While conducting matters in the town of Restov, you are approached by a liveried attendent bearing a missive and a small pouch of coins. Upon confirmation of your identity, the man hands you the scroll and pouch, indicating you are being invited to an event in two days time.
The contents of the missive are as follows:
By special invitation, you are summoned to a luncheon and meeting hosted by and for the benefit of the Swordlords of Restov, agency of Brevoy. Accompanied you shall receive an inducement of 150 gold talons, for your appearance and discretion in this matter. A coach shall be made available on the morrow after next, half past 10 bells in Downgreen Plaza, to take you and other guests to this occassion. Should you deign to appear, no issue shall arise, and you are thanked by the Swordlords of Restov for the courtesy and discretion it is assured you will show in this matter.
Respectfully,
Jouls Dunkrint
Council to the Lordship
Swordlord of Restov
The funds are the additional gold each player started with, not additional funds.
If possible, please indicate any reasons each character is in Restov, if backgrounds do not already offer explanation.
Welcome to the game. I hope it turns out fun for all of us.
Thom has just finished weeding the garden in his back yard when the attendent arrives; there is little smalltalk, and he stands confused when after confirming that he is, indeed, Thom O'Brian, he receives the pouch of gold and a missive.
He's heating a cup of tea over the small makeshift fireplace in his hovel as he reads the missive.
Th' swordlords? Why they'd wanna see th' likes o'me?
He glances at his sword and shield, tucked in the corner. He wasn't sure what to think. He certainly had no attire to match the extravagance of the swordlords, not if they were the ones he'd heard of.
Arumil was found on the second floor of a inn he was staying at, it was called the Sword Dragon or some such. He was sitting between two windows on the roof. If nothing the view made up for the smell of the city, how humans could bear the air with so little plants he would never understand.
"Sir?"
He turned to look at the pale boy bearing a sealed message and pouch. With a wave of his hand and simple spell both drifted out of the boy's hand toward his own.
"Mind bring me some of that Kyonin wine I escorted here."
The boy glad to inch his way back inside nodded and left. He shifted the pouch, gold with the message stating the reason he would guess. He unsealed it and read. The boy returned sortly with the glass and bottle in a warpped cloth, not venturing out the window this time. With another wave he took the parcel, the boy vanishing as soon as it left his hand.
"Well let us toast dear sweet lady fate, may you not rip the world from under me for accepting such kindness."
Radu holds the missile in an immaculately clean linen glove, and ponders the vicissitudes of fate that have led to the Swordlords being willing to part with 150 gold talons for the pleasure of his company.
He could barely contain a thrill running down his spine, at the thought of the business opportunities that could arise if he made a suitable impression, and yet there was also the nagging question of what the local rulership thought of his family and their business interests. Not everyone had welcomed the teachings of the Kalistrade, and even among his fellow followers of the Master of the First Vault, there was whisper as to whether his new vocation was entirely appropriate...
Pushing aside his doubts, Radu calls to his man, "Bogdomil! I require a litter for the morrow, to arrive here no later than 10 bells, and convey me to Downgreen Plaza no later than half past the hour. Do not hire those Carvosky boys, they are brutish looking and clumsy. The Severan lads, if possible. They manage to keep themselves clean and presentable... First impressions are so important.
As his manservant accepts small coin to make the hire, Radu regards the finer of his two outer robes, and uses prestidigitation to attempt to clean it and whiten it's color yet again, even if the outfit is already pristine.
"What opportunity awaits?" he mutters to himself, before being distracted by the scent of cooking food from the second room of his woefully-inadequate lodgings. "Oh, Bogdomil, you idiot. You left the pot on the fire again... Honestly, what good are you?" he grumbles as he bustles into what passes for servant's quarters, kitchen and storage, to remove the pot from the hearth.
*****
In the morning, he rises and prays to Abadar to give him the foresignt to see opportunity in the day's venture, and the stones to seize it, before it slips away.
As the time approaches, he sends Bogdomil to collect some fresh pastries, flaky crusts slathered with warm butter and filled with a raspberry preserve, and places them within a covered basket, which he keeps warm and fresh via prestidigitation. The four sons of old man Severen arrive in a timely fashion, with a partially enclosed litter, and he pays them in advance, using his magic once again, to clean the tabard of one who has apparently had a run in with a cup of soup (or perhaps ale, although he shakes his head to put that thought out of his mind). It would never do to spoil the first impression with unkempt litter-bearers...
Ozaziel finishes his morning prayers, greeting the dawn as a warrior should. The boy approaches and he rises from his kneeled position placing his sword back in its scabbard with care.
After examining the letter a single sound is uttered from him Hmph
He thinks, finally the swordlords have decided this page well enough to prove himself. I wonder what they will have me do and who these companions are?
He shakes the thoughts from his head and tosses the boy a silver piece.
After the child leaves, Ozaziel, kisses his holy symbol of the Empyreal Lords and tucks it beneath his armor, makes his way to the training yards and continues his practice to truly master the art of the aldori dueling sword.
Tomnus's infamous reputation had finally caught up with him about three months ago and he was forced to flee Port Pearl or be killed with the rest of his band of bandits and thieves. With nowhere to go he jumped the first ship out of the port and stowed away until they reached port in Cassomir and then he headed north to finally reach Restov. During his travels he was able to secure enough money from other people to be able to afford a say in one of Restov's most prestigious inns and had been staying there since he arrived.
Tomnus was asleep in his room, having been out until dawn being his usual self, when the knock from the messenger brought an abrupt end to his sleep. He groggily got up, mumbling to himself in Ettin. "WHAT" he said as he opened the door but quickly calmed as he saw the purse full of money. "Thanks" he said letting the door shut and he walked back inside. I hope my sleep was disturbed for a good reason...though this coin purse full of gold makes me happy he thought as he walked back to the bed and sat on its edge to read the note. Once he was done he scratched his head and read it once more. Either my captures have found me...or the Swordlords are really looking to recruit me. I didn't think my name traveled this far... his thoughts drifted off as his stomach rumbled. Digging through his pack he retrieves a ration and starts nibbling on it as he continues to think but he eventually decides to take his chances and meet these so called Swordlords.
---------
Two days later Tomnus is waiting, gear all ready, in the plaza to be picked up by the carriage.
After having re-read the letter several times and picking up the best attire he could from his poor reserves, he feeds Ashe in the makeshift stables he's arranged in the back yard. "Ah know yeh cannae read, bu' ah was invited by th' swordlords. So yeh'll be alone t'morro'."
He brushes the mare's mane and grooms her as the evening sets, and shortly afterwards he goes to sleep.
When he wakes up, he starts his grooming - which involves dunking his head in a barrel of moderately fresh water. As he dries up, he gets clad in the best outfit he could muster. Despite the effort, he only looks the part of a commoner, with a stitched leather jerkin and murky brown trousers. His shirt, a dark red colour, is of relatively good quality, but he stands out. And not in a good way. He doesn't think too much of his appearance beyond getting dressed, and makes sure to fasten his longsword in his belt.
Best show me blade, an' tha' ah kno' hafta use one.
He sets out of his hovel, to the main square. The only one that stands out, there, in the middle of the plaza, is a man equipped with both armour and weapons...
Arumil made his way to the meeting place using the rooftops. His flowing blue robes letting the high breeze play across his skin. Anyone who saw him would think him mad for moving over the buildings with disregard for the many falls. When he makes it to the edge of the plaza he simply walks off the roof, floating down with ease.
Beats the cramped streets and stale air, hope no one thought me mad like that last human town. Now who do I speak to.
As you enter from a side street, you are momentarily taken aback by the view before you. Rumored tended by some of the best druids ever to leave Gronzi Forest, Downgreen Plaza is a lush green vista amidst the hustle and bustle that is Restov. The nearly mile on square boasts trees of various local varieties standing amongst meandering hedgerows and soon to bud flowering bushes. Amongst the pathways, small stone benches and crystal clear reflective pools await those in need of respite. Plots of green grass show signs of earthed and sowed plantings, wherein blossoms and herbs will soon break forth to greet the early spring. It seems Golarion is eager to grant the world with new life, new possibilities. Only a few passersby meet your gaze, many seem to be taking in the green, or rushing quickly to errands that only offer the most skirting of glances at this vista of quiet contemplation.
Standing along the southern approach to the plaza stands a fine black coach, a large yet stylish enclosed carriage perhaps able to carry six in relative comfort. The coach sits manned by two stout guards atop the master's bench, a third standing aside the carriage trunk. Their Restovian livery is immaculate and crisp. Stoically before them, four fine chestnut steeds stand hitched and ready to travel. The coachmen and steeds bearing and purpose matches that of the young officer waiting by the closed carriage door. His sergeant's uniform matches the pristine nature of his men's, perhaps even more so. He stares forth at no distant particular, attent to everything, yet nothing at all. Beside him, a slate and reed in hand, you recognize the young attendent that delivered your letter and purse only days prior. The only difference in his demeanor and livery now, is he seems well at ease with the Aldori blade fastened by his side, and the silver pin and chain secured over his left breast.
He notices you as arrive, yet makes no move to approach. It seems obvious you must come to him.
He approved of this part of the city but still that they could not live with in the greenry rather then away from it seemed beyond him. He walks his way to the waiting men, in no rush taking in the sweeter air of the plants. As he finally makes it to his destination he gives a slight bow.
"Good day, will anyone else be joining us?"
The attendent makes note of Arumil's arrival. You are the first to arrive, good sir. Others shall be along shortly. Please welcome aboard. The sergeant opens the carriage door, shutting it once Arumil is inside.
Tomnus feels a little uneasy with all the green around him. Having grown up by the sea and in a city he wasn't used to being around trees. He looks around looking for the comfort of people but doesn't find much. He sighs in relief as he spots the coach waiting for him. Tomnus approaches the man, recognizing him from earlier. "Good marrow good sir, has anyone else arrived?" He prepares to produce the message he was given just in case the man didn't recognize him from before.
Good day, gentlemen. I assume this is the carriage that was fortold.
He approaches the carriage and steps in looking at the others Oz will respectfully bow and offer a hand Well met
Good day gentlemen, we have but a few guests yet to appear. Please be seated and we will be underway shortly.
The attendent makes note of Tomnus and Ozaziel and scans the area as the sergeant closes the carriage door.
Tomnus gets on the coach and then sits across from the elf but says nothing until Ozaziel boards. "Well met" he says offering his hands to both Ozaziel and Arumil. "The name's Tomnus, neither of you would happen to have connections to the Port Pearl government would you?" he asks, suddenly feeling a little nervous.
Arumil does not take his hand but gives a slight bow of the head.
"I am Arumil from Kyonin"
He looks him over for a moment while thinking about the rest of his statement.
"I take it you are not in favor with Port Pearl, you would do well not to let such things on."
The mid-morning is clear and temperate, so Radu keeps the curtains open to the front and sides, to view the surroundings as the litter is carried at a moderate pace to Downgreen Plaza.
He takes in the sight, a part of him critiquing the waste of space that could be used for retailers and homes, and yet recognizing that to leave room for parkland was a conscious display of success, and taste, that the city of Restov was secure enough in it's financial standing that it did not need to cram money-making opportunities into every plot of land.
The carriage awaits, and he directs the bearers to place him near it before lowering him to the ground, thanking them for their service, and tipping each of them an additional copper, unconcerned that this is doubling the cost of the trip.
He smoothes his fine vestments, which flare out from beneath his well-polished breastplate, and steps smoothly to the carriage, nodding respectfully to the sergeant and again to the young messenger, whose measure rises in his eyes, as he notes the Aldori dueling sword at the boy's side.
He then pulls himself up into the carriage, to view the others who have been summoned this day.
Hmm. An unarmored elf, perhaps some sort of arcanist. A man, clad in studded leather, yet bearing an Aldori dueling sword, perhaps a warrior who cannot yet afford chain shirt or breastplate. Another in a chain shirt, bearing the weapons one would associate with a duellist or scout, and yet a barbed vest that suggests a hunter or woodsman of some sort... he thinks, attempting to take the measure of these men as he seats himself.
"Greetings gentlemen. I am Radu, of the Church of Abadar." he says, appearing ill at ease at having to extend his hand in greeting while seated, due to the cramped confines of the carriage.
Port Pearl, nay, I have no connection with it. He says towards Arumiel
When Radu, boards he greets him with a hand shake and, Oz, a swordlord paige. Follower of the Empyreal Lords.
Arumil bows in turn to Oz then Radu.
"I take it we have all been summoned by a Sir Jouls Dunkrint. For some yet to be revealed matter. Any theories gentlemen?"
He studies each of the humans, they seemed to have little if anything in common. In fact even his own person had seemly nothing to do with those he shared the carriage with.
Thom sees the attendant from yesterday - and is consequently a little intimidated by the four others that approach, and enter. He takes a deep breath, walking towards the wagon.
"This th' carriage for th' lunch invite?"
Indeed, Thom it is. Please board with the other guests.
The attendent makes note of the arrivals thus far, indicating to the sergeant to close the carriage door once confirming everyone is situated within. Everyone enjoys a period of akwardness as you await something to happen. At eleven bells, with no other arrivals making an appearance, the sergeant and attendent are heard mounting the carriage. Shortly thereafter, the carriage begins to move. A short while later, sounds of crossing the southern gate mark your passage from the town into the countryside.
Looking around the interior, the guests observe that while racks are available for various manners of bottles and goblets, none are actually stocked at this time. The shades are drawn, letting only the slightest glimmers of sunlight to pierce the interior gloom. A soft glowing blue stone affixed the roof however grants enough light to see one another and make note of the appearance of each of the five passengers.
Aside from the clopping of hooves and occassional bird call, no other sounds are observed, the guards and attendent seem to remain silent.
Theories? Nay, I have none. Perhaps it would be best to investigate what men of such unique talents each different from the rest would have to offer a potential employer. For example, myself. I am a man if faith and am somewhat skilled inthe art of the blade. He takes a moment to look at each of you and awaits answers if only to alleviate the uncomfortable silence.
"I am simply a mage of no note, mostly I travel on behast of my homeland escorting things or people."
The silence did not bother him and he was not going to give any details about himself to strangers.
Thom feels out of place; very much so. He awkwardly sits down in one of the corners, not saying a word. He attempts to stay invisible, to not draw any attention, but that proves close to impossible with his broad stature. Dun' speak lest spoken t', th's what father Laine used t'say...
As the carriage begins to move, Radu frowns minutely, finding the company an unusual mix, particularly the last man to seat himself, whose scarred face and broad shoulders suggests a man at arms, and whose inexpert grooming suggests one with little concern as to what sort of impression he is making.
Such individuals are either graceless, or competent enough at violence as to not care what others think of them... he thinks, warning himself not to dismiss the man's potential because of his rough demeanor.
Gesturing with a white-gloved hand towards Ozaziel's necklace of charms, he asks, "I see the symbol of Ragathiel occupies a central position. Is he your personal patron, of the Empyreal Host?"
While he waits, he also uncovers a small basket he brought with him, which contains an assortment of fruit-filled flaky pastries, the scent of buttered bread filling the small carriage. He takes one from the top, still steaming slightly from the magic he has used to keep them warm and fresh, and moves the basket into the middle of the carriage, so that all can reach it.
"I find it useful to have a snack before visiting those who offer a feast, so that my stomach does not growl during the lengthy introductions. Help yourselves, if you wish."
The coach ride seems to take a little over an hour, the roadway at first well worn, less so the latter part of the journey. Upon arrival, voices are heard announcing guests to see the assembly. The carriage door is opened, bright light streaming in once more. Within several blinks, your eyes adjust and you find yourselves parked in a small cobblestone courtyard before a brick and mortared three storied manor house. A tall wall surrounds the outer grounds, a wrought iron gate clamors closed as the first of you exits the coach.
Stationed around the courtyard are half a dozen guardsmen in the livery of the Restovian Guard. They stand at attention much as the three guards and Sergeant that accompanied you from Downgreen Plaza. Of the attendent, you see no sign.
A small elderly halfling approaches, leaning upon a wooden staff chastened in silver. I am Jeyhen. Kindly follow me into the inner hall. Who wishes to be announced first to the assembly? He lurches and lumbers onwards, not waiting for your reply. At the doorway to the manor, he pauses and looks to you expectantly. Milords, if you please.
From over his shoulder to the room beyond, you see a hall of modest elegance, if somewhat dated in decor. The way is lit by several great standing candelabra, tall white tapers casting a warm glow. Off to the right of the only door you can view, a small boy holds a triangle and sword at ready. A man obviously his father stands tall to the other side, gazing back towrds you, but unable to see well into the bright light outside.
"You may announce me in any order you wish. I am Arumil Amaim from Kyonin."
He was no stranger to customs and ceremony, what would be interesting would be the order and who wished to influence it. Not that his own position mattered, he waits for his turn.
At Radu, I cannot say that one of the Empyreal Lords is better than the other they all guide actions and have their domains where they are better able to watch over you. But to answer your question, I am a future swordlord and I was breed for battle so I find it is he who forsoke his own kind to be with the angels and fight a war against his formal brethren to watch over me the most. . He takes a minute to gaze outside getting lost amongst the rhythm of the carriage and the hypnotic pattern of the trees passion by. By your station and your holy symbol am I to assume that you are a cleric of Abadar?
he looks at his companions Radu first
Then at the elf A mage you say. What kind of magics do you weave?
Then at the big man you are perhaps the biggest mystery where do your talents lie?
Then at tomnus, what has happened at port pearl friend?
At the introductions I suppose since I know not my origins I am he of lowest station and should therefor be introduced last
"As one who bears an Aldori blade, it may not respect our Swordlord hosts to announce you last, Sir Ozaziel."
To the halfling major domo(?) he says, "Ozaziel first, Arumil second, myself third, Tomnus fourth and, um, this fellow, whose name I did not catch, fifth, please." he looks to the others, "Unless someone has a different preference."
Arumil looks at Oz for a moment.
"I practice wizardry, yet my knowledge is limited being little more then a novice."
Thom bumbles and tries to make some sort of coherent answer when the man proclaiming himself a future swordlord addresses him. "Uh, m'lord, ah'm jus' a farmer's boy."
He refrains from speaking, feeling like a fool as he keeps his gaze set on his lap.
Once they leave the coach and enter the manor, he feels even more uneasy, fiddling with his enormous thumbs. When called a "lord" he feels even more confused. He pulls out the missive he received yesterday from within his jerkin. S'got me name, an' ah was let 'to the carriage... this mus' be a joke...
Tomnus looks at Oz and shakes his head "Tis a very long story, just know I'm in no hurry to go back."
When they arrive Tomnus gets off the coach and then nods at Radu "Sounds good to me." He can't help but feel a little out of place at all the attention he's getting. they sure are making a big fuss over a no one from the streets of port pearl he thinks as his eyes drink in the lavish decorations and pomp and circumstance.
While they walk, Radu fastidiously cleans any trace of crumbs off of his breastplate and robes with a napkin, which he tucks away, after ensuring that the pastries did not leave butter-stains on his gloves.
He smiles thinly at Tomnus' commentary, glancing appraisingly at the man's gear, before saying in a low voice, "Port Peril is an entire world away from us. I can't imagine what one could have done that would inspire pursuit from such a distance." his smile becomes somewhat more genuine and his voice lowers yet again as he adds teasingly, "Hopefully no bloodthirsty pirate captain's lovely daughter was involved..."
From the worth of his gear, it doesn't seem to have been a monetary offense. he thinks, assessingly.
he looks at his companions Radu first
d20+1
The outfit and manner gives you good cause to consider it, yes.
Then at tomnus, what has happened at port pearl friend?
d20+7
You have not heard anything of interest lately, though you do sense Tomnus is not offended by your question, in fact slightly relieved that it becomes clear his companions know nothing of his troubles.
Jeyhen looks patiently at the group. Realizing some slight confusion exists as to proper "assembly" protocol, he takes it upon himself and begin the process. Milords, before I begin the introductions, I must address a matter of decorum. No weapons will be allowed in the presence of the assembly. In yonder alcove before the great hall, you will find a series of weapons racks. Please feel free to deposit your items there. Young master Delo will take charge of them and see they come to no harm while you dine. The young boy beyond seems to rise up in stature at the mention of his name. Spell wielders will be on their honor to do no craft whilst in the presence of the assembly as well. Manservant Denorin gesturing to the older man, will seat the first guest, and then return for each in sequence. Please, do not address the assembly unless first addressed.
The aging majordomo then stamps his staff once upon the ground, at which the boy Delo strikes his chime with the sword. It echoes a clarion tone, followed by Jeyhen’s voice drifting from the great hall, “Master Ozaziel.” Denorin steps forth, offering his arm.
As Denorin returns, he offers his arm Radu Stanislav.
Upon returning, Denorin offers his arm Arumil Amaim.
Next back, the manservant motions for his charge to take his arm Thom O'brian.
Lastly, as Denorin returns and offers his arm, the halfling calls Master Tomnus.
Arumil does as he is bid. "A mage making use of his weapon was a failure" as his teacher often said. "Only death was a greater failure, which often followed as a result" he thought bleakly. So soon he would find out the meaning of all this and if it was worth his time.
Tomnus looks at Radu and smiles "Yes thankfully Port Pearl is a world away...and I only wish it would have involved a pirates daughter, you wouldn't believe what some of them are capable of." He chuckles at the end of his comment. As his name is called Tomnus steps forward and takes the arm of the halfling. He stops in the next chamber to put his weapons in the rack and the continues onto the chamber and is seated for the meal.
While still in the cart he turns to Radu and asksNo offense meant sir but what is a prophet doing in Brevoy?
At the assembly he hands over his weapons with care and seems almost reluctant to give up his sword. Upon handing it over he looks at the gentleman in charge of caring for the weapons and says Assume you know what this is and the care and respect it deserves
In the meeting hall he waits to sit until all the traveling companions have gathered and then only sits when instructed too.
While still in the carriage, he'll reply to Ozaziel, "I was born here in Restov, but the teachings of the Kalistocracy have touched my life all the same."
********
At the major domo's instructions, he removes a dagger from the folds of his robes, and leaves it on the weapon's rack, having brought no other weapon on this outing.
Thom reluctantly hands the young master Delo his blade; he had scarce enough coin as it was, and the sword was one of his better possessions. Then again, ah got th' 'hundred'n'fift' talons from th' swordlords...
He allows himself to be escorted with the manservant, trying to keep his face up when announced. Dun' speak lest spoken t', dun' speak lest spoken t'...
The great hall is open and sparsely decorated. Two great chandeliers hang overhead, mystic flames giving off light to the massive table below, casting moving shadows across the ceiling. The bare stone walls seem aged and worn; many servants having spent many years scrubbing and scouring away the grime and grit of time. The floors are well worn, yet brightly polished hardwoods, cast in a pattern you do not easily recognize. Twelve oaken chairs of a sturdy, plain design are laid around the table, upon which is gathered a sumptuous affair of many dishes favored in Rostland. Each of the guests is lead to a chair opposite a member of the assembly, the gathering with which you have been summoned to meet.
Across from Ozaziel is the Lord Mayor of Restov, Ioseph Sellemius. He sits a large man, corpulent in both girth and bombastic manner. He heartily welcomes each guest, thanking them for coming and welcoming them to Rostland and Restov. Welcome to Restov. On behalf of the city and of Rostland, thank you for coming. Please be seated.
Seated to the left of Ozaziel, Radu finds themselves opposite an aged, well-groomed statesman. His head a snowy mane, his eyes an icy blue, yet his smile seems to warm you slightly. He nods and states his welcome, introducing himself as Lord Noel Orlovsky, head of the Merchant’s Council of Restov. Salutations and greetings young worthies.
To the right of Ozaziel, Arumil is seated in the presence of Ol’ Deadeye’s living representative in Rostland, the elder priest Tamus Kahn, servant of Erastil. It seems Erastil truly favors Tamus, as the aging man has grown into many features commonly attributed the Master Huntsman, a wild mane, piercing eyes, and a gaze that could halt a deer mid-leap or calm a frightened child. Welcome to Rostland.
Thom is brought to the table across from an armored gentleman in the livery of the Restovian Guard, High Captain Jannos Lemurge. One of the youngest officers ever to rise to such ranks, Jannos is known for his near single handed defeat of a wild band of barbaric nomads from the west two years hence. Good day, good journey.
To Thom’s left a large high-backed chair holds a well-muscled late aged man with the bearing and stature of a man of station. His raven hair is thinning, his beard and moustache showing grey, yet his form remains lithe and leanly muscled. His tabard and brooch mark him as one of the Swordlords, obviously this is name Dunkrint. Greetings my guests, and welcome.
Tomnus is brought to the head of the table, to the right of Arumil, across from a traveler little better dressed than the average of your gathered band of guests. His reddish brown hair and moustache are trimmed and neat, his face jovial and welcoming. He introduces himself as Jacob Pero, an humble explorer and cartographer. As the introductions have proceeded, he seems to have occupied his time fiddling with a small box compass he keeps in his vest pocket.
To Thom’s right, at the head of the table, rests a chair higher and larger than that occupied by Swordlord Dunkrint. No tableware has been set there, no place setting available. Obviously, at least one guest has failed to arrive.
As the last guest is seated, the introductions completed, Dunkrint rises, offering a toast, To Restov, to Rostland, to Brevoy, looking to each of you, and to new exciting opportunities for all, let this feast begin.
A period of small talk occurs over the meal. Four courses are served along with a variety of snacks and appetizers. Scattered across the table are a variety of mint and vegetable tarts with creams, tiny buns of mixed meat pastes, and assorted raw vegetable.
The first course consists of hollowed out legumes filled with spicy mountain pepper bits of chicken and game birds.
The second course is a large trout from the Sellen, hickory smoked with a fruity salsa of sweet raspberriers and rare moonberries in a light sweet syrup.
The main course consists of individual young pheasants stuffed with a lamb and rice fill, roasted and served with mixed braised vegetables and spiced fried potatoes.
For deserts, the chef himself brings forth platters of a baked rhubarb cobbler, pierced with rhubarb swords braised in a citrus glaze, and topped with a rare confection, iced rhubarb and ginger cream.
Bon apetite.
Radu nods respectfully to each of the gentlemen present as they introduce themselves, although his eyes linger on Lord Orlavsky, and during the brief period of social chatter before the meals are served, compliments him on his foresight in working to keep the tariffs for river trade low, as it has greatly benefitted the Restovian market, although he makes no attempt at diplomacy above his station, as he knows that over-eagerness can smack of desperation.
During the toast, he raises his glass and barely touches it to his lips, before returning to water. To House Rorgavia, he adds silently, noting the larger empty chair, May they sit among us again, someday.
As the foods are served, he moves with deliberate slowness, observing what items others eat, such as the meat-filled pastries, and choosing instead those filled with vegetables, and picking at his first course, before digging into the second and third courses with more enthusiasm. He attempts to be subtle about this, as he does not wish to offend his hosts with his dietary restrictions.
By the time dessert arrives, he is feeling the pressure of his breastplate against his belly, and wishes he had left the polished lump of metal at home...
Thom has no idea how to handle the upper class courtesies, and he speaks no words as the gentlemen around him introduce themselves. He keeps to gazing on the numerous dishes of food on the table. Fiddling his thick fingers, he isn't sure what to think during the toast; he follows the young lord Stanislav's example to raise his glass, but has no thoughts of the spoken words.
When the feast is begun, however, Thom can't help but drool; surely it is made for nobles, yet he's seated as a guest. The first course was too bland for his tastes, the pepper not adding enough for his interest. He over-indulged on the fish when it arrived, gaining some attention for his rather crude way of eating.
When the stuffed pheasants are served, he finds it a lot tastier than the previous courses, and he has no problems finishing the entire bird, stuffing, vegetables and potatoes included. He somehow manages to stifle the overwhelming urge to eruct; by time of the dessert, he makes sure to enjoy that one too. Big boys need lotsa food, s'what 'e used t'say...
Radu compliments him on his foresight in working to keep the tariffs for river trade low, as it has greatly benefitted the Restovian market, ...
So I take it you are aware I have a Druman merchant amongst my various enterprises. A lucrative arrangement for all involved, though peculiar in habit and manner at times. How is Tamindor these days?
Big boys need lotsa food, s'what 'e used t'say...
Lord Dunkrint leans over to Thom, whispering You know, my mother had three large sons, and then me. Always said I would have grown big and strong, had they not finished the meal before I ever made the table. Your good appetite reminds me of simpler times, better times.
With that he resumes his proper posture, and continues with the table talk. Occassionaly, he winks at Thom as the courses are served.
Arumil nods to each guest and raises a glass in toast but only drinks enough to be polite. When the dishes start to come he sticks mostly to fruits and vegetables with only a sample of meat here and there. To most it would seem he eats little but by the end he has had enough, humans in his mind seemed to require to much food. He is mostly interested in the people gathered, as their purpose and reason for being has yet to truely be revealed.
So I take it you are aware I have a Druman merchant amongst my various enterprises. A lucrative arrangement for all involved, though peculiar in habit and manner at times. How is Tamindor these days?
Radu doesn't attempt to disguise his curiosity at this, "I was not, actually. I have but begun to dabble in the market, and am searching for my niche, as it were."
Tomnus takes his cup and raises it in the proposed toast and then sits down and begins to eat quietly unless someone addresses him. He seems rather uncomfortable and out of place at a table as fine as this. He does is best to hide his complete ineptitude when it comes to manors and it is evident to most at the table that he has spent most of his life eating what he could while being on the streets. He does eat everything that is brought out but his face gets especially uplifted and bright when the Salmon is brought out. Finally some normal food...all this other stuff was starting to give me a stomach ache he thought to himself as he cleaned his plate of the fish.