This will be Pathfinder 2E Kingmaker RAW adventure with the expectation of five daily posts during the weekday. We will be trying out the no alignment system, but all characters will select an alignment that is a rough indication of your moral feelings about good vs evil and law vs chaos. Characters are expected to be team players and work to further a heroic story. There is room for Han Solo characters, but no Kylo Ren characters in this heroic story (to make a Star Wars analogy).
Characters will be created with the seven Kingmaker backgrounds and standard 2e character creation rules with 15gp of starting wealth. All uncommon and rare items not specifically tied to Kingmaker require prior approval. This will be the only "metagaming post" in the gameplay thread. After the first serious gameplay post to start the characters off, metagaming and out of character stuff will be in the discussion thread or used in ooc blue here.
We will be using hero points (see link in campaign tab)
All characters start at 1. Note: all your hero points if you have at least one can avert dying. Going to zero is a calculated risk.
Anathemas will be rigorously enforced as we will be trying to avoid alignment requirements in keeping with 2E's plans to make it optional.
In character creation additional flaws are highly discouraged. I am hoping all stats add up to 78 to make it easy as is typical of 2e characters.
I will be discouraging investigative type characters and guns. Some archetypes I am beginning to dislike in 2e. The investigator dedication feat will be banned for sure.
MATURE CONTENT WARNING
The Pathfinder Kingmaker Adventure Path, Pathfinder Kingmaker Bestiary (5E), Pathfinder Kingmaker Bestiary (First Edition), and Pathfinder Kingmaker Companion Guide contain typical Pathfinder action and adventure, player options, creatures, and more. They also include content related to child abuse and neglect, graphic depictions of torture and violence, substance abuse, and other themes that are appropriate for more mature audiences. Before you run this adventure or use any of the supplementary sourcebooks, understand that consent from everyone at the table—including the players and the Game Master—is vital to a safe and fun play experience.
OFFICIAL INTRODUTION
For generations, the Stolen Lands have spanned the southern border of Brevoy. Many attempts have been made to settle them, but to date, none have succeeded, making these 35,000 square miles of wilderness the largest swath of unclaimed land in the entire River Kingdoms.
Almost 400 miles away to the west, in Pitax, a group of councilors gather to discuss pressing matters of state. A balding, senior official in stately robes asks: "What are the latest threats identified by our agents in Brevoy?" A hooded figure steps into the light, his visage protected a magical glamor. "The Brevans are up to something. The call for heroes has been sent out, and adventurers seem to be converging on Lady Jamandi's Great Hall. We must not underestimate them!!"
You wait with four other fellow adventurers between the oaks on the walkway leading to Lady Jamandi's manor's front door, awaiting the eventual summons to the Great Hall. The sky above is gloomy, and distant thunder suggests a storm is imminent. Perhaps it is pure chance, some sort of divine influence or something woven by the fates that has this particular quintet gathered at this particular place and this particular time. To pass the time awaiting your summons, you have nothing to do but scrutinize and talk with your fellow adventurers.
Lyra had many good qualities, but patience was not one of them. She sighed, tapped her foot, paced, and whistled softly to herself while made to wait outside this fancy manor house. The half-elf was dressed in form-fitting leather armor, with metallic studs sewn on it for added protection. She carried a longbow slung over her shoulder, and a longsword and steel dagger at her belt. Her weapons were worn from use, nothing special about them. Her brown boots were muddy and mended in places that had worn through. They looked soft and supple -- good for quiet movement in the outdoors.
She blew air out in a huff, sending a long strand of sandy hair out of her face. She was tall, like her elven blood, with mildly pointed ears and wide dark eyes. Her hair was long, maybe just past shoulder length, and most of it was tied up in a queue at her neck, but it was messy and some had escaped constraint, shifting slightly in the soft breeze.
Lyra wore no outer adornment, no rings or jewelry. No makeup or baubles in her hair. She was pretty enough in a plain way, but did not seem to be one that took much account of that. She looked at the manor house with some discomfort, not used to the noble niceties and pleasantries that were probably customary here. She was intrigued by the notice, and Erastil knew she needed the money but this place left her feeling...inadequate in some way that she didn't usually feel.
With nothing much else to do, she took to studying the others gathered here, but not in any kind of obvious way, a side-long glance here, or a stolen look there while she studied her feet, or the garden outside the manor door. Having worked with a group until recently, she understood that she needed to impress these others, if she was going to get a dominant place in the group. But exactly how to do that, she didn't perhaps have the social skills for.
The leshy especially kindled her interest. She had heard of such things, but never seen, let alone spoken to, one before. She stepped beside the leafy thing causally and in a soft hesitant voice said. "Name's Lyra. What's yours?"
Maybe not the best opening line ever, she winced a bit as she said it. But it's what came out. And who knows where that conversation would lead once it was done.
Spending half of his life in Restov, Iradyiel was no stranger to Lady Jamandi's manor. He couldn't count how many times he and Elathras had walked past, dreaming about being Swordlords like the famous half-elf. But that had been Elathras' dream hadn't it. Iradyiel was proud that his adopted brother had been accepted at the 'academy.' But Iradyiel wanted to follow Desna, he wanted to travel, to see places and experience things; helping people as he went to make up for the damage his family had done as bandits.
Standing here on the Swordlord's porch, waiting with others to speak with the swordlord. Running his fingers through his straight brown hair, he resists the urge to pinch himself. He didn't know how his adopted parents had arranged it. But here he was, a bandit's bastard son, being interviewed for something important like this. They'd told him that it would be good if a follower of Desna was with them.
Leaning against the pillar, tucking his hands in the pockets of his dark-brown waxed-canvas double-breasted coat. Pulling the coat tight over the chain-mail armor. He wasn't sure that he needed to bring his gear with him, but in case there was a hurry to leave, he had. He'd set his rucksack, against the pillar and leaned the glaive against it. Glad that the porch was covered, he'd rather not get his kettle-hat and steel shield, both hanging on the ruck sack, damp.
Looking around at the others, he was pleased to see multiple races represented. With his high cheek bones, narrow nose, angled chin and elongated ears it was obvious he was half elf, but so was the Swordlord herself, as was one of the other applicants. There was also a human, an Elf and a Leshy. It was hard to determine their giftings and callings, just looking at them, so he resisted the urge to try and do so.
Taking his hands out of his pockets he adjusted the sword belt at his waist. Realizing he was fidgeting, he stood up straight, placing his hands behind his back. Standing 'at ease' trying to not look as young as he felt.
Looking back at the others, he briefly made eye contact with the half elf woman wearing the studded leather armor. Smiling slightly as she introduced herself to the Leshy. 'Lyra' making a mental note of her name, he turns slightly to listen in on the conversation.
A small plant person, maybe three feet tall, stands outside the big person building. Brightberry appreciates that much of it is made of stone. That felt right. Looking at the tall oak, he reaches out an appendage (arm?) and touches the bark. He can feel the life teeming within it. The arm, along with the rest of the body is made of leafy branches. Each branch mimics what a bone in a humanoid might look like, except for bark covered and leafy. Everything is intertwined twigs, except for his chest. It seems one solid smooth face, as does his back. Little sprouts of branches can be found on it, but for the most part, it seems very different. Upon close inspection, it seems as if it is a separate thing. As his head, likewise comprised of branches, with acorn looking eyes, looks up at the expanse of the oak a part of him flies off of his shoulder. Green leaves flutter quickly at either side of a tiny ball of vegetation as it flies up to the lowest branch and turns back to Brightberry.
As more peoples gather around Brightberry, he's not sure how long he has stood here looking up at this tree, he nods.
Brightberry adjust his backpack to the side as he looks over to one of the peoples who just spoke to him. The backpack rustles as the two or three things within it move to the side.
"Oh. Hi Lyra. I'm Brightberry." After stating this, he closes his eyes tightly, balls his fists up and his whole body shakes for the briefest of moments. Then, Pop A handful of bright red berries sprout from Brightberry's body all over. Opening up his eyes, he smiles as he plucks one from his arm and holds it out to her.
Lyra smiles as the leshy sprouts berries. The smile lights up her face, but she quickly wipes it away. "Thank you, Brightberry. Should I eat it? What's it do?" She is intently curious, and perhaps a little disturbed to eat something grown from the leafy creature. Seeing the other half-elf there, she nods her head in his direction. "Got one for the quiet one over there?"
If Brightberry assents, she will give her berry to Iradyiel, and wait to be given another. Provided Brightberry reassures her, she will plop it into her mouth, and chew it with relish.
To the other half-elf she says, "Well met. This is Brightberry, for obvious reasons, and I am Lyra. Are you also waiting for the lady of the manor?"
Brightberry nods his head enthusiastically at Lyra at her question of consumption. "It's good to eat. If you were hurt, it would heal your wounds. If you ate a few of them, it would fill you up and give you the nutrients you need for the whole day! here." He gives her enough for the rest of the peoples standing around the outside of this large habitat. He then sinks the tips of his toes down into the cool earth, seeking to replace the life giving nutrients that he put into those berries. . A placid look of contentment sweeps over his face as he withdraws within himself.
She took my berry. Just like that. None of the peoples I've met in the wilderness have done that yet. She's a keeper. I wonder if the others will take one too.
As Brightberry takes root and sinks within himself, Redleaf flutters down to land on Brightberry's head. True to his name, he has one tiny bright read leaf on his chest as to where the rest of his foliage is a deep green. He watches Lyra with keen interest as she interacts with the rest of the peoples.
The flavor of the small berry is intense, bursting in Lyra's mouth enough to make her head swoon for a second, but unlike most wild berries, this one filled her with a low warmth that spread throughout her lithe form. "I have eaten many wild berries in my days," she says with evident appreciation. "But never anything like this." She watches the smaller creature re-alight with Brightberry with some wonder. "What is this? Some part of you?"
She nods to Brightberry, listening as she goes, and takes the handful
of berries offered, moving to Iradyiel first and then to the others, offering them the fruits while they waited. "These are really very good. You should try them. Amazing!"
The tiny bundle of leaves titters. "I guess in a way we are both the same. We are both of the forest. But no, we are different creatures. I'm Redleaf! I am Brightberry's friend. I help him. You partook of him, so I will help you now too."
All while This conversation took place, Brightberry stood stock still. Still as a sapling, swaying in the slight breeze.
Tall and thin even for an elf Edoom sits quietly under a tree reading from a battered leather covered book, and constantly pushing his long white hair behind one of his long-pointed ears. The fact that the other ear seemed to be missing the tip was made more obvious by his constant fastidious grooming. Occasionally he looked up from his reading and the icy glare of his light violet eyes made brief contact with those looking. Upon closer examination his hands were calloused and tanned like someone who had been no stranger to conflict, which contradicted his studious mannerisms.
His well used leather armor peeked from beneath a fancy but worn cloak of dark blue with silver scrollwork. The cloak was obviously expensive at one time, but definitely showed signs of weathering and wear. The inside of the reversable cloak seemed to be a more practical dark brown. Dark blue vambraces covered his sinewy arms from just below the elbow to the wrist, and the right one showed heavy wear about halfway down where the blue had been worn unevenly to its natural brown. Dark brown slacks and laced up boots completed his ensemble.
At the sound of thunder, he squinted up at the sky, and frowned wrapping the book he had been studying in a oiled leather pouch and reaching for the long cloth bag leaning against the tree beside him. He opened the bag and pulled forth a quiver of arrows with alternating blue, yellow, and red dyed fletching, and pulled one forth, taking a whetstone, and beginning to sharpen the chosen arrow. The bag hanging open revealed at least one bow of fine craftsmanship.
As the others gather around and begin to socialize, he quietly puts the offending arrow back among its brothers and sisters, and seals them back in the protective bag.
Best to see what they're all about as it seems were fated to spend time together. At least there is blood of the people shared by a couple of them, and as for the other... did Leshy even have blood.
He approaches at the offer of friendship, and takes the berry without hesitation. "I've heard of these, and always wondered how they might taste.
"My thanks for the friendship offering. It is unusual for someone to be able to offer of themselves so freely. I am simply called Edoom. May Yuelral bless you with her protection".
I wonder if this is everyone. This group seems well fit for the wilderness, so I guess I'll assume we won't be experiencing the comforts of Pitax's more civilized regions.
He then smiles and listens to the conversation going around him to get a better idea of the personalities. He looks up at the sky. I hope they invite us inside before the clouds open up. I hate getting wet.
Raising an eyebrow as the half-elf named accepted the right red berry from 'Brightberry' Iradyiel chuckled at the Leshy's name. Of course, it would make the world simpler; if you were named for what you did or what you made or what you looked like. He wonders if somewhere Madras had meant something like that at one time. Furrowing his brow he hoped it wasn't some ancient human language for bandit. That was what his mother had been. But she was also drunk a lot, chuckling to himself, maybe it meant 'face in the mud.'
Realizing Lyra was asking him a question, Iradyiel's eyes widen, wondering if she'd heard him laughing to himself. He nods, his voice squeaks, "Yes." His eyes growing even wider, he clears his throat. "Ahem, yes, I'm here to meet with her Ladyship as well, my name is Iradyiel."
Seeing Lyra was also offering him one of the odd red berries, he reached out and took it. He'd seen her eat one herself, nothing seems to have happened. He doubted that the Swordlords would invite a plant, no matter now intelligent, to join them if it made a habit out of poisoning people.
Popping the 'red berry' in his mouth. He found the flavor of the small berry intense, almost sour, resisting the urge to pucker and make a face. Juice and seeds bursting in his mouth the textures enough to make his head swoon for a second, wondering if it would hurt the plants feelings if he spit it out. Eventually, unlike most wild berries, this one filled him with a low warmth that spread from his mouth to his throat and gut. Pausing, he realizes the berry had made him need to pee.
Now standing on the front porch of the great manor, he wonders how long it will be before they invite the applicants in and if he has time to sneak around behind a bush to relieve himself. Smiling to himself, when he realizes 'Brightberry' was standing there like a sapling, pity he wasn't a little wider.
Trying to distract himself, Iradyiel listened as Lyra spoke with the smaller plant who'd named himself 'Redleaf.' Wondering if the little fellow would help him as well, and what that would entail.
Realizing a white haired elf in leather armor was approaching, Iraydiel considered warning the man about the berries. Pausing not wanting to hurt the plants', or girl's feelings, he bit is tongue. Watching to see the Man's reaction, he nods politely "I am Iradyiel, Edoom."
I thought there was supposed to be five. Did they count Redleaf? Maybe. I wonder if they were told the same thing to get them here. They all seem like they would defend the forest instead of burning it down. Redleaf seems to like them.
Coming out of his stillness, Brightberry looks to Iradyiel. "We were told to come here to meet a leader person about the wilderness they call the Stolen Lands. That many peoples were trying to take it over and that it needed a protector. Is that why you are meeting 'her Ladyship'?"
This one seems to be doing a bit of a dance as he stands. It doesn't appear to be a mating dance, as he is not offering himself directly to a female. Perhaps it is a social interaction thing?'
Brightberry pinches his knees together and begins to bob back and forth with an anxious look upon his face occasionally smiling at Iradyiel.
Admiring the tall elf's blue cloak, Iradyiel noticed the Leshy was stirring. Turning he realized the fellow was asking about the meeting. He raised an eyebrow at the notion of being called upon to protect. He'd been working with a group of soldiers east of Restof, helping clear out a den of Bandits that were working the Shrike River, similar to how his mother's band had. When he returned home his adopted father had told him they'd heard good things about his work at the academy. About halfway through his furlough, he received a letter from his commanding officer. Instead of reporting back to the unit, he was to report to the Swordlord herself. He had been recommended by his commanding officer and his father for a special opportunity, which the Swordlord herself would brief him on. That meeting was to take place today.
Shaking his head, try not to look confused, he Glanced from the Leashy to the others; first the tall elf in the silver-worked blue cloak, then the half-elf woman in the studded leather armor, his eyes falling on the little plant fellow riding on Brightberry, finally back to Brightberry himself. Shrugging, he apologized, "Sorry Brightberry, I've been working with soldiers out east of here near the Shrike. My furlough is about over and I was told to report to the Swordlord. I didn't ask about the particulars. I figured it was above my paygrade."
Trying not to shift about too much, he hoped whatever the meeting was about, that they would get to it.
Lyra heads Iradyiel mention soldiering, and asks the question. "What work were you doing with soldiers? Are you not allowed to ask questions in the guard?" She says this last with a half-smile showing it mostly meant to be good natured.
She looks at Edoom, carefully trying to see what kind of elf this was. Her father was an elf, but she never really knew him, and spends a bit of time looking, in a way that might be on the edge of uncomfortable.
Among those awaiting the pleasure of Lady Jamandi in the oak tree filled courtyard outside the Great Hall, a figure stands musing over strange and wild experiments which such an abundance of life and nature as represented in this area might afford someone with knowledge in the fields of nature, arcana, and alchemy.
A human male standing at about 6'1" (1m 85cm), Tibold Crenshaw already has lines forming on his brow despite his young age of 24 due to constantly crinkling his forehead while deep in thought—a state one would find him more often than not. His thick, curly brown hair is long enough that it appears wavy as it falls around his face. If not for the near permanent frown from his constant thoughtful musing, Tibold would likely be considered good-looking with his surprisingly smooth skin and smattering of freckles only just visible on his tanned skin.
The man wears what some would call "explorer's clothes" under a sturdy set of studded leather armor. Nothing particularly special or unusual about them aside from the rather sturdy coat which appears to contain several pockets filled with various strange items. The many vials and pouches and small containers definitely seem to mark the man as an alchemist if not as trade than as interest. Surprisingly, his coat is secured by a sword belted around his waist. Most folks of such scientific study do not bother to learn such martial activities, but Tibold's movements show familiarity with the weapon on his hip, fluidly accounting for it and naturally shifting it with his offhand when kneeling or maneuvering to examine leaves or other flora in the courtyard. Slung over his shoulder on a strap is a simple buckler as clearly he doesn't expect to need it for these proceedings.
He has a backpack which has torches in loops and a rope hung across while a bedroll hangs just below. For all intents and purposes, he appears to be ready to roll out at any minute; he is probably carrying everything he owns in the world.
Things had not exactly been going according to plan since Tibold's arrival in the city. The latest potential financiers of his desired secret haven for alchemical experiments had been exposed as diabolic cultists sacrificing unexpecting itinerants who were seduced with promises of good things. The fact the married couple had been being raided with quite the bloody magical showdown as Tibold approached their street had been quite a disappointment. The idea he might have been sacrificed oddly was less concerning than the fact there would be no laboratory.
When an unexpected offer had appeared to explore and chart a wild region ripe with abundant resources and active bandit population which needed to be quelled, Tibold had become very interested. Natural resources and humanoid populations which authorities may not exactly question what methods were used to "remove the problem," was always of interest to a practical man of science and experimentation. He found himself observing the other applicants in the courtyard as if they were just another group of test subjects, admiring how quick they were to build social bonds knowing they would likely need to work together.
Without realizing it, he nodded as he observed the effects the bright berries had everyone. He committed it all to memory, the female half-elf appeared almost faint while expressing a great satisfaction from the experience of eating the berry. The male half-elf's face seemed to twist suggesting a powerfully sour flavor and quickly seemed to become uncomfortable, slightly shifting in place. A need to urinate perhaps? More information was needed though. He could have drank a lot of water or alcohol before arriving, so no assumption could be made about the berry's affects on males versus females just yet. The full elf accepts the berry, but possibly due to a more cautious nature, Tibold doesn't observe him actually consuming it. Interesting. He considers pulling out his journal to make notes but thinks better of it for now. Setting up the ink and quill only to have their host summon them into the Great Hall would just be a waste. Besides, more time to observe the effects of the bright berries would make for better entries. Already an experiment, and I didn't even have to instigate it myself.
The idea that Tibold should even join in the conversation doesn't even occur to his terribly uncharismatic self.
Finally noticing the human with all classifiers upon its person coming Brightberry nods. "Ah, five." Brightberry's face scrunches up as he looks at him.
This one looks familiar, though. Not surprising with as many humans as there are running around.
Brightberry titters at the thought of someone thinking the same thing about him and Redleaf because they are both plant people.
"I'm way bigger than him, anyway.". He says to himself, out loud.
That person seems very interested in the other peoples eating the berries. It's a pity I don't have another one to give him right now. Maybe later.
Edoom quietly and discreetly puts the berry into his belt pouch as he ponders the man of many pockets seemingly fascinated by the whole Berry escapade.
Best I try this later when nobody's looking. Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression if I'm forced to spit it out.
He then feels the intense glare of the half elf in the leather armor on him. He's not overly concerned as his fastidious grooming often enticed stares, but since they were waiting anyway...
"So Lyra is it? I couldn't help but notice that a little of the red juice from that berry escaped your consumption. Do you mind"?
Edoom takes a clean kerchief from a pocket inside his robe and offers it to her pointing at the left side of her face.
"I couldn't help but notice you possess a significant amount of the blood of the people. Which of your parents blessed you with this, or perhaps both"?
'I like her, right to the point.' Smiling at Lyra's question, Iradyiel responds, "Oh we're allowed to ask questions, the question just becomes to whom do you direct your questions."
He gestures towards the north,"With house Rogarvia in disrepair we've no Lord to send troops out to fight bandits." He then turns back towards the manor house, "So the Swordlords take on some of that responsibility, having the city watch guard the roads and riverways." He points towards the eastern gates of the city, "But most of the attacks happen on or near the Shrike, which only touches the southern tip of Brevoy. So, to act outside of Restov's and Brevoy's official reach, some merchants and clergy from the Abadarans put together funds to hire a group of like minded souls who are willing to hunt bandits."
He turns back towards Lyra, "As a Desnan I want to travel, this allows that. I also believe in freedom, but not at the price of abusing others. So I had the opportunity to stop a little evil as well." His smile starts to wane, "And because my family used some of the same methods and locations I have 'insider' knowledge that can be useful."
He turns back towards the building, "I'm assuming the Swordlord heard that I..." He pauses and looks at the others, "That we, may be useful for something similar and has requested the meeting." He shrugs and smiles again, winking at his fellow Half-elf. "Or she wants to learn about Desna and figures you heathen need to here the good news as well"
As the group's conversation turns to politics and religion, Tibold can't help but feel his mind drift away towards other more interesting lines of thought. Tibold notices the plant person examining him and briefly makes eye contact. The face scrunching was a surprise. He found himself trying to recall everything he knew about the created race of plant creatures.
Do each vine leshy have the same chemical make up? Do their bodies all have a common plant origin, or would they all just be similar to the plant of which their bodies are made? Is the plant structure unique? What would would happen if I used a piece in one of my formulae? Could their leaves be dried and smoked?
Tibold unconsciously stroked his chin and continued to ponder as Brightberry's form centered in his vision. His eyes widened slightly as he tried harder to focus, his staring becoming increasingly obvious.
I assume their blood is sap...could I make alchemical glue from it? What if it's an edible like maple or heartnut? We're going to be traveling a long distance...maybe I can convince this creature to let me snip off a leaf or two. Or maybe even sell me that small one with the red leaf on its chest. It's probably a child or a different strain perhaps? Surely, it could just grow another. I could even offer to help it with different fertilizers to see what enhances or allows it to seed more...
Lyra is a bit mortified, but accepts the kerchief to wipe away a bit of berry juice. "Thank you, it wouldn't do to see the Lady with my face such a mess." She gives Edoom a small smile. When he asks about her ancestry, she looks a bit more pained. "My father was one of the fair folk. But I never knew him. Raised by my mother, you see." she trips over her words a bit, but gives a small shrug and wince as if its no matter, when in fact, its kind of a big deal. Her eyes look down from Edoom quickly, searching the ground around her feet.
As Irayiel explains his former role as a soldier, she is glad for the change of subject. "So you and your pals take money to run hardworking people out of their homes and livelihood because someone told you they were "bandits", is that about right? I wonder if those same rich folk ever bothered to see how much banditry was really afoot in the border lands, besides there own, that is." Her face flushes with a bit of anger and you can see the fire in her, if only for a moment. She stops then says quietly, "Sorry, that's uncalled for. I don't know anything about you. My apologies."
She takes a deep breath and goes to kicking a stone around the trim garden with her toe, her focus internal for a bit.
Watching as Lyra dabs her face with the elf's handkerchief, Iradyiel realizes that Lyra's story wasn't far from his own. As she looks to the ground he wonders what her mother must have been like. She couldn't have been a cruel drunken outlaw who intimidated her family and gang of brigand to loot and murder.
As he was imagining some of the things he'd seen and done before he was a teenage, he realized the questions Lyra had started to ask him about the folks he'd worked with. Raising an eyebrow, he takes half a step back from her. As she calms down, her face losing some of the redness, he didn't know how to respond. His immediate reaction was to get in her face, but he knew that wouldn't be how Desna would want him to behave. Lyra was on her own journey, and had the right to the feelings she had.
Trying to address the issue without offending, he put it simply. "I can't speak for what 'rich folks' see, but we didn't 'run' anyone anywhere." Keeping his voice neutral, he continues. "We would dress and act as merchants or pioneers, traveling to and from the east acting as bait. When the bandits attacked, we confronted them." His voice softened a little as he tried to maintain eye contact with his fellow half elf. "I was along because Years ago my mother showed me the best places to bushwhack merchants traveling to Restov from the east. Some of them obvious, some not."
He shrugs, "More than that, I earned my place; I was often able to get them to lay down their arms. Some gang leaders we arrested, most of the rabble we let go. Folks who were just following a charismatic leader who made promises they couldn't keep." He pauses, remember all the promises his mother had made, but all she brought them was blood and death. "Normally the worst ones wouldn't surrender, they knew a rope was waiting. So they fought." He rests his left hand on the pommel of his long sword. "I 'earned my place' there as well."
Wanting to change the subject, Iradyiel turns towards Edoom, "My mother was human also, I never met my father."
Gesturing towards the elf's bow, "You any good with that?" He turns back towards Lyra, nodding towards her longbow. "Maybe we should have a little competition while we wait."
Seeing that the conversation has turned into meaningless humanoid personal stories, Brightberry goes back to inspecting the fauna. He is specifically looking for plants with healing properties. He thinks that he just about has it figured out how to make healing poultices that can treat physical injuries. He just needs a little more time to experiment.
Meanwhile, Redleaf flits around the others as they begin to talk about their origins.
I can't remember where I was last. I feel like I had a body similar to this, but bigger. I'm pretty sure I couldn't fly. This is better. How strange that they remember soo much of their lives, but this is the only one they get! One and done. Scary. It means so much more to them.
As Iradyiel mentions a shooting competition, Tibold finds himself envisioning a project he'd been trying to make useful: one person to throw or launch an alchemical bomb while a sharpshooter discharges ammunition to trigger it. He is certain there's a way to make this a more effective tactic, to either extend the splash radius or make the actual explosion more powerful.
He had not yet found anyone with the skill to try and perfect this, and perhaps this competition could show him whether that luck had changed. Well, in all truthfulness, he most likely had encountered several such people with the level of skill needed, but his own lack of charisma generally managed to turn those folk off from spending any time with the man.
Lyra listens to the story from Iradyiel and nods her understanding. "Sounds like you did what you could. That's all anyone asks."
When he offers a shooting competition, she readily agrees. "I'm not winning any pries, but a fair shot." she says, waiting for him to expound on the terms.
As Lyra nods, Iradyiel relaxes, giving a light smile. "With Desna's help I did what I could." He thought about continuing, explaining that it had been his adopted mother, a priest of Desna, that had rescued him from the gallows. Someone with enough understanding of how fast half-elfs matured to explain even at thirteen he was really just a child. Instead he smiled at the idea of passing the time with a little friendly competition.
Looking back to the Elf he raises an eyebrow, smiling, "You willing to shoot against her?"
Without waiting for an answer he looks to Brightberry, "Hey Brightberry, we need a target. We don't have a lot of room, so it will be precision instead of distance. Maybe something the size of a playing card. May I borrow a leaf? Preferably a really bright one?"
See the other fellow in the coat, The many vials and pouches and small containers definitely seem to mark the man as an alchemist if not as trade than as interest, Iradyiel calls to him. "Hey, do you happen to have a glue or a chemical we could stick a leaf to one of these oak trees?" As he approaches the man, he smiles. "I'm Iradyiel, the little fellow is Brightberry and our two competitors are Edoom and Lyra."
Edoom raises an eyebrow at the obvious challenge.
"I will not be baited into a frivolous competition concerning marksmanship. I consider the synergy between a bow and its wielder to be more than a simple weapon in a wielders hand and more an art. I am comfortable in my abilities and feel no need to show off".
The snobby elf then retreats to the porch in anticipation of the incoming rain and takes out his book to begin studying anew.
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"Hey Brightberry, we need a target. We don't have a lot of room, so it will be precision instead of distance. Maybe something the size of a playing card. May I borrow a leaf? Preferably a really bright one?"
Tibold finds this request funny. All the random oak leaves and other items in the courtyard, and the professed bandit hunter asks the sentient plant for one of his body parts. What boldness!
See the other fellow in the coat, The many vials and pouches and small containers definitely seem to mark the man as an alchemist if not as trade than as interest, Iradyiel calls to him. "Hey, do you happen to have a glue or a chemical we could stick a leaf to one of these oak trees?" As he approaches the man, he smiles. "I'm Iradyiel, the little fellow is Brightberry and our two competitors are Edoom and Lyra."
"Hmmm?" Tibold suddenly realizes the man is talking to him. He blinks at the champion a few times while he rewinds the words in his mind until he recalls speech and what they mean.
"Glue? Yes, I have some adhesive." Tibold rummages in one of his pockets, and produces a small jar bound on top with a piece of fabric glossy with some type of treated coating and tied with twine. He unwinds the strings to display an odd thick looking gray paste.
"Oh, and I have a name, too, Iradyiel. Just like you and the little fellow, Brightberry and your two competitors there Edoom and Lyra." He gives an awkward half smile, pleased he'd feigned social affability.
So pleased with himself that he's completely forgotten to actually state what the name he has is.
Brightberry looks dumbly at Iradyiel before slowly bending down to pick up a fallen oak leaf from the ground, and then bringing it up to his chest and pretending like he plucked it out of himself. Walking over to Iradyiel, he holds the least out to him. "here you go. This way hurt less."
Moving to the man with the 'glue' he holds another bit of greenery he had gathered. Holding up some lion's mane fungus, he asks, "I'm guessing you know what this is. I'm working on some poultices that I can make from common plants that would work to heal wounds. I sure know my plans, but my medicinal skill is a bit lacking."
Tibold nods at Brightberry while continuing to hold out the glue pot and maintaining his awkward half-smile.
"I do indeed recognize this fine fungal specimen. As far as its uses..." Tibold waxes poetic about lion's mane, but in surprisingly layman terms. Tibold comes across as smart and intelligent, but not bookish. Definitely more hands-on and experienced-based knowledge fills his head.
After Tibold finally ends good lecture, Brightberry says. "Oh. That's what I thought as well.". He reaches behind himself to drop it into his pack before looking for more. He belatedly turns back to Tibold. "Thanks. What's your name?". He asks as he realizes that he doesn't know what to call this one.
Raising an eyebrow at Edoom's reaction, Iradyiel sighs, so much for an easy distraction. Shrugging to himself, at least the quiet human was talking now. Accepting the glue, he turns towards the Leshy, smiling as Brightberry offers another option other than one of his own. As he accepts the leaf from Brightberry, he realizes the little fellow was right, the Alchemist hadn't introduced himself. As the man and plant discuss the moss, Iradyiel holds up the leaf and glue asking Lyra, "Still interested in shooting?"
Tibold looks confused. "Name?" Didn't we just go over this? He's Iradyiel, the little fellow is Brightberry, and the two others of elven heritage over there are Edoom and Lyra. Tibold mentally recounts the names once more, staring blankly at the vine leshy with his now empty hand outstretched oblivious that Iradyiel has taken the glue pot.
Iradyiel, Brightberry, Edoom, Lyra, Lion's Mane, and... Realization occurs. "Tibold!" the alchemist erupts suddenly. "Tibold Crenshaw. Master Alchemist specializing in theoretical and practical applications of the science. You are a vine leshy, they are elven, and that is..."
Tibold suddenly points to the little roaming plant monster with the red leaf on his chest. "Actually, I don't know what that is."
"Oh. No. Actually, I'm considered a fruit tree leshy."
Tibold looks stunned. "Ah, I saw you distributing berries, and I made an assumption. Tree berries are not the common association. I hope you will forgive the mistake."
Daily Update
The doors to the manor door open and four guards in well-polished, gleaming breastplate and open-visored helmets appear to lead you inside the manor. Taking your glance around the outside of the dining hall before you enter, you see a familiar huge owl watching you walk inside.
This spacious hall has been prepared for a great feast. Servants hustle and bustle about, while the several armed soldiers—Lady Jamandi's house guards—watch over the hall from their positions against the east and west walls. To the north, a fire crackles away in a large fireplace. An iron lever secured by a lock adorns the fireplace's eastern face. Two massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling twenty feet above. The walls are decorated with painted murals of idyllic woodland scenes: nymphs frolicking amid waterfalls, satyrs dancing with fawns in wooded glades, and various winged fairy creatures flitting through the trees. Nine long tables are arranged around the central portion of the room, each holding plates, utensils, mugs, goblets, and full, ready-to-be-poured pitchers of ale, wine, mead, and water. The smell of roasted meat and other delicious scents fill the room, yet no food has yet been served.
As you choose your seat in the dining hall you notice guests are already seated:
A tall muscular human woman in animal skins with a massive greatsword, a middle-aged dwarf cleric with a bald head and greying beard, a deathly pale elf with dark clothes and raven black hair, a young halfling with a leather bound journal in front of her, a handsome man with dark grey hair in a bun, an impeccably dressed gnome in stately robes, a tall woman with blue eyes and warriors equipment, and a man dressed in full plate armor that has the distinctive marks of the notable adventuring party--the Iron Wraiths.
All eyes in the hall are on you as you choose a seat.
Lyra is just ready to take up her bow when the doors to the manor house open. Soldiers come to escort them inside, and Lyra is astounded at the sumptuousness of the home. For someone who has barely subsisted her whole life, how someone lives like this escapes her understanding. The wealth and beauty of the entire tableau dazzles her and takes her breath away.
Lyra, for a moment, considers running, bolting from this place and just going back to her former life; then she sees the overlarge owl and is puzzled by its appearance here. She thinks it may some form of good luck, a spirit animal or the like, and she decides she is in the right place after all.
She looks quickly at the others seated at the table, taking note of each, but not focusing long on any. She becomes uncomfortable that they all seem to be looking at her, and she steals a brief glance at her new-found companions, making sure they are still with her. She stumbles to a seat near the woman with an overlarge weapon, her head spinning slightly.
"Hello," she says to the fierce woman. "That is a mighty large weapon. You must be quite formidable in a fight. What's your name?" She tries to make small talk and compliment the woman, but she is not sure that's exactly her skill set.
Finding a strand of angels breath moss, Brightberry nods appreciatively as he adds it to his collection. Just add he does, they seem to be asked to go inside. Spotting the ginormous owl spotting him, her looks to the others to see if they see him as well.
Hmm. That solves that. I'm not imagining him.
As the group enters the banquet hall, Brightberry begins to feel a bit anxious.
Oh. I hope they don't expect me to eat or drink. I've nowhere to put it! Fleshies can be very sensitive about not eating their food. Hmm. Make small talk and maybe it won't be noticed.
Looking around at the seated guests, he looks for the least intimidating, most friendly and curious persons.
Looking at the Iron Wraith guy, he decides, probably not him
A gnome with a book. Seems easy enough. If she likes stories, then I'm the eating partner for her!
Brightberry will climb into the chair next to her, and try to act like sitting in a chair is a normal thing for him. . Meanwhile, Redleaf flits around Lyra before landing on the back of the chair behind Brightberry.
"Hello there. I'm Brightberry, and this". He gesticulates to his friend behind him "Is Redleaf. We're physical embodiments of the forest. What's your name? What kind of stories are in your book there?"
Edoom looks for a seat at the end of one of the benches, opposite an individual sitting at the other end. Before taking the seat he nods at the gentleman and inquires if the seat he's chosen is available or if he is saving it for someone.
"Greetings. I am Edoom can I sit here"?
He clumsily makes his way to the seat, and carefully observes the scenes painted on the walls while endeavoring to over hear snippets of conversation from those seated near him or talking loudly.
"It is fortunate that we were able to come inside before the storm hit. Though that fire is warm it's still better to start any endeavor dry".
Society
"Are you from this area"?
Well that was lame. I doubt I'll ever be comfortable addressing others in a social situation.
After his introduction to the gnome, Brightberry will gauge her response to see what he can learn about her.
Seeing the guards open the door, Iradyiel drops the leaf and turns to Tibold, "Looks like we're not going to need the glue, but thank you."
As he moves towards the door he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. Seeing a familiar huge owl watching, he freezes momentarily remembering the first time he'd seen the creature. It was at the open air court here in Restov, when the Narcinal's had saved his life. Looking at the owl, he realizes the others were moving into the room. Nodding to the owl, he turns and enters the great room.
Taking the room in at a glance, he wasn't surprised that the Swordlord had a very nice home, the Swordlord were the closest thing that Restov had to royalty. Still feeling bewildered about the owl, Iradyiel approaches the nearest table, seeing a place setting he turns to the individual at the table. Smiling at the pale elf, asking "Do you mind if I sit." His smile widening, he doesn't wait for a response, but takes a seat.
Not sure of the proper etiquette he holds off serving himself, instead he tries to engage the dark-haired elf in conversation. "Greetings, my name is Iradyiel Madras, A servant of the Goddess of the North Star. May I ask you name?" He gestures towards the tables, "A grand evening, Have you been at the Swordlords mansion before?"
Is that the Tertuccio person we chased out of the caves?! Awkward.
Tibold nods and accepts the pot of glue back and rewinds the twine over the treated fabric to cover it. He realizes he’s lost Brightberry’s interest as the fruit tree leshy picks more fungus. Oh well, he tells himself. I seem to still be terrible at making chit-chat.
He follows the rest inside and does his best not to gawk at the wealth displayed. He misses a step when he sees the owl before resuming his stride and trying to act like nothing happened. He watches it out of the corner of his eye to see if it gives him a nod or a shake today. It might give him a clue of what to expect.
As the group reaches the dining area, Tibold feels a bit slighted. There were others already seated! Why did we have to wait outside? Bah! Clearly there’s some favoritism going on here.
He takes a seat down from the gnome and behind the adventurer. Just far enough away that if he doesn’t speak with anyone it’s not strange, but close enough someone could still initiate conversation with him if they really wanted. Not that he was desiring that too much. He’d just misidentified a leshy after all, and Tibold isn’t feeling very confident in his small talk.
While he waits, he tries to watch his table members for any clues to their identity or purpose starting with the gnome nearby.
Only a moment or two after everyone has taken their seat a hush fills the room.
A striking half-elf woman enters the hall, followed by an aristocratic, middle-aged human man. The man wears finely tailored clothing, fit for a noble, while the woman appears dressed for battle. She wears a fine leather coat over a sparkling mail shirt, and at her waist hangs an Aldori dueling sword with a bright silver pommel. The two make their way to the head table, where they remain standing.
The man speaks first. "Greetings, heroes! I am Ioseph Sellemius, lord mayor of Restov. And this," he gestures to the woman beside him, "is Lady Jamandi Aldori. We both thank you for answering her call for heroes. You may be few, but we need only the best for this great task."
Lady Jamandi offers the room a broad smile before she speaks. "South of here, beyond Brevoy's border, lie the Stolen Lands. This disputed territory has been claimed time and again by would-be settlers, but because the area has been a haven for bandits and monsters, it has never been held for long. Restov intends for this to change.
"If you have enough courage to drive off the dangerous denizens of the Stolen Lands, you can seize territory for yourselves and name yourselves baronesses or barons. Restov intends to recognize the legitimacy of the new rulers of this land, and none of the other neighboring realms care enough to challenge you. We are prepared to provide backing as a trade partner and military ally. If you claim the land, you will have my—indeed, all of Restov's—support!"
Lady Jamandi raises her goblet. "But the details of your individual missions and charters into the Stolen Lands can wait. I raise my glass to you, brave heroes! For now, let us eat and enjoy the evening. Tomorrow promises to be a very busy day."