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A fire burns merrily in the large hearth of the audience chamber, casting warm light over the long wooden table and high-backed chairs. A pair of guards opens the engraved wooden doors, and a regal woman enters, her hair tied into a tight bun. The guards stay by her side as she scans the room and then takes a seat at the head of the table.
“You must be Lady Morilla’s Pathfinders. I am Dame Sarrona Lebeda, and I am well aware of your desire for the Horn of Aroden. I am sympathetic to the cause of the crusade, and am curious to learn whether the Horn’s magic can be returned; however, the horn has already been pledged to King Noleski Surtova as a fitting part of the dowry for my daughter’s hand in marriage, and such promises cannot be overturned lightly. Nonetheless, I am willing to find a replacement gift in exchange for one kindness on your part: bring my son back home."
“As of late, my son Lander has been neglecting his duties in favor of playing the part of an adventurer. His swordplay admittedly shows promise, but wielding a weapon is only one facet of being a proper lord. Worse, the style and legacy that he has become obsessed with is that of Baron Aldori, which many houses perceive as a sign that we are not as committed to a unified Brevoy as we may appear. The truancy of a second child may not seem much of a threat, but with his older sister spending her days in the capitol negotiating the web of Surtova politics, the increase of bandit activity and wolf attacks in our lands, and Lander neglecting his responsibilities within our holdings, I am concerned that he is as much a liability to our family as an asset. You are adventurous types yourselves, and understand the hazards and difficulties of the lifestyle. Perhaps you could find Lander and convince him that the way of the sword is not the life he romantically envisions?”
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"Well me lady, adventuring has fed myself an my kin where I come from. But, it is no easy life. Many time, I don think we were gonna make it." Darven stops before getting to far into his story telling. "Right, if, I mean when, we find him, we shall have a word wit the boy."
"Do you know where it tis he last went?"
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Deciding to meet the lady in his finery, Samildanach stands next to Darven as the Dame gives her impassioned speech about the return of her son. Whilst he still smells slightly of the sea, and has his driftwood Holy symbol around his neck, the usually fiercely dressed half-orc is in a fine Grey leather long-coat with a grey silken shirt underneath. Long black trousers and tucked into well polished knee high boots, the accent finished off with tasteful jewellery.
He bows to the Lady of the household and smiles, his sharpened tusks obvious despite his best efforts. "Certainly Milday, the task seems simple enough. Might you know the direction he headed, and does he have any friends around town?"
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Tatiana is closest to home this time, being from Ustalav.
She's a young woman with raven hairs and pale skin. She has an holy symbol of Pharasma around her neck and black and gray clothes but clearly well designed and cut at the latest fashions.
It's an honor to meet you my Lady. I'm Tatiana Malkolva, from Caliphas and a follower of the Mother of Souls.
I understand your ties to the King, but rest assured we will find your son and make him understand his duties as befit his rank.
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Though clearly more familiar with scars than etiquette, Magga's response still comes as a surprise. "Just let him fight, and everything will sort itself. If he survives, he'll come home stronger."
Almost as an after though, she adds, "And if he doesn't, then you didn't lose anything important anyhow."
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“Lander has taken to associating with a blacksmith named Marek Bogdan.
Marek is a retired soldier and a practitioner of the Aldori style, and Lander says he’s a fine instructor, but my son spends too many hours at the Three Tongs smithy practicing his swordplay when he should be overseeing our cottars and building alliances. He was headed to the Three Tongs when last I saw him, two days ago.”
Lander is the younger of Dame Sarrona’s two children. He is good looking, and has caught the eyes of several noble scions in Silverhall.
Lander has always been fascinated by stories of bravery and derring-do. When he was a child, he spent hours questioning soldiers, guards, and mercenaries about their campaigns and fights against monsters. His collection of Brevic military histories is second to none in Silverhall.
Lander was seen recently slaughtering dire rats and other urban vermin with a finely made sword—hardly proper behavior for a young lord!
Marek Bogdan owns the Three Tongs smithy and is a skilled artisan who specializes in making weapons.
Marek trained to become an Aldori swordlord for several years before moving south to Silverhall.
Marek’s maker’s mark is the sign of an eagle clutching a pair of tongs. He has little respect for authority, particularly inherited authority
Marek’s departure from the Aldori Academy was not voluntary—he was discharged following allegations of sedition, and took up smithing out of necessity. When he drinks, he often mutters obscenities about Issia and a unified Brevoy.
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"From what I've heard, this boy, Lander, has a healthy interest in the martial arts. But if he wants to become a man, he'll have to stop reading about battles and actually get into one."
"Actually, I prefer reading about battles than being in them myself. There are a number of interesting recounts of battles between Belkzor orcs and Dwarves I learned when passing through the area recently. Did you know that there are actually orc martial artists that specialize in non-lethal combat!!! Who would have thought?"
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Having no more questions for the Lady at present, Samildanach takes his leave and goes back to his Inn to acquire his adventuring gear, leaving the fancy clothes behind for now. Asking questions on the way from the locals and a particularly helpful barmaid, the half-orc yielded little beyond what they already knew. Not to be put down however, Samildanach donned his sea-stained grey robes and buckles on his breastplate before heading back to rejoin his companions. Dressed for War, he now carried several tridents with drifteood handles and a fine dark-wood shield inscribed with a leering golden demon.
"Yeah, not much talk around. Should we go see this Blcksmith? Specialized in weapons i hear."
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In the corner stands a rather gruff looking Kellid human. He is wearing breastplate that is made from the hide that is rather unusual looking. Those more familiar, however, recognises it as dragonhide. Other than that, he carries rather simple looking gear: a scimitar and club hangs from his belt, and a darkwood shield is slung over his back. The only other thing of note is a simple necklace made of leather thong from which hangs a bundle of feathers.
At his feet lies a snow leopard. He is looking rather bored, swishing his tail back and forth. From time to time, he looks up at Garn but seeing nothing much happening, lays his head back to the floor again.
Garn stays silent and listens to the discussion. He does not quite understand the motivation of the lady, nodding in agreement with Magga. Is not battle the best way to temper steel? But he does not comment. He has been in the warmer lands of the south for a number of years now, but even now there is much he does not understand. Likely he never will and he is content to leave it as that.
"Yes, let's go then." Garn gets to his feet, ready to follow along. He lets the rest take the lead, knowing he would quickly get lost in the urban setting.
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Bidding a farewell to the lady of the manner, you head into town. The Three Tongs can be found with just a couple of simple questions.
Racks of weapons and metalwork line the walls of the Three Tongs smithy, and the forge is visible through a wide door. A pair of crossed Aldori dueling swords hangs on the wall opposite the front door. The antlers of several deer and elk decorate the walls. A staircase wraps around the eastern wall, leading upstairs.
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Silgil eyes the stairs up. Not being either martial or sneaky, he wracks his brains for a way up that would avoid attention.
"I heard the training here was more towards the dueling vein, Aldori I believe. I myself would trust a nice heavy axe, and you your club, but I would not mind a perusal of what a slim sword and nimble style has to offer. Say, shopkeeper, do those stairs lead towards a classroom or something?"
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"An Aldori dueling sword?" suggests the smith as he emerges from the back room.
"The finest weapon devised by man."
He turns to Silgil. "Of course a dwarven frame may be more suited the the axe. "
He glances back to the stairs. "That would be my living quarters. I have been known to teach the odd student from time."
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“Baron Aldori is much more than a man in Brevoy—he’s a symbol, specifically one that represents an independent Rostland. Many of Aldori’s followers fought against Choral the Conqueror several hundred years ago to keep Rostland independent."
He smiles.
"Of course, he wasn't born with a sword in his hand." grins the smith.
“Before Baron Aldori founded his school of combat, he bet his fortune to a bandit lord that he could defeat the bandit in single combat. He failed and spent years in exile before returning and defeating the bandit in seconds. It was this battle that established his reputation as a master swordsman. ”
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Stepping into the blacksmith's tidy workshop, Samildanach eyes up the weapons, slightly in awe at seeing the handiwork of a master of their craft. Throughout his years at sea and as a Pathfinder, he had seen most weapons employed in one form or another, including the Aldori style. A preening brigand turned pirate captain who's skill with a blade was considerable, but he was clumsy aboard a deck.
As he was warmed by the fire, there was a strange chirping noise from his pack and the Half-orc sighed. Moments later the small, scaled head of his Velociraptor companion poked out and chirped happily at the warmth, trying to fight their way from the backpack.
Steady on Grimshaw! Ye'll wreck the place!" he mutters, letting the beast out.
"Sorry about that Master Smith," the half-orc says. "Yes we had heard Young Lander was desperate to become a master, his mother asked us to enquire as to whether you knew where he was?"
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Garn wanders around the workshop, with Snowball following closely at his feet. He studies the various weapons casually, but does not pay them much heed. What could match to the teeth and claws of beasts? Finally, he settles himself in front of the antlers, examining them in great details.
Eventually, he turns to listen to the conversations, but is quickly lost with the talk of history, dueling and whatnot. Only when the conversation turns to that of Lander does his ears perk up.
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Snowball paces over to the dinosaur, and sniffs at it curiously. He has seen his master take a similar form, but otherwise, has yet to meet another creature of the form.
His curiosity satisfied, he wanders over near the open door to the forge, settles down near the warmth of the fire and starts to nap.
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Marek thinks for a moment before replying to Tatiana.
"Although Lander has improved quite a bit in the months I’ve been teaching him, he is still likely no match for any bandits. Though it’s unlikely he’d even find them—he doesn’t have much of a head on his shoulders for the wilderness, and is far more likely lost somewhere. If he’s lucky, he’s lost out in the countryside somewhere, playing the hero. If he’s unlucky, he’s encountered some of the nastier critters that live in the back country. I’m worried for his safety.”
He pauses "Whether he has the character to improve... only time will tell. if I thought there were no abilty in him, I'd not train him, nobleman or not."
Then he points to the south west as he answers Samildanach.
"I last saw Lander two days ago. He was headed out of town on the southwestern road. Over the past month or so, he’s been trying to put his training to good use—slaying monstrous vermin in the outskirts of town, that sort of thing. With the recent attacks by bandits, Lander was convinced that he could stop them himself and live up to Baron Aldori’s legacy.”
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"I see the problem. Your training didn't include any actual fights to the death, did it? That's the problem with noblemen and their pointy little things, you all just play at fighting, but never really do it."
After a moment, Magga's expression changes suddenly, "Of course, that means this lordling can't defend himself, and probably needs us to save him."
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"Aye, the sort of poor luck that sees you swinging eh?" Samildanach replies, shaking his head at the narrow view of their barbarian companion. At that point, Samildanach realises he hadn't hears of the bandit attacks and presses for more information. "These bandits ya say? Know anything about them? Their leader, or their tactics?"
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"I have heard a bit about them from my neighbors." admits the smith.
"Although Lander has improved quite a bit in the months I’ve been teaching him, he is still likely no match for any bandits. Though it’s unlikely he’d even find them—he doesn’t have much of a head on his shoulders for the wilderness, and is far more likely lost somewhere. If he’s lucky, he’s lost out in the countryside somewhere, playing the hero. If he’s unlucky, he’s encountered some of the nastier critters that live in the back country. I’m worried for his safety.”
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I agree with you master smith. Nobility is a charge, a curse and a blessing. But in the right hands it can help a region grows.
I hope that we will catch young lord Lander before anything happen and put some senses into him.
Thank you Marek.
May be, as it respect you, you can lend us something that belongs to you?
It will prove to him that we come with your blessing rather than his mother alone. It could help us convince him to get back.
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Samildanach snorts derisively at Garn's Question regarding stopping the lad. He nods at the Smith's answer as he considers his own run in with the nobility, including a particularly sttange Dwarf obsessed with Palanquins of all things. Shrugging, he gets ready to leave as Tatiana asks about a keepsake or the like.
"Aye, might help rein him in somewhat, save us from trussing him up and ruining his precious dignity eh?" he laughs.
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Marek thinks for a moment. "I could write you a letter if you liked. But whether he is likely to follow my words... outside the training circle he is the noble."
Still the smith is as good as his word and crafts a poorly written letter asking Lander to come back.
"Any of you interested in purchase of a fine sword?" he asks hopefully.
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"A sword is a much better weapon for close up fighting. A Balberd... well, that is what we train the masses with. That and pikes."
He points to the stairs up. "If you want to talk of Lander we can do it upstairs, I'll clean up here and be up in a moment."
He heads out back and you can hear the sound of the water trough getting splashed around. Shortly after he returns and escorts you to his apartment above the smithy. In his had he has a jug, from which he offers you a drink.
"Mare's milk. I keep it down at the trough to stop it getting too hot and going off." he offers.
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"Ah, I'm afraid the subtle style of the Swordlords doesn't suit." Samildanach replies with a shrug. "I'm good wi' my Tridents for now but I'll remember you for a comission in the future?" As Marek fetches a cool drink, Samildanach gladly takes a glass and begins to talk with the man about his own experiences with the headstrong youth.
"Any hints on how to calm him down if he's in a tiff?" he asks after a while.