Prologue
21st day of Neth Year 4709
Restov
A chill wind blew through the area, forcing the crowd of onlookers to gasp and you to grasp your cloak closer to your body. The cold temperature and the early snowfall that had arrived that morning announced that a harsh winter was on its way. As you blow into your hands to keep them warm, you scan the crowd and see over a hundred people, a majority of them nobles cordoned off in different areas marked by stewards carrying different styled crests on long poles: there is one with a snow-capped mountain peak with a silvery crescent moon and black hammer, another with a white swan with a sun on the horizon behind it, another with a black eagle against a gold field wings spread, and finally one with a gray ship against a field of blue below and black above. You immediately recognize the last crest as the same as the one draped about the coffin on the makeshift stage built at the entrance to the Restov graveyard. 20 guards dressed in chain mail stand in front and to the sides of the stage. On the stage toward the back sits a middle-aged woman with a black veil, surrounded by three young males, all of whom share a resemblance, dressed in noble garb, appearing to comfort the woman. The youngest looking male's face, no older than 18 winters and the handsomest of the three, is filled with sadness and anger. Next to them oddly stands an elf with golden brown hair and a stoic look on his face.
As you collect your thoughts, a human male in his early 40s walks toward the pulpit set up on the stage. Lord Mayor One of the guards announces him: “Silence and respect for Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius”. The man begins speaking in an eloquent tone: “Ladies and gentlemen, we come to honor the death of Lord Rethric Surtova, husband and father of three sons, and third cousin of King Noleski Surtova, right wise regent of the Dragonscale Throne of our fair land, who could not be present due to important political matters but sends his condolences." Grumbles and coughs can be heard through the crowd, as the King's name is mentioned. Unwavering, the Lord Mayor continues, "Now is not the time for political rhetoric and house infighting. Nobles and grand citizens of Brevoy, I take this opportunity to speak to a severe problem that plagues our lands, affects us all, and caused the death of our fair lord. The Stolen Lands to the south have been ignored far too long. They have become a breeding ground for bandits and barbarians who act with impunity! These brigands have been active in those lands for too long without regulation. How many more of our citizens must they assault and murder before we take action?? How many more funerals must we attend? How many more graves must we dig in this graveyard for our loved ones? Pointing to the widow, the Lord Mayor says: "How many more widows and fatherless children must we comfort? This latest act, the murder of our King’s third cousin, I tell you this is the last act of treachery we will allow! These bandits will no longer lay in ambush for our caravans and attack our citizens without reprisal; they will learn to fear Brevic power! The call has gone out. Brave men and women skilled with the sword and spell will be found, brave people such as Silstaren", pointing to the elf, he continues, "member of our Lord Surtova’s retinue, who bravely fell 4 bandits, before himself forced to flee after being critically wounded during the slaughter of our Lord’s caravan. These warriors will be sent into the wild and they will wield power in the name of Restov, in the name of the Aldori Swordlords, and in the name of our King, and they will put each one of those f***ing bandits to the sword or rope. They will explore the Stolen Lands and look under each stone or pebble and find these bastards and punish them for their actions against the Crown." He walks toward Lord Surtova’s widow, gets down on one knee, takes her hand, and says loud enough to hear: "This I swear to you, your husband’s death will not be in vain, they will pay for this act! Justice will be done!" Returning to the podium, he says “Bandit killing season starts now! Who’s with me?” The crowd erupts into a cheer, as the Lord Mayor walks off the stage.
Cale glares in undisguised disgust at the Mayor. This buffoon is turning my Lord father's funeral into a circus. His mother shuddered with another fit of weeping, drawn forth by the clown's theatrics. Cale did his best not to roll his eyes. Instead, he patted his mother's hand and looked to the corpse of his father. Only days ago, they were arguing again over Cale's future. His father made mention of arranging a marriage with one of Obert Garess's daughters and there had been a terrible argument, the latest in a series that was becoming notorious amongst the rest of the household. The girl is a calf borne of a cow with the demeanor of a frightened mouse. He would make her a Surtova and I could only imagine the fat little sows she would birth.
Cale knew that a greater destiny was upon him. He was a third son in a family remote from the Crown, destined to serve his lackwit brothers if he let things go on as they were. No. Ours is the Right. They must learn my name. Cale squeezed his mother's hand before setting it onto her own lap and untangling from her. He stood and stared out imperiously at the assembled mourners-turned-rally. He walked to the podium, his voice loud and clear. "I am Cale nil Surtova, and on this day I swear vengeance for my Lord father! I will not take a wife and I will not hold lands until I bring civilization to the unruly wilds of the Stolen Lands! Let the gods above and the spirits below hear me, I bring the Promise of Steel to those who prey on others!" He waits, basking in the approval of the crowd. He turns to the harlequin-mayor and smirks before bowing deeply. "You honor my father, sir. Let me lead these men into the dark. In the name of the King, I ask for this right."
The rabble love a good show.
Aside from a small bow when his name was mentioned, Silstaren stood still on the stage beside the bereaved family. His thoughts raced. How awkward. How powerful. How utterly human. 'Twas graceless of the Lord Mayor to arrange things this way; to take advantage of this family's loss. Still -- if this is the best way to raise a force against the bandits, I will follow his lead.
Another gust of wind cut through his cloak and tossed his brown hair over his eyes. He let it stay there as he scanned the cheering crowd. The wind was cold, and the cloak the mayor had lent him was too thin. Cold. My own cloak would be warmer. Pity that Sellemius didn't think it impressive enough.
Silstaren was surprised that the youngest looking Surtova spoke for the family. He was pleased with the young man's words and tone. Well pleased indeed, at least until he saw the expression on the young man's face as he asked for command of troop that would soon be formed. That one has ambition and contempt for his rivals. He is too open. In Iadara politics are always played behind the most courteous smiles.
Bandit season, huh? Garyn thinks to himself with a smirk. Now there's something I can get behind. Bastards brought down the wrath of the Surtova's. Say what you will of the so-called regent, I'd not like to be on the spear end when the Surtova's bare their teeth.
Still, this could be just what I'm looking for. A chance to find those...dogs...and maybe get something for meself out of it.
Garyn idly takes a small vellum card from a pouch at his side. All right...kings, I keep me fool mouth shut, fools, I light the fire. He glances down at the card in his hand...the Knave of Fools. A wide grin crosses his face. Let it not be said that ol' Garyn never left his destiny in the hands of those who know better, those fickle fates.
Garyn shoves his way to as close to the stage as he can get. When there is any lull, he shouts to the man who declared he was bringing the Promise of Steel, the third son of a minor noble. He starts of in a loud clear voice, but by the end of his speech the color rises to his face and his sheer passion threatens to make him lose control.
"Aye, bandit season has been open for some time to those of us who don't enjoy the protection of strong walls and ten score guards. These bastards took everything I had from me. I'm no high flung noble. I'm no general. I'm no brilliant military mind who can out-think these animals in men's guise. But I am a right bloody bastard with his hackles up. I'll bring them the sword, and the rope, and the fire, and I won't stop until every one of them is dancing at the end of a noose or lying in a puddle of his own insides. With or without ye, I'll take my bloody vengeance. I'm a good man to have on yer side."
Garyn smirks again and says in a much quiter voice,
"What say ye? Can we get some work done? Or is this only open to the men of high birth?" He nods to the elf. "And elves. No harm meant."
Silstaren looks down at Garyn. "No harm taken." An audacious idea crosses his mind. In four steps he crosses to the platform's edge and extends a hand to help Garyn up. "Come up where the people can see you."
"You honor my father, sir. Let me lead these men into the dark. In the name of the King, I ask for this right."
The crowd of onlookers is all in cheers, when they notice the young Surtovan noble approach the podium. Hushed whispers are heard through the crowd, "Look how young he is", "He must be so depressed", as quickly they all silence at the same time. As Cale strides to the podium, he sees the priest who was going to continue the funeral scurry back to his seat, to allow the young noble to speak. Cale can see tears flowing from the women in the crowd, as he makes his oath public, as the crowd stands and claps. From the Lord Mayor, he sees a devilish smile, as he finishes his speech. The Mayor approaches the podium and states to the crowd: "The right is yours by family and tradition, young Cale Surtova, skilled wielder of the sword, you need not ask for it. It is an honor and a privilege and all gathered here know that it is only fitting and in some ways, destined, that a relative of the King reclaim these Stolen Lands for Brevoy! Our blessings are upon thee!" As the crowd again erupts in cheers, Cale hears the Lord Mayor whisper in his ear:
No, my father would have cut down the forest and marched a legion of treaties down there. Seeing that he has inspired this man's fervor so thoroughly, Cale nods at him, his gaze intense. "I'd take one right bastard and a battle-proven elf over an entire legion of highborn peaches, any day. Join us, sir, and bring all the rope you can carry."
A sword for hire mused Strovan is that what I have become? Still something about the scene was intriguing to the dwarf and he slowly moves his way to the front.
Tis a right nice performance they are putting on here. And yet revenge is sentiment that I understand only too well. As he moves forward he wonders what sort of kingdom this is that so many would turn to banditry rather than honest work. Bandits always seem to be the symptom of a much larger problem, and this spectacle looked like a great way to divert everyone's attention from whatever other problems might be lurking under the surface.
Still I have no love for bandits, they were basically the reason my love got killed. Well them and my father. Without even realizing he is doing it Strovan spits on the ground as he thinks of his father. By now he had reached the very front of the crowd and could see how successful the show had been. The crowd seemed to be hanging on every word that was spoken. Maybe I've been wandering too long, and maybe wandering is just another word for running away. Maybe there is a reason I am here this day, and maybe I can finally find some meaning to my life.
In for a copper, in for a platinum. Strovan mutters to himself.
Strovan steps forward just as the young noble finishes addressing the rough looking man, and loudly states.
"Oi, Sir ye won't find me with an axe in each hand and a knife gripped in my teeth charging head first into the largest group of bandits as yon friend looks like he is wont to do. But I've no love for those that would harm innocents, and ye won't find a better friend to guard your back than a Dwarf. If ye needs another, my sword will swing at your side, and my armor will protect your back."
"Oi, Sir ye won't find me with an axe in each hand and a knife gripped in my teeth charging head first into the largest group of bandits as yon friend looks like he is wont to do. But I've no love for those that would harm innocents, and ye won't find a better friend to guard your back than a Dwarf. If ye needs another, my sword will swing at your side, and my armor will protect your back."
Garyn laughs loudly at the mention of him charging headlong into a fight. "Maybe I spoke too much of me talents and desire for revenge and not enough of me intelligence, but well said, friend."
He takes the elf's offered hand and climbs up to stand next to him and the young noble.
"Well, young master, this bastard's bow is at yer service." He flashes a grin at the crowd, then offers his hand to each; man, elf, and dwarf. He even extends a greeting to the mayor, unwelcome or not.
"It's only a third cousin. I don't see why my presence is needed here." Greehr mutters in perfect Hallit, earning him a sharp jab on the side.
"Behave a little, cousin." The man smiled at him severely. "Father told me to keep you out of trouble."
"Yes, yes," Greehr brushed him off. "We'll have to thank him when he gets back from his 'important political matters' as well. Maybe the King is with him?" Another jab. Sharper.
"Watch your mouth cousin. I am not the only one here who understands Hallit."
"Quite." Greehr smirked, shifting to Common. "Now, do tell me why my presence is required here. I have a potion simmering back in the mansion I wish to attend to."
"You're a smart man Greehr." Said his cousin, stiffening ever so slightly at the idea of another of Greehr's experiments. "An expedition in the dangerous Stolen Lands, hunting theives and vagabonds, House Lebeda in need of a representative.."
"The traditional way of disposing a nuisance." Continued Greehr, catching on quick. He frowns. "And I don't suppose my esteemed cousin had anything to say in my defense?"
"I happened to like that summer house." His cousin sniffed. "And before you ask again, I've tried talking him out of it. Father is dead set on having you join this expedition. Quite a lot of them are, apparently."
"Do I have any say on this?"
"No."
~*~
Greehr steps up to the platform, before any of the other Houses could offer up a representative. Though this was more due to his cousin pushing him along. When Greehr looks back, his cousin had already melted back into the crowd. Sighing, he makes his way towards Cale.
"House Lebeda offers its condolences to the Crown and House Surtova." Greehr begins, the hastily practiced words thick and foreign in his tongue. "I have little skill with the blade and bow, but I offer my prowess in alchemy, and such and so on."
The Lord Mayor looks pleased and he shakes Garyn's hand. "Yes, the more the merrier, keep the volunteers coming. Come in front, so the crowd can acknowledge your service to the Crown and House Surtova." The applause continues but the party can tell the genuine cheers come from the common people, while the nobles do their best imitation of gratitude.
When no more volunteers approach, the Lord Mayor says: "Preparations shall be made to leave in 2 days. The Restov delegation, as they shall be known, shall deliver our message loud and clear to the bandits: Stay at your own risk. Let us pray for their safety. Priest, please continue the funeral for the family. I must excuse myself, my condolences to the family, and my gratitude to the delegates."
As he did with Garyn, Silstaren helps Strovan, then Greehr up onto the stage. Outwardly he remains impassive, but internally he is delighted with the dwarf. He has not met many in his travels. This should be interesting. He is not sure what to make of the scion of House Lebeda. If this is anything like Iadara, then he will be a spy for his House, sent to monitor Surtova's fortunes in this endeavor. He is surprised that the Lebedan is an alchemist. Alchemy! What an odd choice for a war party. But what an opportunity! A dwarf and an alchemist.
Garyn waves at the commoners and gives a mock bow at the nobles, stopping just short of insolent.
Nobles...what a bunch of puffed up hens. All flowery words and poisoned smiles while the common folk provide their livelihood. All because who their parent's parent's parents were. Bah!
He glances back at the young Surtova.
This one seems different, somehow. No matter, I'll find out soon enough since it looks like I answer to him...for now.
"Well, again I'm sorry for yer loss, mate," he says to Cale nil Surtova. "I'll leave ye to yer mourning. If ye want to drown yer sorrows later I'll be at...well whatever fine drinking establishment I can find." He turns his gaze to the rest of the Restov Delegation. "All of ye, come find me later. I'll be around. First one is on me, and we can discuss our plans." He bows again, this time to the mayor.
He steps down with a wave to the common people, blending into their midst amids pats on the back and cheers . He watches the remainder of the funeral with respect from the common area. When the services end, he checks on his horse Barley in the stables then looks to find a place to drink with what remaining coin he has. When he finds a place to drink he either joins a card game or starts one up himself, trying to make enough coin to pay for a room and a few more rounds, all while glancing up to see when the remainder of the group meet him, if in fact they do.
The most popular tavern for commoners in town is the Thirsty Wyvern, owned by a commoner named Jergen. After the funeral, it opens and many go to drown their sorrows, either because of the funeral or because of their status in life. Gamble - Garyn quickly finds volunteers to start a card game and plays a few hands of cards with the locals, but a lucky card on the river (or the equivalent of whatever card game he is playing) goes against him and he ends up losing about 20 silver pieces at the end of an hour.
Garyn sighs, broke for all intensive purposes. He excuses himself from the game, and finds a place by the fire, still watching to see if any of his new companions arrive. If they don't show, Garyn plans on sneaking into the stable to sleep in the stall with Barley since he's lost all his coin and can't afford a room.
Well, ye win some ye lose some, he muses, gazing into the fire, and tonight I lost some.
As the assembly begins to break up, Silstaren wonders which of his new companions to address. Garyn seems in too much of a hurry, and the elf can meet him later at the Thirsty Wyvern. The dwarf and Lebeda seem the most interesting. Protocol demands he consult with Cale. With a small sigh, Silstaren approaches the young Surtova.
"Pardon me, sir. When shall we meet to begin planning the expedition?"
Cale sneers openly at the nobles with their mock applause, not even deigning to give them a bow. The funeral breaks up, with the companions going their own ways. Cale is sidetracked by his mother and brothers, all of whom are furious at his volunteering for this expedition. He gives them time to vent their minds, then dutifully ignores them as Silstaren approaches him. "Planning?" There's a heartbeat of thought. "Immediately, of course. Less time for Houses other than Lebeda to infiltrate our mission. There isn't much we should need. We could leave at the dawn. Send my compliments to the other men, and ask them to accompany me at father's gate for the sunrise. On a side note, how do you advise for Sons of the Triad as a more... dynamic name for our group? We go with the blessings of the three gods most worshipped in Brevoy: Abadar, Gorum, and Pharasma. We bring civilization to the uncivilized, we go with strength to do battle, and we were formed at a funeral. Thoughts?"
"Planning?" .... "Immediately, ... On a side note, how do you advise for Sons of the Triad as a more... dynamic name for our group? We go with the blessings of the three gods most worshipped in Brevoy: Abadar, Gorum, and Pharasma. We bring civilization to the uncivilized, we go with strength to do battle, and we were formed at a funeral. Thoughts?"
Silstaren slips into the role of courtier. "Restov Delegation certainly lacks -- inspiration. A new name is a good idea. You might ask the dwarf before proposing it to the others. He may not hold to those gods. I myself do not hold to them, but I as I hold three other gods dear, I take no offense at the name."
"I will inform the others of your will." With a small bow Silstaren turns to seek out the dwarf first.
He approaches Strovan and extends a hand, "Well met, master dwarf. I am Silstaren. May I have the pleasure of your name?"
"Planning?" There's a heartbeat of thought. "Immediately, of course. Less time for Houses other than Lebeda to infiltrate our mission. "
"I have no care for my Uncle's political machinations, if that is what you are implying." Greehr sneered. "Though I'm sure some form of agreement will be reached between our Houses."
"Until tomorrow then." Greehr nods to the would-be delegation. "I have so much still to prepare."
Strovan accepts the offered hand and stands up on stage near Garyen, seemingly unconcerned by the nobles and the cheering of the crowd. He studies the men and elf who it seems likely will be his companions on the upcoming expedition occasionally glancing at the rest of the performance with a barely visible smirk.
Directed towards Cale, "Hah! To me, names for groups like ours be mere pretty ways to bring attention to oneself. Deeds be the true test of a man's mettle. That being said, I canna object to a name, I suspect it is expected of us, and one is as good as any other to me."
With a frank stare he looks Silstaren up and down.
"The name, tis Strovan." He takes the offered hand and gives a firm, but not aggressive handshake. "I am but a simple wanderer, who has faith that I have found myself in the right place at the right time. And yourself, I canna imagine it is naught but coincidence that finds you in a provincial gathering such as this?"
Garyn sighs, broke for all intensive purposes. He excuses himself from the game, and finds a place by the fire, still watching to see if any of his new companions arrive.
"Unlucky break on that last card, fella, ye had him over a barrel til then!" As Garyn looks up, he sees the bartender and proprietor of the establishment, Jergen. He is a rotund man over 6' tall, with red hair and a cherubin face, and the equivalent of a baseball bat strapped on his back. "Too bad, would have been quite the scene to see ole Dale fume over his losses." From your chatting during the game, you picked up that Dale was a regular at the tavern and one of its best card players. "Ain't you one of them fellas goin' to kill'em bandits? Liked that show you put on, never seen so much cheerin' in me life at a funeral! My hats off to ye, you must be very brave...or very stupid! Well, either way, much luck, now will ye be needin' anything else, food? drink? place to stay?"
Cale is sidetracked by his mother and brothers, all of whom are furious at his volunteering for this expedition. He gives them time to vent their minds, then dutifully ignores them as Silstaren approaches him.... Thoughts?"
Attack "How about these thoughts, you arrogant little sh*t!" Cale feels a punch connect to his chin that sends him back, almost falling to the ground. "Caleb!", screams your eldest brother, Kyle, as he restrains your older brother, yelling "Stop this now! Not here, not in front of mother!" Your mother starts crying even louder upon seeing the fight. Caleb glares at Cale, "How could you shame me like this?! You know very well that Kyle, as the eldest, could not seek vengeance for father's death, as the title of Lord now falls on him, so I was the one who had to regain the family's honor. But no, you further make a mockery of this funeral by usurping my family right, in front of this crowd of low-lifes, who didn't care a damn about father in life or death. Now, the Mayor has announced it to all. I can't join you and these degenerates now!" Caleb leers at the dwarf and elf, as he finishes the sentence. Realizing his surroundings and seeing the gravestone of his father, Caleb calms down. He straightens his vest, which was wrinkled when he was grabbed by Kyle. "I guess the only honorable thing to do is wait for your death, Cale, and then swear vengeance for you and father at your funeral. I'll start preparing my speech!", he says with a smirk as he walks off. Your mother yells "Caleb, please wait!", but he does not stop. As your mother walks off with Kyle, she looks back at you and says "I hope your actions don't ruin our family, son. Good luck!"
Garyn sighs, broke for all intensive purposes. He excuses himself from the game, and finds a place by the fire, still watching to see if any of his new companions arrive."Unlucky break on that last card, fella, ye had him over a barrel til then!" As Garyn looks up, he sees the bartender and proprietor of the establishment, Jergen. He is a rotund man over 6' tall, with red hair and a cherubin face, and the equivalent of a baseball bat strapped on his back. "Too bad, would have been quite the scene to see ole Dale fume over his losses." From your chatting during the game, you picked up that Dale was a regular at the tavern and one of its best card players. "Ain't you one of them fellas goin' to kill'em bandits? Liked that show you put on, never seen so much cheerin' in me life at a funeral! My hats off to ye, you must be very brave...or very stupid! Well, either way, much luck, now will ye be needin' anything else, food? drink? place to stay?"
"Aye, a place to stay'd be grand!" Garyn replies. "And thank ye for the kind words. I've been told courage and stupidity are twin brothers, and to be honest I'm not sure which I resemble more." He laughs loudly. "Unfortunately, ol' Dale here took the last of me coin, so unless I can count on the sympathy a good man like you might feel for a lackwit like me, I'll by cuddling with me horse tonight. I'm willing to work a bit for ye tonight for a place to stay, and maybe a coin or two to rub together."
"What say ye?"
"I'm willing to work a bit for ye tonight for a place to stay, and maybe a coin or two to rub together."
"What say ye?"
Jergen laughs heartily with you. "I have enough workers." He pauses to think. "I see skill in 'em hands of yours. How about this, me friend? I'll stake ye 10 silver pieces, ye get in the game, ye win, I win, until you pay me back me 10+5 more. Ye lose, ye be cleanin' the outhouse! Deal?"
Jergen laughs heartily with you. "I have enough workers." He pauses to think. "I see skill in 'em hands of yours. How about this, me friend? I'll stake ye 10 silver pieces, ye get in the game, ye win, I win, until you pay me back me 10+5 more. Ye lose, ye be cleanin' the outhouse! Deal?""I'm willing to work a bit for ye tonight for a place to stay, and maybe a coin or two to rub together."
"What say ye?"
"Jergen, me friend, I think I like you," Garyn chuckles. He turns his head. "Ye hear that, Dale? It's a reckoning comin' yer way!"
Garyn take the coin with another thank you, then pulls a chair back to Dale's table. He pulls out his lucky deck, shuffles, and begins to deal.
He pulls out his lucky deck, shuffles, and begins to deal.
Well, on the first hand, you draw a straight on the flop and with Dale drawing dead, you easily double up to 20 sp. Dale is not happy.
He pulls out his lucky deck, shuffles, and begins to deal.
Well, on the first hand, you draw a straight on the flop and with Dale drawing dead, you easily double up to 20 sp. Dale is not happy.
Garyn knows when to stop pushing his luck. He pats Dale on the back, grins and heads back up to Jergen at the bar, counting out 15sp.
"Will five silvers get me a room for tonight, mate? I don't fancy a brawl with Dale, and a few more hands like that might just provoke one. I'm still waiting on me new mates from the funeral, but I don't know if they are going to show. Right now, I just want to sit by the fire and eventually get some sleep...and I don't fancy a night in the stables."
"Will five silvers get me a room for tonight, mate?
Jergen scoops up the silver pieces in his large hands and says,"It's not gambling when you bet on the right horse!", as he smiles at Dale. Dale glares at Jergen but wishes Garyn luck on his endeavors, saying, "Maybe when you stop yer bandit killing, we'll get to play again." He then goes back to his table.
Jergen looks back at you. "Your room is on the house for tonight fella, that look on Dale's face when you flipped your cards, priceless! It's up the stairs, 2nd room on the right. Drink however is not. Now", he says looking over the room and cleaning a shot glass, "who can I find down on his luck to clean that outhouse!" Jergen gives Garyn a wink, as he walks away.
The blow puts Cale on his ass and sets him to blinking the stars from his vision. A hook like that is instantly recognizable by one who has been on the receiving end of it so many times. Looking up at his brother, he grins at the reaction, despite the pain of a bloody lip. "Humble apologies, brother Caleb! Did I steal your moment to awkwardly make human-sounding noises to a crowd that would applaud so as not to embarrass you?" He stands up, shaking the cotton from his skull. As his brother stalks off with his mother in tow, Cale calls out, "I'll be sure to write often!" His face red with an anger that only his family could ever evoke, Cale stalks off on his own toward the house to get packing.
Silstaren's reply to Strovan is interupted by the Surtova family fracas. Silstaern considers involving himself as peacemaker, then decides good good shall come of it. He turns back to Strovan and bows.
"My pleasure, Strovan. A thousand year's of blessing on your house."
"Don't be fooled by this cloak. I am no one important. The short story is this. I was a hired guard on Lord Surtova's last journey. I gave my word to protect him and his goods. I failed at both and seek redemption of a sort, else you would not find me here. "
He nods at Cale. "Young Surtova's leadership on this trip is yet another reason to go. Where I failed the father, perhaps I will succeed with the son."
He then goes on. "If I am not too bold, how do you find yourself in these parts? And why accompany this party?"
Strovan laughs heartily "My story, tis naught but the past which canna be changed regardless of what we wish. As for here and now? The people need help." He waves his hand towards the departing crowd. "And it seems as if the ones who are supposed to do that are more interested in fighting themselves." Strovan then nods slightly at the assorted nobles.
He quickly turns away from the group and lightly jumps down from the stage with a slight clank of metal armor. Swiftly walking away he calls over his shoulder, "If ye wish to continue this let do it with cold ale and some warm food. I be heading to the Thirsty Wyvren, tis a place that makes a simple dwarf like myself feel at home."
Strovan strides into the Thirsty Wyvren, stops in the doorway briefly to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the inn, and then seeing Garyn at the bar heads over there. Looking at the barkeep he nods and says, Well it appears I'll be leaving tomorrow, but before I go one last tankard of ale, some of that fine mutton stew and a loaf of bread, and if I forget in the morning, thank ye for the hospitality this last tenday."
Looking over towards Garyen, "Ach, I dinna mean to slight your intelligence earlier, twas just noting your passion friend. If ye will, have some bread, and in my pack I still think I have a wedge of this fine Smoked Idiazabal Cheese. Tis made by Andoran shepherds in the Aspodell Mountains then smoked using white pine, a fine cheese indeed."
Strovan leans back and slowly starts eating his meal seeming to enjoy it immensely then a slight frown furrows his brow as he turns back towards Garyen and says, "Ahh, it seems as if hunger has washed away my manners, we've yet to be truly introduced. I'm Strovan."
... "If ye wish to continue this let do it with cold ale and some warm food. I be heading to the Thirsty Wyvren, tis a place that makes a simple dwarf like myself feel at home."
"I will catch up to you."
Silstaren detours to drop off his borrowed cloak, but goes quickly and arrives shortly after Garyn and Strovan start eating. The elf calls for wine and seats himself at the table, tipping his chair back on two legs. Aside from a brief greeting, he remains silent to avoid interrupting the man's and dwarf's ongoing conversation.
"Ahh, it seems as if hunger has washed away my manners, we've yet to be truly introduced. I'm Strovan."
Garyn offers his hand and a smile. "Think nothing of it! Pointing out the obvious is no slight to me. Still, thank ye for the kind words. Passion is something I can't help! Anyway, pleasure is mine, Master Strovan. I'm Garyn Avery of Brevoy. Gronzi forest if ye want to put a fine point on it." He shares the dwarf's meal with a smile and a nod of thanks.
"I've learned there are three things ye should never pass up: a free meal, a chance to use a privy, and a willing woman. Much obliged, my friend."
"Well if we are ta be companions I am sure the time will come when the favor will be returned."
Strovan orders another ale and then finishes the rest of his meal in silence. Once done he glances at the elf then looks towards Garyen and asks, "Well most of my time has been spent on the other side of the continent and I know but the basics of this area. What can ye tell me of these, lands we are heading towards. Are there settlements or mostly lawless wilds? I think mayhap I have become spoiled by traveling from town to town and living at inns these last years. The truth friend how much of a shock am I in for."
Strovan hails the barkeep one last time, orders another ale for himself and Garyen and offers to buy another glass for Silstaren. He then leans back to listen to any advice either of the other two might wish to share.
Garyn greets the elf with another smile and motions for him to sit.
Garyn opens his mouth to speak to his new dwarven friend about the Stolen Lands...
The food was very good.
"So these Stolen Lands, right? They are around thirty five thousand square miles of wilderness, abandoned ruins, swamp, and plenty of nasties all wedged between the River Kingdoms and good ol' Brevoy. I've heard tales that you'll find centaurs, kobolds, fey, lizardfolk, trolls, barbarians, and my favorite, bloody bastard bandits all throughout. All of these beasts and men alike want the land for themselves."
Garyn leans back and smirks ironically.
"So this ought to be interesting indeed, right mate?"
"Really???", you hear the locals say. One says: "I hear they have bears and trolls the size of houses down there." Another says: "Yes and that the bandits will cut off fingers and anything else to get to your jewelry." You hear Jergen say: "For that reason fellas, you should leave yer valuables and jewelry with me, just to be safe, ye know!" The comment draws some grand laughter from the crowd. The locals ask for more tales of your adventures and you all drink merrily through the night, while many of them wager how many, if any, of you will come back alive.
Strovan smiles and laughs along with the locals, smirking at some of the more outlandish tales, while being suitably impressed with the more reasonable ones. He tells a couple of tales of his travels, they are tales of ordinary people who band together to fight off various threats to the safety of their families, and become heroes in their own right. The tales all emphasize the fact that everyone has the power and right to live free of oppression, though in these stories all the threats were goblinoid and orc.
As the night draws to a close he walks over to the bar and says a quiet blessing to Cayden Cailean asking him to watch over the establishment.
Just before heading off to bed he looks over at Jergen gives a smile and a quick wink and states to the room, "Well friends as a dwarf, and a follower of Cayden Cailean I can tell ye that this is a fine establishment. The ale tis crisp and the food is a darn sight better than most I have had on my journeys. Olaf, you be a smart man making all those bets that we would all come back alive. I hope the rest of you will have his coin ready when we return." Then, with a large grin and a wave he retires to his room.
22nd day of Neth 4709
Restov
The night passes quickly for all of you in your warm beds. The next day, you are advised in the morning that the plans to leave have been expedited, and instead of waiting 2 days, the delegation will leave that same day by 4pm.
The following supplies are loaded on a 2-horse drawn covered wagon for you: 5 days' worth of rations for each, a barrel of fresh water, some fruit, 5 one-person tents, 5 sunrods and 5 tindertwigs(previously crafted by Greehr), 5 extra blankets for the cold weather, 2 healer's kits, 3 empty chests, 50' hemp rope, and 5 days' worth of food for the horses.
A decent-sized group of people (about 50) gather in the cold to bid you all farewell. The Lord Mayor appears and he reads the following from a rolled-up scroll to the crowd:
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Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, with the total extermination of all men and women deemed to be participating in all unlawful activity related to banditry, but not limited to theft, assault, extortion, rape, or murder. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. The bearer of this Charter is also charged with the exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further then thirty-six miles northwest and south and no further than sixty miles west of Oleg's Trading Post. So witnessed on this 22nd day of Neth, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Aoleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.
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The Lord Mayor signs the scroll and hands it to Cale and says: "This charter grants you all the rights needed to eliminate the banditry in the area. As a secondary goal, if you could explore the region and map it out for us, that would be great as well. I would recommend you start at Oleg's Trading Post about 100 miles south of here. It's the only sign of civilization you'll find in the area and you can refresh on any supplies needed as well. May Abadar and Gorum shine your way and may you rid us of many bandits!" The crowd claps, as you head south on Rostland Road.
END OF PROLOGUE
"Arrogant what?! How about THIS! HA!" Cale lashes out with his sword, slicing the mannequin in his room in half at the chest. The two girls in the bed, local peasants both (the nobles in the area were far too pasty and reserved for Cale's tastes), cheered and applauded in a drunken slur. Cale turned with a grin, looking triumphantly nude save a sword belt. He played the scenario over and over, where he dodged the blow and knocked out his brother, or called his brother to a swordfight immediately, made him beg for mercy (which he would grant, for he was merciful). Ultimately, Cale knew the truth. There were many men he could best with a sword. His brother Caleb had never been one of them.
The next afternoon, he gathered with the rest, his head buzzing, but as the young are so capable of doing, he ignored it. He packed what he thought he'd need but forgot a lot more than he remembered. It was a good thing the wagon was so well-supplied. "Thank you, bold Rostlanders. We, the Sons of the Triad, ride now, and justice rides with us! To Oleg's!" Cale signals whoever's driving to get the wagon started. He walks for a while, but once he's out of sight of the townsfolk, he'll hop into the wagon for a ride.
"Right then," Garyn says as he finishes saddling up Barley, "we'll be seeing ye. Best of luck with yer politics and such."
He mounts up and says quieter to Strovan, "I'm glad to get out of here. The road and the wilderness are so much more...honest than this lot." He nods towards Cale. "Still, this one seems all right."
He canters over to where Cale is speaking. Once Cale finishes, Garyn says, "Come on, Master Surtova. We've got a map to make." With a smile and a wave to the crowd, Garyn rides out the gates, leaving civilization behind.
When the party is underway, Garyn offers to ride a bit ahead to scout, but only if the rest of the group wants him to. If not, he spends the time getting to know the party, swapping stories, and being generally pleasant.
Silstaren volunteers to ride or drive the wagon. He explains with a wry smile, "I would prefer to ride, but the bandits have my horse."
Silstaren volunteers to ride or drive the wagon. He explains with a wry smile, "I would prefer to ride, but the bandits have my horse."
"Well then we'll have to him back for ye then," Garyn says, slapping Silstaren on the back. "If ye get too tired, mate, ye can hop up on old Barley here and I'll walk a ways. Especially if ye want me looking ahead. Barley's a great friend of mine, but he ain't so quiet, are ye, Barley?"
As if on command, the horse nickers loudly and shakes his main.
"Ye see?" Garyn remarks, patting his horse on the neck.
Strovan smiles and waves at several of the people in the crowd that had been at the inn the previous night. Then he does his best job of ignoring the mayor while he carefully inspects the wagon and all of the goods it is carrying.
'I wouldn't be surprised if there were some in the city who would be happier if our little trip fails' Strovan thinks to himself. 'Lets see if they were so bold as to do anything obvious'
Regardless if notices anything or not he hops off the wagon, waves briefly to the crowd and heads off.
"Feel free to drive if you wish Silstran, I prefer to walk." He then starts whistling a jaunty tune, and moves to just ahead of the wagon and starts the long journey.
Cale walks alongside the wagon, listening to his men chat. "I apologize for not formally introducing myself before. As you know, my name is Cale nil Surtova. I am an excellent swordsman and I expect to be in the thick of any bloodshed that is to occur, so you do not have to worry for my sensibilities should it come to combat. There is no need for formalities; after all, we're headed into savage lands awash in barbarism, so no 'My Lords' will be necessary, and none of you will be punished should you display an untoward familiarity. I expect we will become fast friends as we go down the road to greatness. Everyone will have an equal voice in making decisions, with my own voice being as a first among equals, since it will be my family bearing the shame of any failure we should suffer." He swallows with a glower, but it passes quickly. "Please tell me, good men. What are your own skills and in what areas should I defer to your judgment?"
"Well, I have to say that you should have expected this." Greehr commented offhandedly. "I did tell you I had a potion simmering."
"I heard you the first time."
"Several times in fact." Greehr continued. "But you insisted we stop for a few errands."
"Well," His cousin ground out between gritted teeth. "You should have said you were simmering alchemist's fire."
Greehr blinked. "You didn't ask."
"Well stop standing there and grab a bucket!"
"In a bit." Greehr waved him off. "I'm looking through the salvagable materials I have left. The explosion destroyed my potion stocks."
"And a good part of the house." His cousin mumbled out. "My Father will kill us when he finds out."
"And that. Well, since I will be leaving before Uncle arrives, there's no need to worry about me. Now if you'll excuse me, there's still so much to do, and even less time to do it."
~*~
By the next afternoon, Greehr was annoyed. There was little time to craft more than a few trinkets, and he had little in the way of alchemical supplies. It was cold, very cold in fact, and he was already counting down the minutes of the long winded speech. By the time it was over, he was more than happy to climb into the wagon, no matter how undignified it looked.
"It certainly is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lor...ahem...Cale, rather. I do look forward to becoming mates with ye, and worry not about your good name. We'll come out all right," Garyn says amiably. "The same applies to ye about me horse, though. If ye need a break from walking, Barley will carry any of ye.
"As far as my experiences and skills. Well, I'm a crack shot with me bow for one. For another, I've lived outside most of me life. I usually don't get lost, I can be quiet as death if needs must, and I can follow tracks so long as they ain't too old. I'd hope ye all have the sense to listen if I say there's danger, but other than those things I know enough to know that I don't know so much.
"Oh, and I play a mean game of cards, too. Friendly like around the fire, unless anyone wants to toss some coin down."
Garyn flashes his crooked smile again, then dismounts giving someone else a chance to rest weary legs by riding Barley.