Steward Jeremiah Wyldote's page

Jeremiah Wyldote nods to the Stonebit. “Take the mage and hobgoblin with you, then. If they should hinder you in any way, cut them loose. There is too much at stake. Go now, and go quickly.”

His dismissive gesture indicates that Logan, Rolg, Aladdin, and Bolgrith should leave. He pays Jamie no heed. The Steward leans over the map covered table again. “Simon, Montague…” and he begins to discuss strategy over the map with his two sons.

“I accept your pledge, Rolg Naxdag. Your promise will not be forgotten, in feast or famine.”

The Steward turns to Jamie, “By his account,” he nods to Rolg, “you are braver than every knight in this room. He says you have already sacrificed much for the Commonwealth, and that you are a great warrior. Every man and strong lad able to wield a sword will be gathered to defend the realm, so I will not permit your departure. Rest assured, I will pay you to stay and fight, and on top of that I invite you to the royal bath tent and the few casks of ale that traveled with us. Just be ready to fight when the enemy finds our forces one day from now.”

He waves a hand at Logan to indicate his approval of the lieutenant’s companions.

At Rolg’s request, the Steward’s expression softens, as though for a second he considered a small smile before banishing the notion altogether. “I think it would be appropriate for you to take the shield of Sir Moss. He plainly did not make good use of it.”

With a gesture, a knight nods a bow, and brings a heavy steel shield that leaned against the wall with other weapons and shields that belong to the knight order. He unceremoniously hands it to the hobgoblin, who finds it to be high quality in craftsmanship.

I’m already regretting doing this, but Rolg receives a +1 Heavy Steel Shield.

“That settles it, then,” the Steward declares flatly, “The hobgoblin Rolg is the victor. Though it eases my mind none to see the greatest of my knights bested by one of your kind, I gave my word to not sentence you to death. You will wait until I decide what to do with you; I have other matters to address.”

Jeremiah Wyldote steps forward, turning an imperious look at the Borderguard lieutenant. “Stonebit. I did not know your house taught any of their youths the redundant speech of court. Nevertheless, I have use of your unique position. You will sail to the Hammertide Isles and beseech The Three Kings for aid, and do so quickly. My fastest ship is in Siloguard, but given our need of haste I suggest finding a seaworthy vessel in Stonebit to sail down the Snowrun and across deeper waters.”

Simon raises his voice to object but the Steward cuts him off, “You will not leave my sight, Simon. It is time you put away your childish “adventuring” and learn to lead in the real world. That is the end of the matter,” he adds with finality.

He turns a prudent look the stout dwarf, more specifically, to all of the weight on the priest’s shoulders. After a moment of thought, he says, “I do not know your intentions, Master Dwarf, but if you were going to sell the excess of arms and armor you carry, I am willing to buy. But do not deceive yourself into exploiting us this dire time -I insist on the standard market rates. When we are done here I need you to accompany this Stonebit to your home islands -in hopes your presence will ease the reception of his request.”

“What of that wizard?” Sir Montague sneers at the mad stormborn.

“I don’t like him,” answers Jeremiah Wyldote, “In the short time he has spent in my presence I find him unpredictable, and I want him nowhere near the front lines should he lose control of his magic. Wherever you go, mage, let it be far from here.”

“And of you,” Lord Wyldote at last turns to the victorious hobgoblin, “I understand you are not like your treacherous kin, and are willing to die for that difference. Swear an oath to me now, before gods and men, that you will not raise a weapon against me or those who act in my name.”

“Halt, knights,” Jeremiah Wyldote booms, recovering from his surprise, “No rules of combat were laid down, therefore none were broken. Do not intervene.”

He nods for the duel to continue, though only Rolg can see it.

The Wyldote does not reply to the hobgoblin.
"Sir Moss! Stop toying with your opponent," the Steward barks at the Knight Commander, "Finish this duel."

Unless you're spending a hero point, that Intimidate check has no effect.

Even the Steward cannot resist a small smile at the trust placed in Simon, and he pulls his thoughtful gaze from the silent dwarf. “My youngest son,” he begins, resuming a serious expression with a tone of fatherly wisdom, “has not yet learned how to lead, and is not fit for making decisions for himself.”

Jeremiah Wyldote turns to Logan. “In a time of peace, your offer would be a suitable resolution to this debacle. Why the lot of you, especially the dwarf, are willing to throw your fate in with this alleged green-skin traitor is beyond me. But war is upon our doorstep, and given the intentions of the hobgoblins, how do I know this goblinkin among us is not an assassin? The heir to my throne is in the lands of the enemy and unaccounted for, so I will keep my remaining sons as safe as possible. This will be terms of the duel: Knight Commander Sir Maurice Moss shall fight in Sir Montague’s stead. And rather than first blood, the victor will be known when the other yields or suffers fatal wounds.”

The Steward of the Commonwealth faces Rolg, “A cunning infiltrator is willing to bleed, but how many are willing to die? Should you prevail, I will send you far from the reach of my sons, but you will have my trust. If not, well, then the gods have decided for me,” he adds smugly.

Satisfied, the Steward turns again to the Stonebit “It is worse than that, even if this alleged dreamtale creature, a dragon, proves to be false,” his eyes shift to his youngest son, “The Council of Seven was locked in session two days ago, and with them, your sister. I suspected her detainment when Hagglesport announced conscription contracts for every arm in the fighting pits, and now I know the truth of hobgoblin treachery with the news you bring. Your sister may be dead already,” he says coldly.

After a long pause, he returns the hard look to Rolg, Bolgrith, Logan, Jamie, and Aladdin, and begins to think aloud in a ponderous tone. “But what to do with these so-called friends? I cannot hang them without conviction, and at present, no charges can be held against them without evidence. The hobgoblin and Stonebit are right, we will need every sword arm in the realm…”

“Halt, Montague.”

The Steward of the Commonwealth scowls fiercely at Rolg, but then turns his angry face to Simon.
“Simon, is all of this true? I must hear from your mouth that you were not mistreated, threatened, or coerced by this lot in any way.”

“They will answer for themselves,” interrupts the Steward, “thank you, that will be all, captain.”

The aging Wyldote studies the six as the Borderguard salutes and stands at attention near the door. His disapproving gaze rests the longest on Simon, before moving to the others. The frown creases further when he sees Rolg, but he says nothing. He rests the empty cup on the table and clasps his hands in front of him, and raises his eyebrows in a skeptical, patient expression.
“So, for two months, my youngest son is unaccounted for, until I receive word that he is not only miles beyond our borders, but also in the company of the enemy, which he warns me of an apparent warlord. Some days later, he comes to me haggard, thin, and in the company of two men, a dwarf, an unwashed camp-follower, and worse, a hobgoblin. Explain to me why I shouldn’t have all of you bound and tried for the endangerment of the royal line.”