Although for different reasons, all of you have been given a charter by the Sword Lords of Restov. It reads:
One by one you have slowly been meeting the other charter holders as you travel down the road from Restov, towards Oleg's Trading Post. Each of you has been given an incomplete map that only details the road you are traveling on now and the outpost you are headed to. The unexplored areas are for you all to map out and complete in your own time. The four of you are about 4 hours away from the trading post.
As he walks the road towards the Trading Post, Melismar hums a little tune that he's been working on, imagining the harmonies that would go with it. He'll probably try and write it up this evening. There's something about the transition section that's just not quite coming at the moment. Usually when this happens, he carries on walking in a bit of a daze, and the right sort of progression will suddenly pop into his head -- a gift from Shelyn, perhaps? However, today, very likely because of the new territory he's traversing, and the slight nervousness attached to travelling alone, he's going round and round in a bit of a musical circle. Were anyone else with him, they might well be getting annoyed by now...
Deanarth travels down the road toward's this trading post listed on the map. Oleg's, huh. Mighty brave ta be settin' up shop this far south. Gonna hafta keep an eye on 'im. He see someone up ahead on the road.
Wonder if he's one of the other charter bearers? Even if he's not, a travelin' companion wouldn't hurt. I could probably outrun him if a run into a hungry bear or somethin'.
HELLOOO THAR! WAIT UP A MOMENT!
Krallek is strolling south from Restov, uneasily aware of the fact that this city boy has never been this far from home ... or the comfortable familiarity of the dark alleys where he grew up. The rules of the streets he knows ... this is definitely out of his comfort zone. He thinks to himself "what kinda crazy sumb@~@@ opens up an outpost where no one else lives? This charter better be worth it!"
Up the road he spies another travller. His street honed instincts kick in and he pulls out his longspear and ducks into the shadows on the side of the road ...
The charters were given out at the end of winter and you have all started your journey on the first day of spring. It has been an unusually warm winter and it is quite warm today. The road everyone has been traveling on does not offer much in the way of scenery. It travels through a flat, green, grassy plain. It has been a relatively easy walk for everyone. Krallek, you manage to duck behind some rocks, but there is not much covering the side of the road. If you leave your hiding place now you will be out in the open.
HELLOOO THAR! WAIT UP A MOMENT!
Melismar halts instantly, but is annoyed at himself for reacting so unthinkingly and unmistakably. He attempts to correct for this by turning with as much nonchalance as he can manage, but nonetheless his hand goes to the hilt of his rapier. He tries to cover any aggressive reading of that gesture by resting it there as if it was designed as part of his elaborate costume as a support for the palm... Please don't be a bandit, please don't be a bandit...
Melismar does not speak, but smiles in readiness for the stranger's approach.
Deanarth waves to the traveler with his free hand, and with his best fake smile on, strides toward's him. Don't look too impressive, but can't always tell. Better to play it safe.
Well met, stranger. Tha name's Deanarth. I figured since we both seem ta be headin' in tha same direction, might as well see if ya want some company. Whatcha say?
Company would be welcome. I've heard that there are brigands and bandits around here.
When Deanarth is close enough, Melismar removes his hand from the hilt of his rapier, and proffers it instead for the newcomer to shake. I am called Melismar. Well, that isn't quite true. I am mostly called Mel, though Melismar is my name. Well met, Deanarth. What brings you to this wilderness?
Let's take a gamble, seems nice enough, though that could be an act.
Deanarth shakes Mel's hand.
I'm travelin' towards a place called Oleg's by charge of the Swordlords of Restov. I am ta meet companions who have been given similar charge.
Deanarth fishes out his charter and displays it before Mel.
Might you be one of those companions?
Krallek, from his vantage point behind the rocks overhears the conversation and witnesses the chance meeting of the two travellers.
I should wait to see what happens next. That one with the rapier looks like a shady character.
He grips the haft of his spear ready for violence should things turn ugly.
Anyone may roll Diplomacy to know a few things about the charter holders:
Melismar - He is an Orlovsky noble who had a falling out from his high-born family. He was given the charter second-hand by a noble who shirked his responsibility and the commission of his lords. The noble was extremely fearful of the dangers within the Stolen Lands. The transfer was legal and the document now bears Melismar’s name.
Deanarth - He was the only arcane caster foolish enough to dare enter the stolen lands with the intent to punish the bandits. You heard tales that he simply strolled up to the Magistrate of Restov and demanded he be given a charter. The Magistrate could hardly refuse since he had no other willing candidates.
Krallek - Caught for an unknown crime, he was offered a choice - a charter into the Stolen Lands or the stockades. There was only one obvious choice and now he is currently serving his sentence: protecting the other charter holders. Failing this, he faces the stockades or, worse, the noose.
You were given the charter second-hand by a noble who shirked his responsibility and the commission of his lords. The noble was extremely fearful of the dangers within the Stolen Lands. The transfer was legal and the document now bears your name.
Diplomacy check.
Diplomacy Check:
hrm. not too sure bout des guys!
Ah, indeed. You and I are in this together, then, and there are still others we should look out for on the road. Your name tells me that you are some form of magician. Forgive me, and I truly mean no offence, but you seem a little young to be out here alone -- I find it hard to understand why the authorities would have chosen someone so young. You must be a lad of quite exceptional talent for them to entrust you so.
Deanarth stows his charter.
Indeed you are right, I am a sorcerer of exceptional talent, my abilites obviously recognized by the Swordlords agent. I may look a tad young, but by the time I'm done, the entire Greenbelt will know my incredible strength!.
As Deanarth says those words, he gives a slight chuckle under his breath, but quickly recomposes himself.
Sorry about that, I tend to get abit carried away at times. Just excited about this opportunity. But best we start walkin', plenty of distance to go still. And don't you worry a thing, I know my way around a fight. We gonna show those bandits a thing or two, and whatever else is out there that that wants ta pick a fight with us.
On the subject, what about you. Any good with that knife?
Deanarth points to Mel's rapier.
Krallek scratches his stubbly chin and ponders the exchange he just witnessed.
Looks like these are the other charter members I'm supposed to travel with. If I climb out now from behind these rocks, this will look bad. That one has a crazed look in his eye and he will prolly take me for a bandit and try to roast me. That other one has a glib tongue like a con man. Hell, I ain't afraid o' these two squirts ... *jumps out from behind the rocks with spear in hand*
He might be ok with that lil potato peeler but I bet I am a damned site better with this dragon slayer!! Easy now, don't get too worked up, apparently were in this together.
I have a certain... finesse when it comes to my blade, but I prefer not to have to use it. I find... diplomacy... has certain advantages when it comes to altercations or disagreements.
Cocky little thing, exceptional talent, no less. Well, we shall see... By all the gods, a bandit!
Melismar seems taken aback by the sudden arrival of a spear-waving felon. And his rapier is suddenly drawn and in his hand. Of course, some people take my reticence as cowardice, but nothing could be further from the truth.
The blade is held steady and protectively.
Krallek gets a violent yet avaricious glint in his eye like he typically gets before a fight. Then he reminds himself of the jail cell and/or gibbet that awaits him back in Restov if he doesn't complete this charter. In a condescending yet challenging tone he says ...
Easy there lil fella. I'm sure you will have plenty of opportunity to prepare my supper with that lil blade o yours. My charter says I'm to clear this place out. I'm sure yours says you're to help me.
What impertinence is this?
It would seem you have been reduced to a cook, Mel. And am I to polish your armor? I do believe both tasks may be well beyond our newest associate. If that is indeed what he is. May I see your charter, just to confirm?
*chuckles* It seems I have a knack for winning friends everwhere I go. I'd best mend this bridge if I am to complete this charter. Appologies, another one of my strong suits. How do you word one of those?
If it suits your purpose, you can polish my armor mage. Here's my charter. I'm sure you will see it reads just the same as yers.
I hand them my charter wondering if that was an appology. Ah hell, once the fighting starts I will save their skinny arses and that will be appology enough!
OOC: sorry but I am going to switch to the first person. I find writing in the third person awkward when role playing. lol
Deanarth cautiously takes the charter and looks it over while puzzling out the man's words.
Is he trying to provoke me? Meh, he looks like he could take a few arrows for me and I'm sure I could outrun him if needed. Patsy's are always useful.
I thank you for the offer but I think I'll pass. Charter looks good to me, so long as Mel ain't got no issues with ya, fine by me.
Checks to see if Mel wants to look the charter over, and if not hands it back.
By the by, what's yer name?
Most call me Krallek. My close friends call me Kral. You can call me whatever you want but just don't call me late for dinner! HARHARHAR
I give Daenarth a jovial, if not overly aggressive, elbow jab to the ribs as I point to Melismar's potato peeler. That should suffice to calm the tensions right?
I'm told I am a good man to have around in a fight. Since I'm still here and I still have all my teeth I suppose there's some truth to that.
The charter appears as genuine as a cursory glance allows, but Melismar is not entirely taken aback to discover that someone of Krallek's, er, talents has been enlisted. Such brute force could be very useful if accurately applied. As is so often the case, efficient application just needed someone with a brain behind the scene pulling the strings... no reason why that shouldn't be him. Of course, the secret is not to let them know they have strings...
I have never peeled anything, or indeed, any one with my rapier, though it has been useful as a skewer before now. Many people who were, let us say, initially disrespectful of its merits often got the point in the end. Sometimes, the front, ha-ha.
Melismar delivers a hearty stage laugh, even as he watches carefully the reactions of his new companions, but doing so, he slings his rapier back in its scabbard with a theatrical flourish, as though the difficult business of introductions was finished.
I let out a hearty belly laugh at Melismar's display as I thinks to myself he sure puts that thing away well enough. Hopefully, he can pull it out with equal effectiveness. Actually, its what he does with it in between pulling it out and putting it away that matters most I suppose. If not, I can teach him to peel a potato too.
Lets move on. I'd rather sleep under a roof than this open sky any day.
I let out a hearty belly laugh at Melismar's display as I thinks to myself he sure puts that thing away well enough. Hopefully, he can pull it out with equal effectiveness. Actually, its what he does with it in between pulling it out and putting it away that matters most I suppose. If not, I can teach him to peel a potato too.
Lets move on. I'd rather sleep under a roof than this open sky any day.
Do you know where we are going? I cannot claim great familiarity with this area at all. This whole thing is one big adventure for me.
Me? Heck no. I've never been outside Restov before. Does he actually think I look like I belong out here? Let him keep his delusions. I was told to follow the road till I hit Oleg's outpost.
Yep, we go that way.
I point my back at the road to Restov and point the opposite way. I start to march forward warily cognizant of the fact that I have two armed strangers at my back.
What an excellent plan! Nice and direct. "That" way it is, then.
Melismar grins broadly, readjusts his belongings, and strides forward after the burly bruiser. If I keep this chap ahead of me, and the boy behind, I'll be better protected from any stray arrows... unless they come from the sides... .
The half-elf scans the open fields on either side of the road, nervously, at the thought.
The road has been strangely quiet. Well, as quiet as it can be with the banter you have been shooting back and forth between each other. As you scan the fields you don't notice anything around for miles. It looks like it would be a great area for farming.
You all have a partial map that points you in the right direction. The road will lead you straight to Oleg's. You really can't miss a large fort out in the middle of this area. It is a little after mid afternoon and you figure you will be arriving at the fort just in time for dinner.
Unconsciously, Melismar start vocally bom-de-bomming under his breath again as he walks along. This could be very fine arable land, indeed. I wonder what stops people settling here? he thinks, as he perpetually scans the surroundings.
Hrm, that guys singing again ... guess that means he isn't watching for trouble.
Hey, keep it down back there! And pay attention will ya? We have been given a charter to clear this place of bandits. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but I think that means there are bandits in these parts.
Yea, the bandits SOUTH o' the tradin' post. And if they bother us north, we'll give 'em hell. 'sides his hummin' is better than your clankin'.
Well then by all means let us toss caution to the winds and let our guards down. Afterall, bandits follow the rules don't they? Awe heck they are probably the nice kind of bandits that announce their presence and ask us kindly for our gold. Sides, he'll ne grateful for my clanging armor once things get bloody.
whatever you say
Marches onward.
I don't mean to be a party poop, but I've a feeling just by walking on this road we're making our presence known to anyone who's interested. There's not exactly a lot of cover round here. At least by not skulking along we're showing that we have certain confidence in our ability to protect ourselves. That will hopefully persuade individual brigands or highwaymen not to try their hand. On the other hand, if we meet an organized gang of robbers, we'd best just hope that travelling without wagons and goods, we're not going to appear that tempting a prospect. I suspect we'd be riddled like pincushions before we managed to unleash any form of "hell" whatsoever.
Melismar pauses, and looks over his shoulder towards the boy and allows him to catch up a little. If we're seriously going to work in this together, it might be best to know a little about my colleagues.
You seem very confident in your abilities, young man. What exactly is your training?
Training? I'll have ya know I ain't no daft wizard carryin' a bunch of old books around. Ancient draconic magic flows in my very veins. Sure I ain't the best at controllin' it to it's fullest extent, but that's just 'cause of how powerful it is. A little real world trainin' is all I need.
'course if you're wantin' a more practical sense of what I can do, I can conjure a blast of fire, induce sleep in my enemies, and a few other minor spells. Most of this probably be a might bit beyond your ordinary swordswinger.
Allies, allies. These are temproary allies, you'll need them for awhile.
Not sayin' sword swingin' ain't useful or anything. Just some of the stuff gets abit complicated.
Melismar nods indulgently as the young man holds forth, hoping very much the clanking of Kral's armour up ahead prevents the fighter from hearing his young companion's somewhat strident views. Well, this young sorceror is certainly going to be helpful on the diplomacy front... he smiles to himself, wryly.
A blast of fire, eh? That could come in very handy... Melismar pauses, and looks wistfully up at the sky, and then addresses the rest of his sentence to the clouds ...especially once it gets cold at night. He claps a friendly hand on the young man's shoulder as they march along. My own sword is more for show than use, I hope, though I do know which end to stick them with, at least. I also am not unversed in the arcane arts, though the only strange thing that flows in my veins is a taint of elven blood, much to my grandfather's disgust.
Hrm. And I thought I was the one who always stuck his foot in his mouth.
Well I've plenty of respect for them that throw about them spells. Been saved many of times by one of you. As for the sword swinging thing, well lets just say that is its own form of magic.
As for dem bandits, well yer prolly right, they won't attack this far North, nor will dey get the drop on us in all dis open space. But I do know a thing or two about road agents and I can tell you they are anything BUT predictable. A little caution never killed anyone me thinks.
Bard, yu any good with that potato peeler of yours? Can I count on you when things get bloody? Best trick is to keep em off the burning boy over there so he can do his thing.
Bard, yu any good with that potato peeler of yours? Can I count on you when things get bloody? Best trick is to keep em off the burning boy over there so he can do his thing.
Our friend has sharp ears, it appears.
I would prefer to say that you might count on me in well before things get bloody -- indeed, I see my role as that of mediator and diplomat to prevent things even getting close to "bloody". Of course, not all beasts of the field can be reasoned with, and if the worst happens, I hope you'll not find my skill with the bow too much of a disappointment. As I was just explaining to our young friend here, my "potato peeler" -- to use your charming and witty moniker for my trusty rapier -- is more about providing a distraction. I'm quite sure your own fearsome weapon could provide significantly more damage than my own poor specimen, were that the requirement.
Well here is your first lesson in MY kind of magic. When things get past the point where you cant talk your way out, pull out the potato peeler and stick em with the pointy end ok? HARHARHARHAR ... now THATS magic ...
After my mirth subsides ...
...my point wasnt so much how good you are with that thing. I've never seen anyone put their weapon away with such ... um ... skill. My point was, are you able to keep the nasties off the boy over there while he warms up the heater? If thats what you mean by distraction, then its all good.
After a blast of flame into their faces, I'm sure they'll decide it's best to stay off me themselves, if they know what's good for 'em.
So he knows abit of magic himself, eh? Might've tipped my hand too far. Oh well, what's done is done, might as well see what he knows. And that 'boy' comment, by the gods. I'm sure they aren't THAT much older than I.
So you know abit of magic yourself? What's yer specialty, if I may ask?
Oh yes, indeed, posturing with my "potato peeler" is only one distraction in my... um... arsenal. I could keep any unexpected dinner guests well entertained. I could be left in charge of the potatoes, you could take over the meat preparation and carving, whilst our young friend can be responsible for any roasting duties. Not sure who's in charge of pudding, mind.
So you know abit of magic yourself? What's yer specialty, if I may ask?
"I do not specialize, as such -- I find all knowledge to be of worth. Everything from how many turnips can be grown in a square furlong, to what words can be uttered to make a man believe you are his friend."
Gotta keep in mind that I ain't with my pals back in the alley behind Pud's bar. I don't know these guys and I sure as heck don't want em knowing about my shady past. I sure ain't no rapist like Dirty Magnus or anything but I ain't beneath cutting a few purses, extorting money, or fencing stolen goods either. How do I answer that magic question without letting em know my past? Make a joke ... thats the ticket!
Gimme enough whacks at it and I think I can manage to create a pudding well enough ... dinner party or no. As for magic, I gots no idea how it works but I just know its useful stuff when you got a ... um ... job to do. I respect the importance of it well enough even if I don't understand the workings.
I got the notice late that I was chosen for the task. In Restov, an elf is not unknown, and more commonplace than most other cities. But one who chooses the sword certainly is uncommon. The Swordslords had looked on at me with a little contempt, perhaps wondering why I would volunteer for the job. One day perhaps I would sit where they are, and my decisions would be better. No matter, eventually I had gotten the charter.
Leaving late, I hustled a bit to make up for lost time. I knew three others were on their way to some Trading Post in the middle of nowhere. Ironic, I had never traveled the short distance south. But these arent the best lands, especially past Oleg's.
A few hours out I begin to see three travelers in the distance. The land was open and provided no cover, so they were pretty conspicuous. As I grew closer, I heard banter back and forth between them, but couldnt make out the words. Maybe it would be better not to surprise them, especially since a number of swords were visible, and the biggest belonged to a man as tall as me, and almost double my size. Ah well, bigger they are, and whatnot.
"Hello the party!" I say, raising my hands to the side of me. "We're not quite into dangerous lands yet, but I mean you no harm. By chance, do any of you have a charter similar to mine?"
"Hello the party!" I say, raising my hands to the side of me. "We're not quite into dangerous lands yet, but I mean you no harm. By chance, do any of you have a charter similar to mine?"
"The absolute spit!" says Melismar, brightly, waving his own version of the document in the air with an aerial flourish. "Though yours looks much shinier," he says with a mock forlorn expression at his undeniably shabbier and less lustrous parchment. "I fear my own was second-hand."
Great, an elf. I bet he'll call me 'boy' too.
At this rate we're gonna be knocking on the trading post's door with an army in tow. Name's Deanarth. What do you call yerself?
The four hours pass quickly. Having company has made the trip much easier. In the distance, to the south, just off the road, you see white smoke. As you get closer you notice it is coming from a large, wooden fort. The smoke cloud is small and light - probably a cooking fire. You guess you are about a half hour away from the fort.
"Looks like they've started the cooking without us, my friends," says Melismar, with a glance towards the smoke. "And I've not peeled a single potato..."
Melismar looks over the newcomer with an appraising glance. Excellent, another person walking around in a tin can. If he is the rearguard, and our former friend the vanguard, I shall feel particularly safe, and perhaps the burning boy and I will stand a chance of surviving the first altercation.
It sure is nice to see someone a little closer to my end of the might vs magic debate. It will come in handy if someone else can take a punch or two. He looks capable enough but dayum is he ever skinny. When things get bloody, it sure would be a shame if I picked him up instead of my spear! It'd make a great story if we both survived but still be a shame while it happened. I should introduce myself so I don't look like a brooding idiotic brute. Hopefully this intoduction doesn't go as bad as the last one.
Hey Oroph ... Ophrop ... um ... Orp. Nice to meet ya. I'm Krallek. Holy crap are you ever skinny! Are those yer legs or are you riding a chicken?
Ugh! Why did I say that? *smacks forehead* Krallek, yer destined to never make any friends. Lol it WAS kinda funny though wasn't it? but yer still a dumb@$$ Kral
Melismar begins to wonder whether he's the only one on this mission with the least subtlety in conversation. Still, there was a certain truth to the fighter's bluffness -- the newcomer was a little on the gangly side. He concentrates on preventing a smirk from passing across his face as he contemplates Krallek's joke.