Charter
Be it so known that the bearers of this charter, lead by Jonas Medvyed and Kragath Lightbringer, have been granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt, charged by the Swordlords of Restov, with authority vested within them by the office of the Dragonscale Throne. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg’s Trading Post. The carriers of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Calistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov, Dame Sarrona Lebeda of House Lebeda, Lord Kozek Lodovka of House Lodovka, Lord Gurev Medvyed of House Medvyed, and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.
Signed,
Lord Regent Noleski Surtova
Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius
Dame Sarrona Lebeda
Lord Kozek Lodovka
Lord Gurev Medvyed
Swordlord Jamandi Aldori
Swordlord Krovax Lightbringer
Swordlord Trine Fervourblade
Jonas Medvyed
Kragath Lightbringer
Ingle Farwen
Gathien Toran
Peregrine Fetch
As you exit the manor of Lord Mayor Ioseph, the oppressing air whisks away from your shoulders. The night's feast had gone from light-hearted, with good wine and food, to grave and thought-inducing as your names were called out like that of a death sentence. The Lord Mayor's presence in particular was solemn and joyless, the man with a perpetual morose frown. The presence of Lord Mevyed and Swordlord Lightbringer did make for a more comfortable environment, yet the prickly gazes of the other lords were constant, and strenuous. The task had been presented, however, and the terms had been stated. After questions, and some haggling, the agreement eventually took place - tomorrow, the Greenbelt is to be conquered.
The Lord Mayor has arranged everything: Tonight, you have rooms at the Golden Arrow Inn, one of Restov's most prominent (and expensive) inns, famous for its soft beds (and wenches) - you each have been given a key to your rooms. Tomorrow morning, Restov's leading merchant will bring some of his best horses, and a cart filled with supplies: all sponsored by Lord Medvyed and Swordlord Lightbringer. The only clause was to include a sixth member, who would meet you at Oleg's Trading Post in two days, in the expedition - and as vital was that his name be signed on the charter. They told you nothing of who he (or she) was.
The evening has shifted into night. The Golden Arrow is in sight. Tomorrow, it all begins.
Kragath walked out of the hall of Lord Mayor Ioseph, in a mild state of confusion. At first, he was excited to be headed into the wilds of the Greenbelt. However, as the charter had been read, a sense of dread filled him. He thought on this as he exited the manor and moved towards The Golden Arrow.
While I feel that this is indeed what Abadar wills me to do, I am troubled by the thought of possibly serving as judge, jury, and executioner. All my experiences in legal matters had been held in the temples of New Stetven. In the wilds, however, those traveling in my company will look to me for answers in regards to this. Abadar, may you guide my hand justly. I wish I had been given an opportunity to speak in private with my father. Perhaps another time will present itself.
As they arrived at the doors to the inn, Kragath paused for a brief moment, and turned to his companions. "Gentlemen, we have a difficult task before us. This may be the last night we see civilization for a while. I suggest that we enjoy it's comforts while we can." Kragath then opens the doors and allows the others of his company to enter.
A slight smile settled on Peregrine's face as he exited the manor. The die was cast. He felt a renewed sense of purpose and direction, if he did this well his House might find new allies and prosper again. Of course, their fate was not in his hands alone. As the group neared the Golden Arrow, Peregrine studied to the two men that had been named leaders of the expedition. An unsurprising choice given the involvement of Medvyed and the Swordlords, now he could only hope they were equal to the task. And, that they could be influenced.
Peregrine nodded in agreement with Kragath. "And what is your choice of comforts on this night before we put civilization to our backs?"
"A rather solemn group," Ingle commented as they left the manor and made their way to The Golden Arrow. "It had more the feel of a funeral than some funerals I've been to." If the half-elf shared in the somber mood of the situation, there was no way to tell it from his demeanor. His inclusion was, after all, a foregone conclusion. All the rest was merely technicalities.
Humming a tune to himself, Ingle gives the paladin an obliging smile as he enters the inn. "I, for one, look forward to a soft bed and a feather pillow."
In response to Peregrine's inquiry, Kragath responds, "Well, I felt I'd enjoy the fire, another drink, and plan out our first move." At this he looks to Jonas.
Peregrine nodded approvingly. "It appears you are a man after my own heart."
knowledge: local .
Ingle takes in the interior of The Golden Arrow with an appreciative grin. Distractedly, he says, "I've no doubt our itinerary will be handled with the utmost efficiency by you fine gentlemen. Though I believe I can be persuaded to join you for a nightcap."
Looking about the common room, Ingle spies a vacant table near the hearth and motions to his companions.
Knowledge: Nature
"It appears you are a man after my own heart."
Kragath follows Ingle to the open table, replying to Peregrine on the way. "To go into any endeavor blind and unprepared is to prepare for failure."
You know that the fey are tricksters, good at remaining undetected and often enjoying mischief. A tome you once read, rather recently dated, mentioned that there have been registered nixies, grigs and faerie dragons wandering the Greenbelt.
Entering the Golden Arrow, you find that it smells of deliciously roasted boar, of onions and mushrooms. There's good cheer from one of the tables as several men, wealthily clad, raise their tankards in celebration. Two bards are singing in tandem up on a dais close to one wall, with men and women joining the chorus. While crowded, the first floor is big enough for there to be several open tables.
No sooner after you have settled down by the table does a man approach; at first he has a frown on his face. His clothes and stiff upper back suggests he's the owner of this place. He looks upset - yet as he lays eyes on Kragath, his expression lightens. "Ah, you must be Krovax Lightbringer's son, yes? I can see it in your eyes. You're expected. Welcome to the Golden Arrow. Can I bring you anything to eat? Drink? Or if you are looking for company for the night, that can also be arranged."
Kragath bows his head slightly at the man who recognized him, "I am indeed. I appreciate the offer for food, but we have just feasted at the manor of Lord Mayor Ioseph. I do believe, however, that my friends and I would like something to drink. As for myself, one last glass of wine before I retire."
While everyone has informs the man as to what they desire, Kragath turns his attention to the surrounding atmosphere here in the inn. It has been too long since I enjoyed the Green Arrow's comforts. I remember all the times father would bring me here after returning home from his work with the Swordlords. If only I hadn't eaten so much at the Lord Mayor's...
Once everyone has ordered, Kragath returns to the task at hand. "While I was born and raised here in the city of Restov, friends, I have been away for nearly five years now, and I know very little of the lands South of the Shrike River. As such, I have even less knowledge of this Trading Post we seek to travel to. I am certain that all of us would like to retire soon to get a full night's rest before our journey in the morning, but I would like to at least be slightly informed prior to doing so."
At the mention of "company for the night", color floods into the half-elf's cheeks and he looks down at his hands with an embarrassed and uncomfortable grin. He had been intending to ask for a glass of mulled cider with three fingers of brandy, slightly warmed, with a touch of brown sugar and two sticks of cinnamon, but feeling suddenly discomfited he settled instead for just another glass of sherry.
As Kragath speaks, he struggles to regain his composure. "Of the Trading Post I can say naught, having only just been informed of it's existence. And being unfamiliar with the lands here-about, one is inclined to wonder: is the land betwixt here and there civilized? Is the road well travelled?"
Gathien pulls his cloak around his shoulders, stepping out into the night with his new companions.
It is shocking to me how quickly the glow of being selected wore off... I went from wanting to whoop aloud to shifting uncomfortably in my chair in less time than it took the dwarf to slurp down his soup -- and likely because of the grave looks from our hosts and employers... Heck, it almost seems warmer out here than it did in there once the charter was read.
As they arrive at the Inn, he winces slightly at Kragath's mention of "comforts"... I hope none of these are so foolish as to think this a last excuse to get drunk -- if they do, I will not be gentle with them in the morning... Hearing his companions replies as they step into the inn sets his mind at ease, however, and he shakes himself out of his introspection to join the conversation:
"Indeed, I think I could also use a warm fire and a warm cup of cider or two to take away the chill the Lord Mayor seems to have gotten into me... Some planning and conversation followed by a warm bed sounds like an excellent suggestion."
The smells of the room roll over him, and Gathien starts thinking of a nice warm onion and mushroom tart, especially after his Lordship spoiled his appetite earlier. Gathien smiles when the innkeeper introduces himself and makes the offer, and is somewhat disappointed when Kragath dismisses the idea of food.
"I would like a tankard of cider, good sir. And perhaps a small plate of sharp cheese to accompany it? I find the contrast of the flavours adds to the enjoyment."
Now how do I politely refuse the offer of company -- I don't need embarrass myself in front of my companions... Not again, at any rate...
After a small uncomfortable pause, he nods to the innkeeper and adds, "That's all I would like for now, thank you."
Nobody laughed... Ok, good...
Gathien shifts in the chair, trying to get comfortable before finally bending his legs and pulling them up on the seat rather than let them dangle. "I have little knowledge to offer, Ser Lightbringer, other than the location of my home village which is along the Shrike and south... I do not believe I have heard of this trading post."
As they are leaving the Swordlord's manor, Jonas unassumingly glances at his companions. Some here share my enthusiasm and some have the mood of many men the night before a battle, troubled. Jonas stood in the night air taking a deep breath his eyes bright and a smile spread across his face. This charter is just the opportunity that Malorian said it would be. Now to earn the chance!
Entering the Golden Arrow, Jonas is pleased at a final night spent in comfort. At the mention of food, drink and companionship. I'll second Kragath here on the glass of wine. Of companionship, we will speak later. Jonas tries a charming, urbane smile here, but his youth shows a bit as he also has a slight blush.
Once comfortably seated he offers I believe I may have heard of Oleg's during my time on the Borderlands, but I do not recall any details I had heard. My appologies.
Kragath relaxes a bit, not so much being relieved, but that it would seem there was little left to do, given the circumstances. "Well then, friends, unless our Diviner has any insight into the situation, we should get a good nights rest."
Peregrine quirked an eyebrow at the owner's initial displeasure, but held his tongue. He even managed to order a glass of wine without being particularly curt about it.
When Kragath got to the task at hand Peregrine tapped his gloved finger gently on the table in thought. "I fear I know nothing about this trading post. And what I know about the Greenbelt is probably common knowledge to anyone reasonably well informed, so please forgive me if I am telling you things that you already know. The primary issue in that region is bandits, and they have apparently organized under the banner of someone calling themselves the Stag Lord. I do not think it unreasonable to say that if we wish to deal with the bandit threat, then we will have to deal with this Stag Lord fellow. However, if he can be dealt with it might significantly curtail the problem.
Of course I've heard of a variety of monsters as well, even kobolds. Other than that there are the ever present rumors of the fey there. I might suggest laying your hands on a cold iron weapon if you can." Peregrine looked around at the gathered expedition members, "And that is all I know."
Peregrine studied the others a few moments longer before speaking again. "Not to change the subject, but there is something I've been wondering. When it comes time to deal with the bandits, who will serve as judge, and who as executioner? While we needn't resolve it tonight, it occurs to me that we should have some system in place before the situation presents itself."
Kragath listens intently to Peregrine's words, especially in regards to the Stag Lord.
"Yes, I believe you are right. This Stag Lord will need to be dealt with. As for a cold iron weapon, that might be helpful, however," Kragath's hand again falls to the pommel of his sword, "my sword has never failed me before."
When Peregrine inquires as to how we will handle the bandits, Kragath seems a bit anxious. And here it is, and so soon. I had hoped to delay this as long as possible, but there is no avoiding it now.
"The charter states we have the authority to deal with unrepentant banditry according to the law, with the punishment being by either sword or hanging. When the time comes, I will do my best to serve as Abadar's voice in the matter of deciding their guilt or innocence. Though, I expect that will be relatively clear most of the time."
Kragath leans back in his seat, and takes a long sip of his wine.
Jonas nods in agreement with Kragath. It is often the duty of noblemen to see to the matters of justice in thei fiefdom. It was always my father's view that we must bear this responsibility, but not to enjoy it. Thus I will do my part judge, executioner, or both. Jail will not be an option in the wilds, although lesser judgements like removal of a hand may be possible with healing present.
Gathien nods at Peregrine's question... "It is good top have this discussion now, rather than wait for a problem... I admit that my own circumstances are such that I have little love or mercy for those who strive to take things from those weaker than themselves..."
He takes a sip of his cider and softens his tone before continuing, "However, I also know that some turn to such a lifestyle because they think it their only option."
Gathien pauses once more, slightly unsure of himself and his place within the group, especially with a paladin present, but takes a breath and continues, "My own suggestion, then, would be that we offer surrender to any bandits we encounter. Those that refuse can meet their fates against us, and we should feel no guilt for it. Those who surrender, we promise a fair trial -- and we provide it. I would see those who have done evil hang for it, but I hate the thought of setting a noose around someone who could be redeemed and has not yet blackened their soul."
Gathien blanches slightly at Jonas' suggestion, then takes a sip of his cider to fortify him, before speaking again. "I know I am not a leader here, and so I apologize if I am speaking out of turn, but I would suggest that we err on the side of mercy, when possible. If they be not murderers or rapists, then I suggest that we take their weapons, and leave them their lives." Worried that someone might interrupt and object, he raises a hand and speaks quickly, "But at the same time, I say that we brand them, and explain to them that such mercy is granted but once."
Ingle listens to the turn of conversation with growing unease. "A nasty business," he mutters to himself as he mulls over this aspect of their charter.
It is, surprisingly, the halflings words which give rise to some feeling of comfort. "A trial. Splendid idea, fellow. Capital." He smiles at the idea, his gaze going distant for a moment as he, presumably, imagines himself barrister in some dramatic court scene.
After a time he adds, "Do we make no effort then to apprehend those who resist and provide them a trial as well? Difficult in the wild I would imagine..."
Jonas smiles at the halfling Of course mercy is an admirable quality, and if a man surrenders, quarter should be given. As for a trial, do you expect to have a full jury, with lawyers and such? In uncivilized circumstances, such as we will find in the Stolen Lands, it is customary for those in authority to exercise summary judgement. The trial is done in place, with a person given authority to act as inquisitor and judge. Once the lands have been tamed, then a more extensive system can be put into place. He nods to Ingle. I should think that those that resist will get their trial as well, a trial by the sword.
Kragath listens to everyone's words, then adds,"Those we must deal with in these matters will receive as good of a trial as the circumstances permit. But our main goal here is the exploration of the Greenbelt, and to let ourselves get bogged down in trials can cause us many hardships. Bandits will use whatever wit they can to hide their true nature when it comes to trial. We will have to deal in the facts and deal with them swiftly."
At this, Kragath rises and bows graciously. "I think I will retire for the evening, gentlemen. I think it would be wise to get an early start in the morning so as to avoid the business of the market. The roads can get cramped from time to time."
Kragath turns and walks up the stairs to the room number shown on his key. I am glad that the Swordlords chose men who at least seek to be just and merciful. However, the law of Brevoy states that the punishment for banditry is death. Should the time come, if I am tasked with simply serving judgement, I will do so and let Ser Medvyed deal with their sentence. If I am to serve as executioner, I fear I would be too merciful for Brevoy's tastes...
Finally reaching his door, he inserts the key and enters.
As for a trial, do you expect to have a full jury, with lawyers and such? In uncivilized circumstances, such as we will find in the Stolen Lands, it is customary for those in authority to exercise summary judgement. The trial is done in place, with a person given authority to act as inquisitor and judge.
Gathien looks at the noble curiously for a moment. Do you think my mind is as small as my body? Truly? He then sighs quietly, Underestimated once again... before trying to explain himself
"Indeed, I believe our charter places that weight on our shoulders, Ser Jonas. However, I also think there should be some burden of proof that the individual be guilty of a capital crime... or be truly 'unrepentant', which the charter describes as being the legal requirement for death, before trying a noose. And, besides, word of fair treatment may spread and make others more likely to surrender -- where I would think that spreading word word of summary execution would have the opposite effect..."Perhaps he thinks that mercy is a weakness and not a strength?
"Mistake this not for weakness, as I said, I will feel no guilt in raising my blade to those who will not surrender... but I would think that, in the long run, this would be the best course of action - both for those we encounter and to increase the possibility of success..."
I should think that those that resist will get their trial as well, a trial by the sword.
Ingle's face shows his distaste for Jonas' words, but he keeps his reply to a simple, "How romantic..."
Nodding at Gathien - In agreement again!? "A fine point. And as good a thought to take to my bed as I'm likely to get tonight. Good evening, dear fellows."
Taking Kragath's cue, Ingle rises as well. Retrieving his glass of sherry he makes his own way upstairs, his continence darker than it has hitherto been.
Edit: To add response to ninja halfling.
Jonas eyes widen a little at Gathien's last remark.Weakness? I would not assume that at all Master Gathien. I just want to be sure that we understand that we can not bring the sensibilities of civilization directly to the Stolen Lands. Currently, it is a wild, lawless land. He smiles grandly. It is our task to bring it to heel and to establish it as a place that civilization and goodness can take root. And as I said, I would grant quarter to any opponent who surrendered. They shall receive a fair hearing and, I am sure, a reduced sentence for their obedience.
Jonas looks around and see's the party dispersing. He takes a final drink from his wine and nods to Gathien and Peregrin. It seems our discussion group is dwindling. I believe I will partake of the companionship mentioned earlier and then get some sleep. Sleep well, and I will see you all in the morning. Jonas rises and seeks the innkeeper to match deed to word.
With all his companions (save Peregrine) having retired for the evening, Gathien will focus on the bards and their performance, nursing his drink and nibbling on the cheese.
Despite his best attempts to lose himself in the performance, his thoughts keep getting in the way...
Tomorrow, it begins...... Desna, what have I gotten myself into? ..... Can I truly trust any of them? .... Will we do what is truly right, or just what we've been ordered to?.... Why can't I stop this thinking and just listen to the bloody music?
Finally, after no more than three songs, he gives up and drains his tankard, swinging his tiny legs down from the chair and to the floor. He stands, stretches himself out and adjusts his armour and he sweeps his gaze across the room one last time, making eye contact with the innkeeper and nodding in greeting. He reaches into his pouch, then reaches up to put a few coppers on the table.
Their Lordships may have paid my bills, but it never hurts to show your gratitude.
"Sleep well, Diviner.", he offers as he leaves. He then proceeds to his room, settling into his bed and hoping that he will actually sleep.
The establishment owner gives you the direction of the building's bedrooms as you all prepare to retire for the night. The rooms are exquisite, with great featherbeds fit for two, a commode, a night stand with candles, and a great window with velvet curtains. The size is nothing to scoff at either. Yet as the night sinks deeper, so does the sleep - the beds are soft, and the comfort is of highest quality.
When morrow dawns, there are soft knocks on your doors. "Best wake up, your supplies will be here within the hour. Breakfast's served for you downstairs."
Kragath awakens, and for the first time in two days, dons his armor and full gear. He kneels down at the window, facing the morning sun, and offers up a prayer to The Gold-Fisted.
Master of the First Vault, guard your servants as we head into the Greenbelt to perform your will. Help us to bring justice to those who would seek to sow anarchy and chaos.
Kragath then rises, and heads down to the main hall of the Golden Arrow. Before taking a seat at a table, he approaches the innkeeper behind the bar, and beckons him over.
"Best night sleep I've had in a while Ser. For any troubles you faced boarding us." Kragath lays a silver piece on the bar.
Kragath then moves outside, stretches and takes in a breath of fresh air, and returns to their designated table and awaits his companions.
Upon knocking on Ingle's door, the servant is greeted with a few unintelligible mumblings from within.
And then silence.
After a few moments a second, more insistent rapping on the door follows. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, his longs arms waving frantically to disentangle themselves from the bedding, Ingle shouts, "Yes! For the love of money, man, I heard you the first time!" For several long minutes the alchemist sits upon the bed, staring blankly ahead and trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.
Deciding that he would likely upset the others overmuch if he were to just sleep a bit more, he gives a heavy sigh and throws the blankets from himself. Moving to the window, he pulls the curtains wide, blinking in the morning light. "The big day," he yawns. "Another big day in a long line of big days, I dare say."
Ingle takes several more minutes preparing himself, preparing a single extract, dressing, fussing with his hair, and gathering up his gear. Finally ready, he makes his way down to the hall. Spotting Kragath, he joins the paladin at their table, piling his gear at his feet.
"I say, the early bird and all that," his says without much enthusiasm and then yawns again.
Kragath rises as Ingle sleepily approaches, observing the mans lack of energy. Judge of the Gods, let this man learn that he cannot cling so desperately to the embrace of sleep while we are out in the wilds!
"Good morn to you, Ingle. I trust that you slept well? Have you heard if any of the others are milling about yet?"
Kragath begins to eat his breakfast, and as his excitement of their coming adventure builds, so does the pace at which he eats the meal in front of him.
Gathien jerks quickly out of bed as the knocking proceeds, his sleep having been troubled by nightmares. Could have sworn the blasted candles kept whispering to me... Must just be my troubled mind.
He shakes himself quickly, to try to waken, his brain slowly registering what was said...and realizing that a reply is probably expected: "Thank you. I'll be right down."
He washes his face in the basin, takes a deep breath, and starts to prepare his equipment. This time, it is not just practice. Today, we ride into danger. He double- and triple-checks his gear before leaving his room, just to set his mind at ease.
He descends to the common room and greets his companions cheerily, "Good morrow, Ser Lightbringer.... Ingle. I trust you slept well?" Despite the brightness in his eyes, he looks over his companions carefully, assessing them, looking for...something. The paladin seems alert, the alchemist less so... am I truly going into danger with people I've never met? And will there be any... issues... based on how we interpret our charter?
He shakes his head slightly, and then jumps up onto a chair and breathes deeply, allowing the smell of meats and roasted potatoes to drive his concerns from his mind for a moment and focussing on the meal before him.
"Pardon, Ingle, but could you pass a biscuit? Short arms, long table."
Kragath looks up from his plate as Gathien joins them. Ah, at least our raging warrior appears prepared for the task at hand.
"Good morn to you, Gathien. My apologies," Kragath wipes a bit of food from the edge of his mouth with a hankerchief in his pocket, "I was defenseless against the assault the smell of breakfast waged upon my stomach this morning. I think the anticipation of today has my body working an extra shift!"
As Kragath finishes the last bit of meat from his plate, he leans back in his chair momentarily, and then rises. "The servant girl who woke me this morning said that our supplies would be here within the hour. I shall go outside and wait for them, and make sure nobody takes too fond an interest in them while the rest of us awaken."
Kragath then makes his way outside, and leans up against the side of the inn and watches to see what kind of provisions his father had arranged.
"Have you heard if any of the others are milling about yet?"
Ingle was about to respond in the negative when the halfling makes his cheery entry. "Speak of the devil and he doth appear," he says, reaching for a strip of bacon.
"Gathien," he says, by way of greeting. Munching on his bacon, the alchemist stares into space for a few moments before he is brought from his reverie by the barbarian.
"Short arms, long table."
A part of Ingle regretted his morning weariness, having been presented with such an easy target. But until he had gotten some food in him he just didn't have the energy to make use of it. "Short arms?" he replied instead, retrieving the basket of biscuits and handing them to Gathien. "I'd hardly even noticed."
Ingle waves the half-eaten strip of bacon at the departing paladin in a distracted farewell.
Gathien chuckles at Kragath's joke, "No need to apologize, Ser Lightbringer. I only hope we do as well in all our battles."
He then turns to loading his own plate, taking the biscuit from the alchemist. "Why thank you, Ingle. Might I say you're much more plesant when your ego is not yet awake?"
Gathien then winks, and turns his attention to the food before him.
Jonas stretches as he comes down the stairs, and then spends a moment adjusting the straps on his armor. He looks around for others and sees Ingle and Gathien at the breakfast table. Good morning! I'm so excited to get underway I don't know if I can eat a bite. He surveys the fine fare laid out. Well, perhaps a bite or two.
As he sits at the table, I hope you both slept well. Any news of the status of our supplies?
Ingle looked askance at the halfling, shoving the remainder of the pork into his mouth. "My apologies," he said around a mouthful of food. "I was distracted by how short the rest of you was. I had merely not gotten to your arms yet."
Finally feeling a very slight touch of verve, the alchemist shovels a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs onto his plate. He offers Jonas a brief nod in lieu of a greeting, taking to the morning meal with growing interest.
"Our man Kragath has gone out to oversee the transfer," he says, between bites. "These really are quite spectacular," he adds, indicating the platter of eggs.
Peregrine sipped at the last of his wine and smiled to himself as the watched the last of new companions retire for the evening. Even though he did not feel as sense of resolution he was deeply glad that he had asked the question, the reactions had been enlightening. Still the question would have to be broached again. Quietly he turned over the wording of the charter in his mind. There was a lot of leeway, he could have to talk to Lightbringer and Medvyed about the possible interpretations. Satisfied with the evening he set down his empty glass and headed to his room for the evening.
At the knock on the door Peregrine looked up from his spellbook, annoyance writ across his face, "Yes, yes. I'll be along", and then turned back to his studies.
When he had completed his morning rituals, having carefully and neatly placed everything in it's proper place on his person he went down to the dining area. Seeing that others had beaten him to the table he gave them a nod and sat down. Arranging the food on his plate in an orderly fashion he ate mechanically as he considered what was to come.
Prepared Spells
0th (3) Detect Magic, Prestidigitation, Daze
1st (2+1) True Strike, Sleep, Color Spray
The breakfast is almost overly extravagant for the morning meal, with roasted rabbit, churned butter, white bread, pastries and biscuits, fresh milk, warm tea, boiled eggs... no doubt the Golden Arrow makes a point of being the most extravagant tavern in Restov - maybe needlessly so. There is no music from bards this morning, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it is far earlier than anticipated.
Kragath
Kragath steps outside. There is a chill in the air. The sun is barely showing its crown from the mountainous east; the skies look to be bleeding as the horizon is painted a light red around the sun. The cold morning breeze washes away at your face, whisking away all the remnant sleep - a bitter wind.
"I pray to Abadar that the skies are not a herald of your untimely death," a voice calls out to you; as you turn to look, your father is leading an entourage of horses, astride his own destrier. Krovax's chain-and-mail is as exquisite as it always were, and the blade representing his name as a Swordlord hangs from his left hip. He dismounts and approaches, his size still intimidating, and he kisses you lightly on the brow.
"I thought it fitting to see you off, my son. Are your companions still breaking their fast?" Krovax doesn't wait for an answer, laying an arm around your back and gesturing to the horses and the great cart of wood-and-iron. "I convinced the council, with aid from Lord Medvyed, to grant supplies for your task."
He hands you a scroll. "I asked the merchants to compile a list of what the cart contains. The empty tomes, vials of ink and quills are to record your surveys and findings. There are several feet of rope, a chain, barrels of food, hammers, firewood, a great tent..."
Krovax gestures to the scroll.
Kragath greets his father warmly, it has been nearly five years since he had seen him, and he was about to set out again for who knew how long. "I am glad you came, father. I had wanted to see you before we departed."
Kragath gives the scroll a look, as well as looks over the cart. "It would seem you were quite persuasive in speaking with the council, father. It is quite a generous supply!"
Kragath scanned over the horses, eventually settling on a dark brown rouncey with a black mane. As he stood next to the horse, gently patting it's neck, Kragath turned back to his father.
"Father, I had wanted to ask you something before I left. I have been having a strange dream that I wanted an unbiased opinion in it's interpretation. In it, I seem to be flying over a vast wilderness, and eventually, from a view high in the sky, time seems to accelerate, and like ants building an ant hill, a great city is constructed. Does this have any meaning to you?"
Gathien looks up at Ingle as he loads ham, egg and cheese onto the biscuit, his expression innocent, "I am sorry, I didn't mean to serve as so powerful a reminder of your own.... shortcomings." With that, he bites into his breakfast with relish as Jonas approaches and asks his question.
Gathien nods in greeting, but waits to swallow before responding, and so he nodds in agreement when the alchemist answers Jonas' question. Finally, the dried bread and cheese no longer blocking his mouth, he says, "Good morrow, Ser Jonas."
He then returns to his meal. Despite what they said last night, this is likely to be our last good meal for a time, so best enjoy it.... Still, best not to overindulge... With that thought, he finishes his second plate and stops, leaning back with a hot cup of tea.
As the Diviner approaches and quietly nods in greeting, Gathien raises his mug slightly in response.
Kragath
The horse appears to take a liking to you right away, and doesn't object to your touch. Krovax brings a hand to his chin, rubbing the soft tuft of salt-and-pepper beard he's grown. "It is a peculiar dream. A sign of what is to come, of where you will find yourself in the world soon... though it is also a warning."
He raises his hand, gesturing to the great blue sky above you. Clouds lazily drift by. "The bird rules the sky - yet it relies on the ants and worms that crawl the earth, it relies on the fish in the sea, hidden under the surface, to stay alive. It is nothing without the earth. Nor is it safe - for it must also land on the very earth it rules, to rest its wings. And there are always greater birds, that wish to dominate the skies alone."
There is a momentary silence as your father peers upon your face with determined eyes. "Allow me to ask in kind. I had a dream, where my hands and feet were paws, my skin was fur. There was a forest, with little life left. The woods were dead, the birds had stopped singing, and all that remained was a great hawk, with wings of fire and eyes of ice. It flew at me, poised to attack. I fought back. It was only a moment before the talons pierced my heart, but I had forever clipped its wings. It would never fly again. That was when I woke."
"What do you make of this, my son?"
Kragath listens intently at his fathers interpretation, which was eerily similar to those of the clergy in New Stetven, aside from a lack of referencing Abadar's will. So be it then. Let Abadar's will be done.
Listening to his fathers own dream, Kragath tries to interpret the vague symbolism of the tale. "It is a vexing and ominous dream, father. But what I take from it is this, that battle only results in all involved being weaker for it. In this dream, all the world has suffered. I would believe that perhaps there is something weighing heavily on your mind?"
"I am sorry, I didn't mean to serve as so powerful a reminder of your own.... shortcomings."
"Yes. Quite," the half-elf responds dryly, his attention still focused on the meal before him. The food was apparently doing him some good as he was beginning to move with a bit more liveliness. Noticing the halfling filling his plate a second time, Ingle muses, Where does it all go, I wonder. He must burn a lot of extra energy climbing in and out of chairs, I suppose.
As Peregrine joins them, Ingle offers the man a friendly smile. "Ah, good morning to you, friend." The grin on his face slowly melts into a look of interest as the mage arranges his food. "Feeling a tad... organized, this morning?" he says, trying the friendly smile on again.
"Well, in any event," he continues, pushing his nearly empty plate away. "Big day today, and I need to go see about 'riding a horse'. Never tried it before. It should prove quite exciting." With that, Ingle rises, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin, and goes to find Kragath.
As Kragath finished up his own interpretation of his father's dream, his thoughts turned again to the mission before him. Kragath continues to help Krovax secure the mounts to the tieing post outside of the inn, as well as make sure the supplies are secure. "Father, what do you know of this Trading Post we are headed to? I do not remember hearing of it before I left for New Stetven."
At this time, Kragath spots Ingle come out of the Golden Arrow, watching as he adjusts to the chill wind outside.
"Ah, father, allow me to introduce Ingle Farwen. As he was selected for this mission I'm certain you know plenty about him. Ingle, may I present my father, Krovax Lightbringer, Swordlord of Restov. Have the others awaken yet?"
While he awaits Ingle's response, Kragath secures his backpack to the saddle of the horse he had chosen. Hmmm, perhaps I should procure some saddle bags before we depart. I don't recall seeing any in the cart. The Trading Post will likely have them, so I won't hold up the mission for a personal errand when our first stop should have what I need.
Stepping outside, Ingle takes a moment to survey the large courtyard. The stiff breeze blows away any remnant of sleep that still clings to the half-elf and, despite the chill, he smiles at the dawning day. Spotting Kragath and his father, Ingle slings his pack over his shoulder and heads over to greet them.
"It is an honor, Lord Lightbringer," Ingle says with a slight bow. "May I say, what a pleasure it is to be included in such illustrious company as that of your fine son here."
Nodding to Kragath, he adds, "Indeed. They are all within, taking their morning meal. No doubt they will be along shortly."
Turning his attention to the nearby horses, Ingle studies them one after another. One must hope there is a rather sedate representative here. I've no desire to fall on my backside before we've even left the city. Wouldn't do at all. Not at all. His gaze finally settles on a bay mare that seemed less intimidating than the others.
"I say," he says, trying to sound enthusiastic, "That beast there seems properly serious. Has he.. or is it she?.. been claimed yet?"
Gathien finishes his tea and leaps down from the chair.
That Diviner is a man of few words...and a bit too much organization..
He winces slightly, but then smiles as he heads to the door Best hurry... I can't miss the sight of the half-elf falling off his horse.... or trying to mount my pony...
When he had eaten a sufficient amount Peregrine gently pushed his plate away, wiped his mouth, and neatly folded his napkin, placing it back on the table. "Well, let us see how well we've been supplied," he said, standing up from the table.
Walking out of the Golden Arrow the sky immediately caught his attention. He studied it for a moment, a dour look on his face. "Hmmm, well that is ominous. I suspect foul weather may be coming. It was only then that he noticed the others. "Ah, excellent. I see that our supplies have arrived."
Jonas sits, the last one at the table, and grins to himself. That Peregrine should be quite entertaining in the muck and mire of the wilds. As he finishes his last bite, Jonas rises and gives the innkeeper a few words of thanks and a gold piece to divide among the servers for a gratuity.
As he steps into the cold, brisk air, Jonas breathes deeply and takes a look around. He steps around to the stables to saddle Maelstrom. Lets hope no stablehands were particularly brave. If everything looks well tended to in the stables, he hands the stablehand a few cooper pieces. He murmurs a few encouraging words to Maelstrom and strokes the horse's nose before stepping into the saddle and riding out to join the rest of the group.
As the rest of his company emerges from The Golden Arrow, Kragath introduces them each to his father, and allows them to each choose the steed they find suitable to their liking. Once everyone has assembled, Kragath loosens his chosen steed from the post, and secures it's reigns to the rear of the cart.
"Well, if everyone is ready, I think it is time we set about our mission. Wouldn't you agree Ser Medvyed?"
Walking to the front of the cart, Kragath grasps his father's forearm in farewell. "Father, I will do my best to make both you and the Swordlords proud. May The Gold Fisted watch over you."
Kragath then climbs aboard the cart and awaits the rest of the party to begin their journey.
Gathien's good spirits fade somewhat when he sees the Swordlord Lightbringer out to see his son off.
Right, that's what fathers are supposed to do, apparently... You know, instead of this... he says as he rubs his face, feeling the very familiar scars from the lessons in which his father became frustrated.
He mumbles a greeting to the elder Lightbringer when introduced, uncharacteristically quiet but still remembering the manners his mother beat into him when he was young, and then slips toward the back, climbing on his pony.
He looks over at Ingle, hoping to see something to shake him out of his brooding thoughts, but the Half-Elf hasn't yet begun to struggle with his mount. Hmph, he's not even clanking....
Gathien sighs, straightens himself and readies his Lucerne Hammer, eyeing the wicked spike.
Kragath pulls his cloak around him, as the day had not yet embraced the warmth of the sun, and pulls it's hood over his head. He notices Gathien's relatively sullen mood as he prepares himself for the road. that is odd, the half ing seemed in good spirits before I left the inn...
"Gathien, are you ready for our journey? I fully expect to watch you cleave a giant's head from his shoulders before this is all said and done." Kragath says in an attempt to draw the Halfling from his somber tone.