out what is going on.
Round 1, Init 19
AC = 20 (Total Defense)
HP = 32/32
Weapon Equipped = None
Condition(s) = None
AC = 18
HP = 38/38
Weapon Equipped = None
Condition(s) = None
Muri barely lays eyes on the inside of Betony, when things go sideways, both figuratively and literally.
"Feels like this place is being kept up. Also feels like we're unwelcome."
Both halfling and sheepdog make the easy decision to depart, uninterested in an unfortunate braining by a bureau.
Round 1, Init 17
"What, is this the alarm system?! Hello? Anyone here? Please shut it off!"
Elen draws her glaive and looks for the source of the alarm.
for
Muri takes total defense, and ducks an end table as he backs out the door. Elen begins to detect magical auras. Mama D, unsure of what she faces, reaches out to armor Kamari.
The room shudders a moment as the furniture settles and you think you dimly hear a chorus of old men. Well, maybe a barbershop quartet anyway. The tune is brief, and at the end of it, you must all make Will DC 13 saves vs sleep, or fall asleep, excepting Muri who is just a touch too far away.
Anselm peers into the shadows, trying to assess the nature of the manor's haunt. Unsure, he whispers a prayer. His hand fills with life energy as he attempts to purge the surrounding spirits.
Round 1, Init 6
Kort will put away his cane (move) and draw his unloaded crossbow (move).
"What is all this?" Kort looks around, unaffected by the slumberous effects.
Know (religion/arcana) - haunt or magic?
Perception
hp: 28/28
AC: 15/13/12
Saves: F2/R6/W7 +3 vs. enchantment, +1 vs. illusions +2 vs. poison
Lowlight. PBS.
Aroden's Verve: 0/5 used
Adhere to the Law: 0/1 used
Extend GammaRadiation: 0/0 used
Quantum Leaps used:
Pathfinder Carry: 0/0
Staff of Courage: 0/0
0: (create water, detect magic/poison, light, stabilize,read magic)
1: 0/7 used (CLW*0,Shield*0,PfE*0,DF*0)
2: 0/3 used (Inv*0,RE*0)
[ dice]1d20+2[/dice] to hit;
[ dice]1d6-1[/dice] damage.
[ dice]1d20+6+1[/dice] to hit; (+PBS)
magic cold iron damage;
HP: 30/30
AC: 19 (+1 mithral chain shirt +5, ring of protection +1, Dex +2, Nimble +1)
Touch: 14
Flat-footed: 16
Fort +1; Ref +7; Will +5 (+2 vs enchantments, +1 vs mind-affecting)
Initiative +6 (Dex +2, Elven Reflexes +2, Swashbuckler Initiative +2)
Speed 30
Load 31.5/100 lbs (33 is light. Buckler 5 lbs. Backpack with items 5.5 lbs)
BAB +3
CMB +3
17 CMD (14 Flatfooted) +2 vs. disarm of rapier
Kamari draws her rapier and looks about the room.
With so many doors from which to choose, she decides to hold her ground for the moment.
"I think it's ..." Elen collapses into a heap on the floor, fast asleep.
Round 2, Init 19
AC = 20 (Total Defense)
HP = 32/32
Weapon Equipped = None
Condition(s) = None
AC = 18
HP = 38/38
Weapon Equipped = None
Condition(s) = None
Of the two past the doorway, it's the halfling that barks, not the sheepdog. "You should exit, until we can figure out what's making the... Elen?"
Muri strains to understand what exactly overcame the dancer, but he's not quite ready to enter the Estate again.
Round 2, Init 12
Mama D rushes to ELen where she's fallen.
"Elen, ELEN! are you ok?"
She shakes the young woman to wake her.
"Wake up! we need to regroup, Dear!"
Anselm, unsure what you face, tries to heal the opposition, thinking perhaps, it's a haunt. Kamari draws her rapier and tries to figure out what to attack. Major Kort switches weapons as he moves around. He also learns… it’s not undead. It’s, it’s something else entirely. Muri delays, waiting to see something more. Elen decides this is a good time for light nap, as she sleeps - oblivious to the chaos around her. Mama D rushes to assist Elen, waking her up after so short a nap - just a few seconds!
The work never ends for those who live on farms or in small villages, and the wise often seek the aid of the fey folk while pursuing their daily chores. A family might leave a piece of bread under the stove or an old boot in the closet to attract a domovoi to their home. Domovoi help with small tasks like churning butter and mending clothes, but mostly protect the home from intruders and misfortune. These helpful fey can also tell the fate of the family they protect, but grow annoyed when asked to do so too often. A domovoi appears as small, old man no more than 2 feet tall, covered in hair and with a long, shaggy beard.
- - -
”Hey, they fixed my toe!” you hear an old man shout from behind some boxes. From under a lamp, still replete with a sheet covering, yet too small to hide a man of any size, comes another old-shaky voice, ”They fixed Nodd’s toe!” Yet a third old voice comes from behind the Chesterfield near the middle of the room, ”Yeah, what do you think Wink. Maybe they’re not thieves after all.”
The tumultuous furniture seems to abate and the room grows calm, though tense, as if it could lash out at any moment! You hear another brief old-man chorus, and then silence.
Round 2
Know (Nature,Aroden’s Luck)
Kort pauses in loading his crossbow. In fact, he puts it away as he realizes what is going on.
”Fey. Not just fey, but friendly fey. Now, hold on, all of you. Let’s work this out,” K’Aldrian requests of the party, holding his hands up.
”It’s alright now. We aren’t thieves. We’re friends. Come out and talk. We can also complain about our aches and pains, and what’s wrong with young people nowadays,” he adds stiffly.
Kamari puts away her rapier and looks about again for the stealthy fey. She waits for a response to the Major's greetings.
Anselm laughs and relaxes.
"Greetings, good folk. I am Anselm Basri, Tribune of Stachys and Landgrave of Stachys Canal, former foster child of the Erlking’s Court. These are my fellow tribunes and landgraves. We are here to fulfill our obligations as the new lords and ladies of this manor and holding."
"I told them of our role as lords and ladies of the manor."
At 4th level, when you make a Diplomacy, Intimidate, or Perform (oratory) check, you may roll twice and take the more favorable result. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to your Wisdom bonus.
Remembering his fey manners, Anselm removes the fine dagger, still sheathed, from his belt.
"May I present this heirloom to you, in thanks for the care you've shown this estate? It was used in service for the Grand Princess of this very realm."
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Muri waits at the entrance, waiting. He calls to Anselm. "You're trying to impress them by using their language to tell them about us? They just spoke in the Common tongue." The halfling narrows his eyes at the fey man, who reveals much too soon that he understands their tongue, in case they should try and conspire out loud to each other, against the new lords and ladies.
"Chucking furniture at us is a poor introduction. How many thieves have you already chased away? And did you ask them their business before you tried to assault them? They could have been sent here on reasonable business, you fey folk. You could have seriously injured one of us, and forced us to consider doing the same thing to you."
The halfling in the doorway finds little interest in coddling the skulkers.
Anselm responds with a clear gesture conveying, Demonstrating kinship, nothing more.
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... you think you dimly hear a chorus of old men. Well, maybe a barbershop quartet anyway...
"ZZZzzzzzzz... Oh, Albert is it mid-winter already?... if I've told you once, I've told you... zzz..."
"Wake up! we need to regroup, Dear!"
Elen stirs, and sniffs. Sage? No, tea... "Bertie?!! No... " Rising, she turns to Mama D. "Oh, thank you!"
She looks about at each voice as it manifests.
”Hey, they fixed my toe!””They fixed Nodd’s toe!””Yeah, what do you think Wink. Maybe they’re not thieves after all.”
You hear another brief old-man chorus, and then silence.
[gibberish in all its elegance]"I told them of our role as lords and ladies of the manor."
And presented them with 'the heirloom' dagger -- so they would be armed with more than chippendales... Brilliant.
Elen collects herself as Muri speaks before addressing The Room.
"So, Nodd and Wink?" Are those your real names? "And, you there, the Chesterfield," Elen peers at the couch, over and under and behind from in situ," -- what's your name? I'm Lady Elen, as you might have guessed, and waaaaaay over there -- that's Sir Muri, and this is Sir Major Kort, Lady Mama D, Lady Kamari and -- as you apparently know as kin? -- Sir Anselm."
Elen waits a respectable amount of time for a reply before retiring to the kitchen to take stock of the provisions.
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”It’s alright now. We aren’t thieves. We’re friends. Come out and talk. We can also complain about our aches and pains, and what’s wrong with young people nowadays,” he adds stiffly.
”Ye are not thieves huh? Well that’s just what a thief would say, now is it not!” there’s a pause for a moment, ”Though you are not wrong about the youth. Why no-one under a hundert is worth a spit these days it seems.”
"I told them of our role as lords and ladies of the manor."
”Hooo, he speaks the old tongue!” one of the old men laughs. ”Says they’re the new lords and whatnot. I dunno Blunk. Seems fishy to me, them knowing the old tongue. Maybe they be forest folk and not to be trusted.”
Remembering his fey manners, Anselm removes the fine dagger, still sheathed, from his belt.
"May I present this heirloom to you, in thanks for the care you've shown this estate? It was used in service for the Grand Princess of this very realm."
”We gotta give ‘em something back,” you hear a bit of panic in one of the old men. He continues uneasily, ”We can give them the house, right?”
The blade flies out of Anselm’s hand, and quickly disappears in plain sight as it approaches the Chesterfield sofa.
”The sword Nodd, give them the sword. We don’t own the house. Besides, that one there uses one, it must be a sign!” There’s a pause before, ”I don’t know Blunk, Wink has gotten pretty used to it. It’s where we store our garden apples! Can we give them something else?”
The third voice joins in, ”And there’s three of us. We should each get a dagger just as fine.”
"Chucking furniture at us is a poor introduction. How many thieves have you already chased away? And did you ask them their business before you tried to assault them? They could have been sent here on reasonable business, you fey folk. You could have seriously injured one of us, and forced us to consider doing the same thing to you."
”Hey, look Nodd, the rider is threatening us!” Another calls out, humor in his voice, ”Watch your back Blunk, he might come at you!” The third suggests more reason, if reason is to be had, ”You’ll have to excuse my brothers, we’ve been without whiskey for a long stretch, and haven’t had anything to eat but bugs and rodents for an age.”
"So, Nodd and Wink?” Are those your real names? ”And, you there, the Chesterfield,” Elen peers at the couch, over and under and behind from in situ, ” -- what's your name? I'm Lady Elen, as you might have guessed, and waaaaaay over there -- that's Sir Muri, and this is Sir Major Kort, Lady Mama D, Lady Kamari and -- as you apparently know as kin? -- Sir Anselm.”
A creature, barely knee-high, looking like an exceptionally hairy old man with more beard than flesh, appears sitting comfortably on top of the sofa. You can’t actually tell if he’s wearing any clothes, his hair and beard are so long and, perhaps thankfully, covering.
”Lady Elen, good to meet you. So you say you’re the lords here, and not thieves. Prove it!” he considers a moment, ”And Wink, get the blade.” ”Awwww!” cries an old man apparently hiding in the lampshade. ”Do it Wink, and maybe there’ll be more apples coming.” suggests Blunk.
Blunk remains visible, casually chilling out on the sofa while his brother, still unobserved, departs the room. Blunk is balding on top quite significantly, but what hair he has is extremely long and though once black, is now mostly gray. Even his chest hairs seem to curl several inches. He sits confidently in the middle of the room, and waits with extreme patience.
Anselm shifts his weight onto one hip, exuding a playfulness he rarely shows when taking care of courtly duties. "Ah, you prefer the tongue of men. Fine with me. We've a deed to this property, but that's a thing for counts, not goodly fey. Meaning it'd cost you to look at it. Perhaps a story for each view. Your purpose here in this manse, for instance. Or you could ask the earth herself. She'll know."
”Though you are not wrong about the youth. Why no-one under a hundert is worth a spit these days it seems.”
”And there’s three of us. We should each get a dagger just as fine.”
Kort smiles despite himself.
Yes, I agree. How do you trust anyone under a hundert? He reaches into his 'sack and pulls out the newly acquired Sedition's Dagger. He looks at it fondly, then offers it as well.
"If you wish another dagger of merit, come look here at this here. It's Sedition's Dagger. I bought it from a person of this land who seeks to undo the wrongs among the people, who would prefer to live in harmonious peace. I thought I would use it to protect my land and rights, but maybe...maybe you all would do well by it," Kort intones seriously, almost unwilling to give up what might be a random blade, but also what might be used to gut a fake knight. "It might not be quite as well made as Anselms, but that's because it requires a fierce heart to wield it. I should know, I have served in military for years. I know weapons."
Diplomacy
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Anselm shifts his weight onto one hip, exuding a playfulness he rarely shows when taking care of courtly duties. "Ah, you prefer the tongue of men. Fine with me. We've a deed to this property, but that's a thing for counts, not goodly fey. Meaning it'd cost you to look at it. Perhaps a story for each view. Your purpose here in this manse, for instance. Or you could ask the earth herself. She'll know."
Blunk shakes his head and his hair follows, ”No, no, not fair Lord Anselm, we hold the ground here, and you wish us to secede it. The liability of proof is on you, not us.” He then calls out to Nodd, ”Nodd, roll the bones…”
You hear the clatter of what sounds like bone on wood, those with keener ears think perhaps the floor behind a nearby chair.
”Uncertain Blunk.” comes the reply from the same general area, and Blunk looks thoughtful, but says nothing.
"If you wish another dagger of merit, come look here at this here. It's Sedition's Dagger. I bought it from a person of this land who seeks to undo the wrongs among the people, who would prefer to live in harmonious peace. I thought I would use it to protect my land and rights, but maybe...maybe you all would do well by it," Kort intones seriously, almost unwilling to give up what might be a random blade, but also what might be used to gut a fake knight. "It might not be quite as well made as Anselms, but that's because it requires a fierce heart to wield it. I should know, I have served in military for years. I know weapons."
The blade is taken from the Major’s hand, again by an unseen force, and not likely one of these creatures as it departs levelly (far above their heads) until it reaches the chair where it ducks down behind and disappears. ”Nice.” comes the invisible reply. ”Have you killed with it?” Nodd asks.
You see a very fine looking rapier with five gemstones in the pommel floating in mid air toward the party. Four are broken, but the fifth, a white gemstone in the center, remains intact. There are four apples speared on the blade. Wink says, ”Here it is Blunk, apples and everything.” Blunk, rolls his eyes and retorts, ”Well give it to her Wink! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”
He turns to Kamari, and tells a story, ”When the brave knight-commander Koriana of Zimar fell within the ranks of the Fifth Army of Exploration, her remains were returned home - along with her sundered steel shield. Her brother Tadric, distraught, focused only on creating a fitting legacy for Koriana’s daughter. Devoting himself to the study of metalcraft and magical crafting, he eventually turned a shard of his sister’s shield into a protective rapier. Though it is known that Tadric’s niece took up the sword and joined the military, her full tale and the blade’s fate are lost to history. Rumors that she went into clandestine service for the royal family still circulate however.”
As the weapon is guided to Kamari, pommel first, Blunk jumps off the sofa and walks up to her. Staring up, his feet firmly planted, he asks, ”For such a gift I require more than three daggers in return. I also require honesty for but one question. Is what has been said here tonight, true? Or have your friends spun any falsehoods?”
The diminutive creature looks levelly at Kamari for a straight answer.
When the wielder transfers at least 1 point of the weapon’s enhancement bonus to her AC using the defending special ability, she also chooses one creature other than herself within 10 feet to gain a +1 bonus to AC until the wielder’s next turn. This additional bonus is always +1, regardless of how much of the weapon’s bonus the wielder transfers to her AC.
- - -
Kamari eyes the floating rapier and tries to figure out if it's magic or an invisible creature that brings it towards her.
She quickly thinks over the conversation so far. Lying and subterfuge have become so easy this past week--not that she wasn't already a veteran of it--but there's been something different about the constant level of deception required in order to maintain their image.
Palms open, Kamari responds to Blunk, "My friends have not spun any falsehoods. We are here lawfully by the rules of mortals. We entered using the key freely given to us by its owner in recognition of such. Might I offer you my own dagger as the third one promised. It is a fine match to the first one offered, but has no name of which I'm aware like the second."
If accepted, Kamari will provide her dagger first and then accept the floating blade.
After receiving the blade, Kamari will inquire of Blunk, "How did you acquire this rapier? Oh, and would you like to share in the apples as we talk?
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"You’ll have to excuse my brothers, we’ve been without whiskey for a long stretch, and haven’t had anything to eat but bugs and rodents for an age.”
Muri takes note of the voices, lending Blunk's only a little more respect for what sounds like an apology. He's not convinced to enter Betony just yet, as the parlay shakily proceeds.
A creature, barely knee-high, looking like an exceptionally hairy old man with more beard than flesh, appears sitting comfortably on top of the sofa. You can’t actually tell if he’s wearing any clothes, his hair and beard are so long and, perhaps thankfully, covering.
Muri doesn't have much of a choice, however, when Underfoot spots Blunk. The sheepdog leaps forward, closing the distance between dog and domovoi. When she gets within 5', she slams her front paws down on the floor, shaking her head at Blunk, before slamming them again. If the sheepdog could offer a challenge of her own, she's done it now. As it stands, her eyes are dilated, her hackles raised, though she hasn't yet bared her teeth. Simply a look of fierce curiosity.
The halfling astride the dog looks down on the domovoi, no longer engaging from a distance, then looks down on Underfoot, his own curiosity now piqued, having never seen the dog interact with fey before, firsthand. "Easy, Girl. We're just talking now, I think."
The sheepdog's ears cock, listening to her rider. In the next moment, the hackles lower, a little, but Underfoot continues to study the visible domovoi, while keeping ears out for the other two.
Muri listens politely to Kamari and Blunk, Blunk and Anselm, Kort and Blunk, and waits until some agreement has been reached to dismiss the domovoi, so they may search the rest of the Estate in peace.
Anselm continues to smile broadly, visibly more relaxed than he seemed in Oppara's noble circles.
"You've done us a great honor. Let me show you the deed." He reaches into his pack and produces the document. "I, for one, hope you'll still feel welcome here. The manor looks to have enjoyed your company. Perhaps we'll be able to offer more than apples, even, tasty though they be."
”Have you killed with it?”
Kort shakes his head stiffly. ”I have not. It is virginal steel and seeks the right hand for the right deed at the right time,” he answers truthfully.
Know (nobility) - Koriana
K’Aldrian watches as Anselm produces the deed, hoping that the fae might be soon swayed to show them around and tell them histories of the abode.