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#815087 Thu 04/06/15 20:15 UTC
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nem Offline OP
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GM

The Issitia was moored in the azure waters overlooked by the town of Rosencliff.

It was a picturesque town, with rough-hewn stone buildings crowded on the sides of a steep ravine. A blue-green river ran out into a cove with a pebble beach at the base of a crude seawall. The buildings had tiled rooves and some were bound in a thick layer of coloured stucco, to protect against the coastal elements. Along with the many washing lines flapping in the afternoon sun, this gave the place a cheerful, flourishing appearance.

Dominating the town from above was a formidable tower with crenellated battlements and turrets, and pennants flying from the spires. The landward side was surely encircled with a defensive wall, but the town could easily defend against attack from the sea. Climbing those winding streets would be enough work without having to fight up them, and it appeared the town did have defenders.

They stood on the pier, liveried men-at-arms with brigandines and polearms, awaiting the arrival of The Issitia's longboat as it rowed in.

Amongst the occupants of that boat, some of the more observant would notice the fishing boats drawn up on shore, piled with empty mussel nets. There were only a few gulls swooping overhead, unusual for a fishing town when a boat arrived to shore. The birds were fast learners and always out for easy pickings. Perhaps pickings from the town's boats hadn't been that easy recently?

The longboat crew slowed and drew alongside the pier, and they were tied off with little fuss.

Aside from the men-at-arms, where were the town's traders to buy The Issitia's wares and sell their mother-of-pearl? At least the armed men made visible efforts to appear friendly, waving and smiling.

Master Casados huffed out his chest and raised his chin, clambering up onto the pier. The crew stayed where they were, but the passengers also disembarked.

"Captain Achelus!" Said the ship's master in a somewhat reserved greeting.

"Master Casados." Replied the Captain of the Guards. He was one of those fair-haired men whose skin seemed to the contrary, to tan a deep bronze. Perhaps late-forties, it looked like he enjoyed the local climate and had been for some time. He wore a polished breastplate for armour and carried a sword in a scabbard on his belt. A signet ring on his sword hand was engraved with the laurel, mace and sun symbol of the Order of Averness.

"Well Captain, seems we heard true, sorry to say! The briny mussels have done disappeared?" Said Casados gesturing around him to the lack of much.

"Aye, it is so. And not just for your benefit, Master Casados, the last two ships that called on us have left empty-handed.

"It's likely just a change out of their ordinary season. Even mussels have their foibles, so they tell me. A week or so and they'll be back, and we'll be in business again. You're bound for Santa Cora?"

Casados nodded, "And then back again, Captain. The Issitia's a clear water gal and no mistake, she never stays in port for long."

The Captain chuckled at the turn of phrase, "Glad to hear it! I know the womenfolk here will be clamouring for any Santa Coran dyes you bring with you.

"Anyway, come please, Tobira's opened the tavern early for you and laid on luncheon. We can talk more..."

He seemed more interested in the passengers than the crew, however, glancing at them as he spoke. Master Casados meanwhile sucked his teeth and scratched his mutton chop beard.

"Now that's an invite at least three gods I swear by, oblige me to accept! But gah, Captain, as you can see, I also bring passengers to your town, and on important business I'll wager."

"Ah, indeed, as good as it is, I doubt they'll have travelled all this way for Tobira's pastrami." The Captain said, sharing a smirk with Casados.

Casados stepped aside and the Captain stepped forward, nodding in salute to you.

"I am Captain Achelus of the Rosencliff Guard, at your service. Of whom do I have the pleasure?"

nem #815093 Thu 04/06/15 21:05 UTC
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<Weston>

He didn't waste any time. He was ready for real 'ground' under foot, even if it was only a wooden pier. "Weston is the name Sir", he said as he stepped out of the long boat.



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Seyja


Following Weston, haversack over one shoulder and her greataxe over the other, she stepped out onto the pier. For a moment, the non-movement of the dock felt unnatural after her days on board had accustomed her to the rolling of the water, but she quickly recovered her balance.

"Seyja Banic," she said.

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Pale Dusk

The dark elf moved behind the crowd leaving for shore. He wondered if he should expect trouble. Finally he made his way down and nodded to the man at arms. He had chosen a new moniker as he couldn't remember his old. "Pale Dusk" he said with a silky voice.

Pandemonium #815218 Fri 05/06/15 13:20 UTC
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Zoltan

He steps lightly onto the dock, taking the change in movement easily, like a seasoned traveler. Landing on the dock, he adjusts his hooded cloak, pulling it up further over his head and face. Shield and bow across his back, and longsword on his hip he moves up with the others.

He sees the signet ring on the Guard Captain's hand, and he carries the same symbol on his shield. although it is turned behind him at the moment.

"Zoltan Molnar, Captain. Well met."

Zeim #815232 Fri 05/06/15 14:44 UTC
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Nestaron

"I am Nestaron, and this is Heilbutt," he said, gesturing to his companion. "We are here to serve in whatever way seems best."

Owain #815298 Fri 05/06/15 22:22 UTC
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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He bowed low, sweeping off his felt cap as he did so.

"Jexric Thule, theatre della strada extraordinaire!"

Although welcoming committees of armed men usually made him uncomfortable, on this occasion he found it oddly reassuring. It said 'Someone civilised is in control here'.

nem #815299 Fri 05/06/15 22:29 UTC
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[Ghosted for Gypsy]

Tindarien

He smiled at the good-natured banter and at how Nestaron's half-orc's ears pricked up at the mention of 'pastrami'. The half-orc had so far proven a willing and quite insistant pack mule, but all that muscle had to come from somewhere and he could probably, literally eat a horse.

Tindarien himself stayed at the back, scanning up the cliff and noting the layout of the town as best he could. He also kept an eye on the waters of the cove, for signs of anything unnatural.

He stepped up alongside the half-elven priest to answer the Captain, saying simply, "I'm with them."

nem #815304 Fri 05/06/15 23:10 UTC
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Heilbutt

"Hail and well met." Said the half-orc bluntly. Wake Islanders were typically a stern, taciturn folk and this one was little different. His stomach grumbled, also introducing itself.

GM

Captain Achelus shook hands with Weston first and looked between him and Zoltan. A significant look that said they were expected.

But the Captain showed impeccable courtesy to the rest of the passengers, and they got the sense that he was a natural diplomat.

It made sense. A small provincial town didn't need to be ruled with an iron fist. It needed authority, yes, but also a people that felt empowered, a people who were willing and able to take care of themselves.

The Captain and the town guards wore particoloured, yellow and blue livery, and were on a whole, well turned out. They didn't look like battle-hardened veterans, they didn't look like soldiers, but they looked healthy, eager and proud of their position. They looked like they would fight for the town they were sworn to protect.

Without the mother-of-pearl, the townsfolk had little else to trade, but the longboat crew still offloaded a few bails of cheaper, perishable supplies that they hoped not to waste.

Now the townsfolk could see that The Issitia wasn't sailing on immediately, some traders came down to the seafront with handcarts.

"Hardly the Shoppe on Spar Street." Said the Captain, making a reference to the grand old wholesalers in Axis (also the secretive headquarters of the Order of Averness).

He smiled fondly, "But the people of Rosencliff are enterprising folk. The Issitia won't have completely wasted its time here. What say we get off this pier?"

[[Does anyone have any specific plans, or are they happy to accompany the Captain to luncheon?]]

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[Luncheon works for D]

Pandemonium #815377 Sat 06/06/15 13:09 UTC
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<Weston>

He caught 'the look' from the Captain. He was a bit surprised that that the Order would have been able to get word out to this place so quickly. But then again, perhaps it was just that the Captain had been expecting folks since he had sent word and, recognizing Zoltan's obvious affiliation, just assumed that was why they were here. Yup, it =could= be just that. He didn't think so though.

Quite ready to actually walk on 'dry land' again, he signaled his readiness to continue on into town.



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Seyja


The barbarian woman looked around what part of the town she could see from the dock, but she did not seem overly interested or even, particularly, alert. The only thing that really concerned her, that she really cared about, she was sure, would make its presence known when the time came without her having to search it out.

For the nonce, she was just interested in staying alive and luncheon sounded good to her.

Exeter #815418 Sat 06/06/15 16:02 UTC
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[Luncheon sounds fine]

Zeim #815423 Sat 06/06/15 18:46 UTC
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GM

Captain Achelus led the newcomers down the pier and up steep steps to the top of the seawall. From there, to a seafront tavern overlooking the cove. The Issitia sat at anchor in the smooth waters under a high sun on that hot summer's day.

The tavern was called The Fat Firkin and the staff were preparing food and beverages as the group of men-at-arms, sailors and adventurers arrived. Achelus gave a roll of coins wrapped in paper to the taverner with thanks, and the group set to demolishing what luncheon was laid before them.

Hot pastrami, rye bread and jugs of red wine, followed with dried fruit. Served by the taverner's older children, there was a wholesome atmosphere to the meal that alleviated memories of the morning's attack by the undead. Portions were modest, however, to the relief of the Master Casados, and soon The Issitia's crew were engaged in lively negotiations with the local traders.

This allowed the Captain to take you on a short tour of the town and walk off your lunch. You'd be back in time to bid the ship goodbye and farewell, but for now you looked up at Rosencliff and saw narrow, cobblestone streets climbing nearly 300 feet to the tower at the top. It didn't look such a feat from the sea, or before luncheon.

Captain Achelus noticed those looks and nodded in agreement.

"I'm afraid so." He said, setting one leg in front of t'other.

At least the tall buildings created plenty of deep, cool shadows lining the street. After a while, the Captain spoke again.

"Although I'm from Axis myself, I could tell you a little of the town's history. But I think you're more interested in recent events, yes? Quite. This way!"

Indeed, the townsfolk were putting on a brave face but obviously expected things to return to normal. As with all fishing, seasonal catches varied from year to year, and inevitably some years the catches were poor, sometimes very poor.

But whilst the townsfolk would tighten their belts and purse-strings and make do, the Captain's laissez-faire attitude was only a veneer, hiding a deeper concern. He'd already sounded you out over a cup of wine, ascertaining that you were here to help. He seemed glad.

After the ascending a few tiers, about halfway up, the Captain walked over to an open brattice built into the wall and leaned there, admiring the unimpeded view out to sea. It was quiet here, no-one else around. Naturally, there were damp patches of sweat under his arms. It wasn't really the weather for walking up hills, especially not in armour.

"Ah, I'm a few pounds lighter since living here!" He said, breathing deeply, "But it makes you appreciate how formidable the guards would be in defence, walking these streets as they do, up and down, every day. The Black Salties never even tried---

"It would take a large army to conquer Rosencliff and for what? A small fishing town and a middling trade in mother-of-pearl. The one other way to take control of Rosencliff, was to marry into it and that's where our Lady Morgen comes in.

"Young for landed nobility, and I warn you now, drop-dead gorgeous; the poor old Baron never stood a chance, but I think it's safe to say he died happy.

"And to wit, Lady Morgen has proven to be a more capable leader than her husband ever was. Although Rosencliff sits almost on the Emperor's doorstep, he has little time for the provinces on the Sword Point. The coast is mostly unassailable from the sea and the sea is mostly tamed by spells of old.

"We don't contribute much in riches either. So in the eyes of the Dragon Throne, the Barony of Rosencliff is a provincial ruler of a gaggle of shellfishermen. Suddenly Lady Morgen, a headstrong woman steps forward in the role, without noble blood or any heritage to speak of, and starts making demands of the Court.

"Well, her audacity got her noticed and not a little admiration, but she still had to handle the Black Salties on her own, and they were a menace to the entire north coast."

The Captain straightens again and turns around to face you, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. They'd soon be tackling the rest of the ascent.

"What I'm trying to say is, the Empire wasn't much help then and I sincerely doubt it will be now. We are on our own here, so if you have come to our aid we are very grateful."

nem #815425 Sat 06/06/15 19:47 UTC
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<Weston>

By the time they made it up all the steps and into the town and finally the tavern, the smell of food made him aware of how hungry he was.

The walk after the meal was welcome as well. He had brief memories of the tasty food, but mostly he had been too busy eating to really focus on the food itself. But he had been sure to compliment the staff, between bites, just the same.

He was ready for a 'break' by the time their guide paused, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he gazed down to the sea catching his breath.

He listened. He could well imagine that guards ... and the residents ... would have developed pretty strong legs and stamina if they had to do much walking around here.

The 'political' discussion made his eyes cross ... at least until he got to the part about why they were here. That made sense ... not worth the 'effort' for the Emperor to protect. He didn't have much respect for the aristocracy who made their living from the hard work of the general populace ... who they looked down on.

"Well I think these people are well worth saving ... and if that also protects the rest of the land, that is good too."



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Seyja


She had soaked some of the dried fruits in a bowl of the red wine and chewed on the rehydrated apples and apricots as they walked. She enjoyed the exercise after the time she'd spent on the boat.

Seyja half-listened to the captain - his discourse was too complicated to generate much interest in response, but what the human warrior said made sense to her.

She needed something to do until the events of her past caught back up with her. She nodded and gave Weston a brief smile.

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Captain Achelus

He nodded at Weston's words.

"That's what it may come to, indeed!"

He gestured with his arm, down to where the blue-green river fed into the cove. According to maps, it was the River Scintilla.

"Briny mussels should grow all around the cove and the creek farther inland, from which the town gets its mother-of-pearl.

"But they've died off very suddenly, in a matter of weeks. The pier's pilings are usually an accurate gauge to the health of the stock and we've found thousands of dead mussels.

"Poisoned, by the looks of it. A shellfisherman could tell you more, but we've sent mussels and water samples to alchemists in Horizon.

"On the advice of Lady Morgen, the town's council decided to salvage what mother-of-pearl they could and hold it in reserve, at least until we know more.

"There's more to this than mussels.

"At night mermaids used to beach on the headland there and serenade us. Well yes, it was probably more for their benefit; the cove does nicely elevate voices at night. But either way, they've left and haven't come back.

Achelus resumed his steady pace up the zigzagging, cobbled street. It was very quiet at this, the hottest time of the day. They passed some townspeople, reclined under awnings, enjoying a smoke. They all smiled to the Captain in greeting but were otherwise relaxed, so it seemed he was genuinely liked, respected perhaps, certainly not feared.

"The local fowlers have found dead birds and fish farther upriver. They've even brought water back with them that's had a noxious taste. Shepherds have seen deer moving north-west en masse, leaving the river valley altogether...

"A man from Axis might know little about nature, but he does know all about polluted rivers, and I'd say that's what our problem is."

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D

He listened and considered. The lunch was exactly what he had a taste for. He couldn't remember the last time he had pastrami, yet his tongue knew the flavor and required a good mustard to adorn it.

At the Captain's explanation he narrowed his eyes. It sounded like foul actions indeed for someone or something to poison an entire watershed. He remained quiet though making no verbal comments, that was for others.

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<Weston>

"Then it sounds like we need to travel up the river until we can find what is causing the problem."

He looked at Zoltan to see if he was 'on board' with that idea.


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Zoltan

He'd enjoyed the lunch quite a bit, the diet aboard the ship having gotten repetitive and boring after a while. He'd even had a chance to flirt with one of the serving girls, a dark haired wench named Stella. He'd made her a vague promise of visiting her after dark, if possible.

Walking up and around the town streets had been good exercise. And listening to the Captain's accounts he'd seen why he'd been sent here. It was a bit different, yet the same, as his other missions. Most of those were to root out evil of a singular nature. A person doing evil to one, sometimes a few, other persons. This was someone or something doing evil to an entire town.

He glances at Weston when he makes his comment and shrugs. He is not sure they know enough yet. But that might end up being the right course.

"So Captain, how does Sir Edward factor into this?" He asks.

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Tindarien

He listens as the others talk, having nothing to contribute just now. It does seem that the river is the source of the problem but the real question is how it happened. Most likely people behind it somewhere.. perhaps the remnants of these Black Salties taking revenge?

He waits for the answer to Zoltan's question.

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Nestaron did not speak, and ate sparingly. The climb did not seem to discomfit him much, and he listened intently to everything that was said. His only response was a steadily growing expression of disapproval for the state of things as the Captain described what was ailing the land.

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GM

"Sir Edward?" The Captain of the Guards paused in his stride, turning to Zoltan and Weston with a raised eyebrow. "Why, we think he started it."

***

Upon reaching the top of the town, you were treated to a magnificent view of the coast, stretching out the south-west and north-east. The town seemed wider from this angle and it was amusing, looking down onto the roof terraces and seeing people asleep in hammocks or on straw mats, hats over their faces.

At this time of the year, Axis was just as hot as Rosencliff, and it wasn't cooled by a sea breeze. Yet in the city, people would work through the afternoon like slaves, in the sweat, filth and stink, and still they tended to think of rustics as dim-witted bumpkins.

Standing at the top of Rosencliff certainly put things into perspective, in more ways than one.

Crowning the town was an old keep, encircled by a high stone wall. To describe it, you would say it was tall, the wall being over 30 feet high whilst the top turret of the keep was perhaps thrice that. But if you were to walk like a ghost from one side of the keep to the next, it could only be 15 yards or so.

It was no sprawling castle or opulent palace then, but the ancient building had been renovated in the past decade. In the upper storeys there were leaded windows and crenellated battlements had been added further up, complete with machicolations. It was just about the last thing an attacker would want to see after the climb up from the beach.

Banners hung over the gates and flags flew, but there was little in the heraldry that elucidated on Lady Morgen or the town of Rosencliff for that matter. It wasn't as if the old Baron was a local, he hailed from across the sea (an Imperial dominion near Concord, according to the scuttlebutt). About as far away as you could get.

There was a guard on the parapet and two sentries on the gate, all in the Barony's livery. They raised their partisans to let Achelus and his guests through, showing surprising co-ordination and discipline, though the younger of the two's manners were so ingrained he mumbled "Hello dere!" as the group passed.

The courtyard between the outer wall and the keep was crowded with stables for horses, pens for black and white cows, a smithy, the sheds and shelves of a kitchen garden, with cats, dogs and chickens wandering about. Beyond that, a mysterious walled garden with creepers growing over the top, where a peacock stood and preened.

Following the Captain's lead, you entered the keep through an ornate archway, entered into a shadowy place that felt cool after the afternoon heat. There were servants working and chatting in low voices but no armed men that you could discern. Rather than walk through the keep, the Captain took a sharp left and led you to a narrow spiral stair in the corner.

Up the stairs and out through a stout, ironbound door into a lofty great hall, nearly 40 feet from marbled floor to vaulted ceiling and lit by high windows. There was some gold filigree on display but the owner seemed more in favour of colour, tapestries, frescos and the like. Birds sung in gilt cages around the room, and two podgy black bears lazed with each other in a patch of sunlight. Even the windows had coloured fabric drawn across them, given the light a diffuse colour.

A long table had been laid out and at its head stood a pale, bald man in plain black garb, a humpbacked old guard in brigandine armour -- probably a sergeant -- and a deeply-tanned yokel in a smock, straw hat, who leant on a shepherd's crook.

Something was piled on the table next to them, a velvet blanket thrown over it.

The Captain introduced you to the Seneschal, the Sergeant of the Guard, and to a local shepherd by the name of Irt.

"As you can see, your arrival isn't entirely unexpected, Zoltan, Weston." Said the Captain, then nodded to the rest of the party.

"And we are fortunate indeed to also have Nestaron and his followers here." (The Captain seemed to count Tindarien, Seyja and Heilbutt as Nestaron's followers.)

The Seneschal stroked his moustache, eyes narrowed, "Yet Her Ladyship has no ties to Santa Cora. She worships no-one. So I wonder who invited you?"

"We need no invite from the likes of you!" Grunted Heilbutt, asking of Nestaron, "Should I beat the snot out of him, Master?"

The Captain, diplomat though he was, was flummoxed by this, as were the other three.

"I - I meant... My - my apologies, Nestaron," stammered the Seneschal, "I meant only that I don't understand your interest.

"Jexric the Bard, but of course, Her Ladyship appreciates his work and told us he might visit this season. But a holy man, here to help? It's worrying, do you suspect something unholy is behind our troubles?"

The half-orc was still looking to Nestaron for the word, whilst D had been somewhat overlooked, perhaps his intention.

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Seyja


She grinned fiercely at Heilbutt, drew her greataxe from her back and ran a thumb along the blade edge, nodding her approval at its sharpness. She moved over to stand alongside the half-orc, glanced across at Nestaron and nodded.

It was not as if this group were friends of hers - not yet - but they were not yet enemies either and, at the very least, she knew them better than any of the strangers.

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Captain Achelus

His hand stayed well away from the hilt of his sword. Lady Morgen hadn't appointed him for his fighting prowess, but for his reputation as an amiable, honest constable of the peace, back in Axis.

Recovering his wits, he cleared his throat.

"You will have to forgive the Seneschal, I'm afraid. We don't get visiting dignitaries here, so he has the alarming habit of treating everyone like they're the household.

"It's really rather egalitarian when you think about it."

The Seneschal had made the common mistake of thinking that if someone was venerated in Santa Cora, the Temple City, then they must be aligned to Santa Cora. But the Priestess's only discernible goal seemed to be gathering divine magic in Santa Cora, so that meant she welcomed most holy men. It was also what made the Dragon Empire's nobles and their minions, like the Seneschal, very nervous.

Unlike the Seneschal though, Captain Achelus had assumed that Nestaron and his followers were not serving the Priestess. From what he'd heard of Nestaron, the half-elf was more of a wanderer in the wilderness, helping those in need that he came across.

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<Weston>

It was all interesting enough, he thought as they walked, but it felt like they were wasting time.

He managed to suppress the groan that wanted to escape his lips when their guide led them to more steps.

He could only sigh as the first words out seemed to be inciting folk.

"Perhaps", he interjected, "we should relax a bit. As far as =I= know, only Zoltan and myself were asked to come and help with the problem here. These others, out of their interest in helping others, have expressed an interest in helping with your problem."

He was silent for a moment, then continued. "But if you have no use for our services, the ship is still here and we can leave you to sort out your difficulties. We do not wish to force our help on you."



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Tindarien

He seems mildly amused by the incorrect assumptions made about him but sees no need to challenge them. Instead he has a question.

"What more can you tell us of Sir Edward and his mission?"

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D

Now there was a question that interested him. As far as why he was here. None of them needed the particulars. He was interested in the Lady and that was enough. All other business aside he didn't have information about his own existence to sort it out, at least for now.

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He bowed florridly when his name was mentioned, his mane of coppery hair and forked beard bouncing as he did.

It was good to know that at least was invited, and Longrim the Halfling hadn't been pulling his leg. He fingered the magical pendant around his neck and wondered where the Lady was.

The treasure was a trifle compared to what he'd seen in Drakkenhall, and these days he valued other things far more highly than riches.

A drink of cold water after that climb would be one of them, so he made his way over to the table where he'd espied a silver pitcher and goblets.

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Nestaron

"My only follower is Heilbutt here. I was indeed directed here by a holy person, but it was not someone of Santa Cora. I assume you do after all, need assistance?"


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GM

Heilbutt understood Nestaron's look -- whatever it was -- and stood down, swapping a glance with Seyja.

The Seneschal shook his head emphatically at the holy man and Weston's notion.

"No no, we're very glad, uh yes, very glad of all help. I'm just concerned that this talk of awakening monsters might attract more mercenary interest---"

Captain Achelus quickly interrupted the Seneschal before the pale, bald man accidentally accused their guests of being mercenaries.

"Sir Edward the Red and his mission!" He replied loudly to the high elf, thus shutting up the Seneschal. Achelus nodded gratefully to Tindarien.

He grabbed a corner of the velvet blanket and drew it smoothly off of the polished long table.

The room was instantly alight from glinting gold and jewels; a sackful of treasure laid out on the tabletop like a prize.

Achelus folded his arms and breathed in deeply in concern.

"Thus far, all we know for sure is that the knight errant arrived here in town to resupply. As was his fashion, he boasted that he was destined for the Titan's Elbow and there would undertake his next 'great feat'.

"The Titan's Elbow is a remote peak in the wilds, west southwest of here, along the river valley about two days ride. The rivers runs right through the mount, so I hear, makes it look like the crook of an elbow, hence the name.

"Some five days after setting out, we caught his horse galloping into town in the middle of the night, riderless and carrying this haul on its back. Our troubles began soon after."

The Seneschal shook his head is dismay. "Likely the only reason we haven't been over-run with 'adventurers' is that we made it abundantly clear that the treasure was confiscated by Her Ladyship, with naught more to gain!"

Achelus walked passed the Seneschal, giving a dismissive shrug, "Might I suggest we worry less about what isn't, and more about what is, sir?" he said.

The Captain grabbed a coin from the trove and flicked it to Zoltan.

"Minted in the Deep Under; the old dwarven realms before they were conquered by the Drow. From another age, at least one thousand years ago.

"So it's unlikely brigands or raiders would sit on such a trove, and it does rule out the knight being beset by an old enemy. There seems no reason they'd laden his horse with treasure afterwards.

"Either way, to be frank, none of this bodes well for Sir Edward the Red, and Titan's Elbow has its own history, if you're interested."

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<Weston>

"Considering all the chats we had on the trip out, I don't believe that anyone that came with us is here as a mercenary", he told the Seneschal. "And as long as you do not post a 'listing', I doubt you will see any. But if any do come, just mention how 'destitute' the town in and I am sure that they will move on quickly enough", he added with a smile. He had met enough merks to know that he was right ... for the most part. He was sure that the group here could 'dissuade' any that arrived uninvited. They were not known for fighting where there was no profit.

Clearly, he thought, upon seeing the 'haul' that their 'Sir Edward' had managed to get onto his horse, the 'errant' knight had 'disturbed' something. That kind of treasure never sat around on it's own.

"No, brigands would not have bothered to pollute your river", he said with some conviction. "It sounds more like he ... disturbed something and that is the source of what ever had tainted the water." He was silent as he considered. He decided to ignore the obvious ... that their knight was dead ... and focus on what =they= needed to know. "You mentioned a 'history' for the area. Can you tell us about =that=?"



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D

He remained quiet and still at the back of the group watching, listening, and above all thinking. History was good, though he knew from his own, or lack there of, that it was not everything.

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Seyja


Seyja grinned at the half-orc and then stared for a long, hard moment at the treasure revealed by the flamboyant gesture of the town's nobleman. The gold and jewels were indeed impressive but, after a moment, she realized she did not really need that much wealth.

Wealth was not what she was interested in.

She waited to hear what was yet to be said.

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Tindarien

"Maybe a part of some creature's hoard..?"

He speculates on seeing the treasure, nodding at the other comments made by his companions.

"Yes, I would like to hear this history."

History often provides a basis for happenings of today but history is often 'tweaked' in the telling. It might prove useful though.

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Zoltan

He catches the coin easily, flicking it across his fingers. He grunts. "History would be helpful, yes." He tosses the coin back.

"However the situation implies certain things as well. If the coin is from an old dwarven treasure horde, before they were overrun by the Drow, it is unlikely the Drow are still there. Edward was a show-off. Flamboyant. Not one to skulk around. If he entered a Drow complex, alone, he'd have encountered too many of them before he reached a treasure room to be able to load all of that", he points to the pile, "onto his horse unmolested."

"The situation points to a solitary monster, or a small group, who came upon Edward after he'd found the treasure and was trying to exit with it."

"Add to that the poisoning of the river. Why? What is it's purpose? I think it can only be two things. Either to drive away people to provide more solitude. Or, it is a byproduct of something else going on there. Run-off from some sort of alchemical experiments perhaps?"

"But, perhaps history will help add clarity?"

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<Weston>

Some pretty cleaver thinking from someone The Order did not seem to have much faith in, he thought as a grin spread on his face.



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Seyja


Shrugging her muscular shoulders, Seyja rolled her eyes briefly skyward and then, a small grin appearing on her face, she spoke.

"I don't completely hate hearing history, I guess, but I think it'd be more fun to take his right ear off," she said, pointing to the seneschal, "put it where his left ear is and then hang the left one on his belt for a spare."


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Tindarien

He smiles at Zoltan.

"I agree. My first though was dragon but I am hoping for something smaller."

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GM

At Seyja's threat, you could almost see the judder run down the Seneschal's spine, from top to bottom. Not only was he unaccustomed to visiting dignitaries and treated everyone like the household, he also wasn't used to being domineered.

"I-I think I will go and um, yes, find out what is holding Her Ladyship. Thank you!" Said the Seneschal and carried himself out of the great hall as if struck by a crashing wave.

The Captain of the Guards shook his head, and placed the coin back on the table.

"It would seem we're in agreement then." He said, "Monster.

"Perhaps you could tell that tale of yours, Sergeant?"

Achelus nodded to the older man also standing at the table. He was stout, jowly with plump bags under his eyes and a ruddy complexion. A man who enjoyed his food and drink then. His thick beard was grey, though his hair was brown and thinning. He wore the studded brigandine worn by the other guards, with a red band around his arm indicating his senior rank.

He spoke up awkwardly.

"Yes sir. Well, like many hereabouts, my grandfather was an adventurer who came to Rosencliff during the Shoreblade Revolt.

"Back then, the noble houses of the Sword Point were in revolt against the Dragon Throne. Little bearing has it on our fix, suffice to say it was over a special levy and a coast road promised but undelivered. Such a trifling thing, yet wars have been fought for less, so they say.

"My grandfather was one of many sell-swords retained by the Don of Rosencliff to defend the town. But when the time came, the Emperor's General offered them fivefold their pay to betray their master and seize the town from within.

"My grandfather was born to thralls, he was driven by greed, a desire for wealth so that he might live out his days in the lap of luxury. He knew no loyalty. Together with his brethren, they delivered the town to the Empire. The old Don was flung from the top of this very tower and the Emperor created a new barony, granting it to the scion of a wealthy patrician family from across the sea.

"As for my grandfather, in Rosencliff he settled, enjoying his life of indulgence, but in time his coffers ran dry and he became discontented. He could not abide being poor, not again, so he sat and planned one last adventure.

"There were tales of the Titan's Elbow long before the Revolt. A cursed place, haunted by a monster of an earlier age, though whether giant, dragon, demon or dark god would depend on the teller. Most simply called it the Beast.

"It was said to have hoarded a king's bounty in its lair, from days of yore when it was paid tribute, before the Beast became tired, old and fat. Then as now, the occasional ancient coin washes up in the creek and the story was considered true.

"My grandfather was my age then. He gathered eleven who remained of the adventurer mercenaries from the Revolt, and they set off along the river to the Titan's Elbow, to slay the Beast and steal its treasure.

"His wife begged him not to leave, saying they could still thrive in Rosencliff, living a humble life. But he would not listen and so they parted amidst an angry storm of words. His wife swore that should they not return, she would throw herself into the sea before letting anyone from the town follow them to the same fate."

If Jexric poured him a goblet of water, the Sergeant took it gratefully. The story disturbed closeted memories in the man-at-arms and his eyes shone with tears. You were reminded that this wasn't some folk tale wheeled out at the fair, it was a family matter. It would have been told to him by his parents, who were likely now passed. It spoke of his grandfather's flaws and fateful folly, and perhaps held a mirror up to his own life and what kind of man he saw in his reflection.

Captain Achelus placed a hand on the Sergeant's shoulder and continued the story.

"As you might have guessed, these men did not return, and no-one from this town has ever searched for them.

"However, Red Ed's horse did return this to us, amongst the treasure on its back. The magical helm owned by the Sergeant's grandfather."

On the table was a battered steel helm, spotted with rust. It was made from braced plates with a steel mask over the eyes and a mail aventail. The hem of the aventail ragged and though the crest was inlaid with gems, several were missing. Two aurochs horns should have swept around to the front, but one of those was also missing.

It was still very distinct, with Weston and Zoltan recognising it from arena statues as belonging to the famous Axesian gladiator, Gorulon Gorehound. He won his freedom some 80 years ago and was renowned for always lopping off the hands of fallen adversaries, even if they weren't dead yet. Something of a crowd favourite. Popular folklore said he did so in case the corpses ever rose from the dead.

Tindarien didn't tie the helm to the champion gladiator, but he did note that it was centuries older than the Sergeant's grandfather and North-Eastern in design not Western, probably made by the fabled smiths of Grey Harbour.

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He poured water from the silver pitcher, filling all the goblets and handing one to the Sergeant.

The man's telling had been a little plain but it was one of those tales that didn't stand elucidation without getting rather unpleasant. Of course, most audiences lapped up unpleasantness but then it wasn't personal to them.

If the Seneschal had gone to summon the Lady, he had better tidy himself up, he decided, and straightened out his magnificent goatee.

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<Weston>

He had to work hard to suppress the chuckle as the Seneschal 'turned tail and ran'. For one thing it really didn't help their cause to be alienating the locals. He shot Seyja a scowl. But he also didn't want to show a lack of solidarity in the group. So he would find a 'quiet moment' to have a talk with her.

He listened to the sergeant's history. He understood the 'greed' of the grandfather. It was something he had seen all too often.

The helm was of interest. He had heard the stories, seen the statues. A bit grisly for his way of thinking. But it lent a sense of 'reality' to the man's story. But he did not hear anything that really helped ... other than some confirmation that there =was= some sort of monster and the likelihood was it was in that 'elbow' area.



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Seyja


As stories go, it was not a bad one, although Seyja normally only cared for tales of her own people and perhaps those relating to the Orc Lord (for her own preservation). It held her attention, though.

Once the tale came to a pause, she looked around, drinking the water she'd been provided and caught the warrior - at the moment she couldn't place his name - scowling at her. She had no idea why and one eyebrow quirked upward in puzzlement.

She shrugged and turned back to the others. Perhaps something he'd eaten disagreed with him.

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Tindarien

"Well the helm seems to substantiate that this treasure pre-dates any kin in living memory. This gives credence to what has already been told."

He is wondering what sort of creature might have fouled the waters. That it hasn't done so in living memory might suggest it has been in some sort of hibernation or deep slumber - maybe even under wards - and that the local knight may then have woken it. Maybe he even injured it and the creature's blood has caused the contamination?

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D

Sound reasoning from the group. D listened and watched. He was much more familiar with treachery made by humanoid hands. These people appeared to be what they were, yet appearances could be deceiving. He waited patiently for the Lady he was sent to see.

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Nestaron

"It is clearly something that needs to be seen to."

He looked around at the group.

"We here assembled seem capable enough, to my mind."


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Captain Achelus

"I agree," he said, "and a better use for your sword than the tavern-keeper's daughter." He smirked at Zoltan with that last comment.

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Zoltan

"Now how can I know that?" He chuckles. "But business first, yes."

He glances to Nestaron at his pronouncement with a slightly raised eyebrow. Unless others here are long time companions, they know as little of each other as he knows of them. One fight on board ship is all the experience they have of each other.

**Still, this is the group that is assembled, and they seem willing, so it is what it is.**

He grunts as he recognizes the helm, nodding his head.

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He raised one of his fiery red eyebrows at Tindarien's comments.

"Remarkable that it's so old! Yet it reminds me of that gladiator... You Axis fellows must know the one I mean?

"Alas, I've always avoided the sands of death, regardless of its theatrics. I've seen far too much of death as entertainment in my short life!

"But this gladiator was a crowd favourite. Statues of him in most of the city's arenas. Didn't think he was ages old. Huh, always shown wearing a helm, just like that. Very distinctive--- Ah, Gorehound something-or-other."

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Zoltan

He nods. "Yes. Gorulon. Famous for making his foes say 'Unhand me!' Can't recall if the tense is correct there, but anyway less than a century ago I think".

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<Weston>

He had =known= of 'the games', but had never seen ... nor understood ... the attraction of people killing each other for 'fun'. He wasn't sure how this helped them either.



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GM

Captain Achelus was one of the three Axesians in the room, but he was terrible with gladiator names. He was more of a racing man, and was a skilled horseman himself.

Thinking of horses, he was just about to broach the topic of mounts and pack animals when he noticed what everyone else had already noticed. The great hall was silent.

The songs birds had stopped singing, the black bears had stopped playing, and they all watched the table with dark, nervous eyes.

A rattle from the mystery treasure, coins and gems shifting. It was the helm sat atop the pile, moving. It rattled again, then was still.

Suddenly a thick cloud billowed from the helm, almost fluid-like, flashes of unnatural green light from within. There were cries of alarm. Weapons likely came to hand, people stepping back from the table. Achelus had his sword half-drawn, the Sergeant hefted his cudgel and even the farmer gripped his crook defensively in both hands, his lips trembling. How did you react?

The light in the great hall seemed dimmer some how, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. Balefire flared in the eyes of the helm and it rose from the table, the cloud taking on a pale humanoid form, like a robed figure adorned with a battered horned helm, an alabaster apparition.

You were reminded of your encounter with the Squall of the Dead earlier that morning.

A tremulous voice issued from the wraith, sounding as though it were two speakers, one deep and anguished, one sibilant, screeching and gleeful.

"Thou speakest the name of Gorulon the Gladiator, the Gorehound, Truncator, the Bloody Handed. The Greedy, the Selfish, Malcontent. Gorulon the Twice Cursed. Gorulon the Dead!

"Know thee that this helm was by him possessed in life and possess it he doth still.

"He who sacrificed life, he who sacrificed family, to seek a fortune that was not his to take.

"He who was cursed by his wife and who died on a cursed peak. This helm is his, and unto this treasure he lay claim.

"Return - Return it to its resting place by the next New Moon, or Gorulon and the damned that died with him will come and take it!

"Thou... hast... been... warned!"

Then the cloud seemed to flow in reverse, cascading back into the helm and it clattered to the tabletop. The sun seemed to come out, and the animals resumed their behaviour as though nothing had happened. And everyone else was left standing. No wraith, just the helm sitting on a pile of treasure.

So the Sergeant's grandfather was none other than Gorulon Gorehound. And New Moon was in three nights time.

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Seyja


Relaxing from her fighting stance and returning her greataxe to an upright position, the haft end on the floor, Seyja grunted and almost growled, "Don't think much of himself, did he?"

Grammar and agreement of tenses apparently did not matter to her overmuch.

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<Weston>

His sword was out as he listened to the schizophrenic monologue. He relaxed a bit when the apparition faded.

"Well I guess we know the cause of the problems", he said looking about the room for confirmation.



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Tindarien

He meets Weston's gaze and responds quietly, lowering his hands which presumably had been ready to cast.

"So you think this curse, this smoke, killed the knight and polluted the waters? It is a theory certainly but then did the knight on his own speak out the gladiator's name? Maybe, maybe not. And did the curse strike him down? Then why not us now? I think there is yet more to this tale.. and those that lay claim to this hoard will have to decide if it is to be returned or not."

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<Weston>

"Someone more familiar things like curses would probably know more. But it seems like the removal of the treasure triggered the problems and so returning it might stop the problems", he finished with a shrug.



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Zoltan

"You realize", he begins softly. "If it is our intent to kill and put to final rest this, and other, Wraiths. We could just sit in the inn and drink and make merry for 3 days. They just promised to come to us."

He pauses, finally glancing at the Captain.

"As Tindarien just said. It is not our treasure to do with what we will. If your desire is to get rid of it and return it to the Elbow, and that act will bring me to where I can destroy undead, I can do that as well. It seems to be your choice."

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Heilbutt

With his knuckles still white and gripping his fighting spear, the tawny-haired half-orc grumbled.

"I hate undead. Or any foe that does not bleed when I hit it."

Captain Achelus

"You Wake Islanders really are a bloodthirsty lot!" He said, still shaken by the manifestation.

Heilbutt

"I did not say I liked fighting or hitting anyone. Just that I like them to bleed when I do."

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D

His reactions were a blur when the helm started to move. Black blades bristling from his hands like appendages.

Once the spectre had ceased it's comments the blades went the way they had come, vanishing.

D listened and waited for a moment before speaking for the first time since they had entered the Great Hall. "Unruly dead can present a problem such as we have seen here. But it would be my guess," he nodded his agreement to the other who had suggested it. "That we can remove the problem by seeking the source. Personally I would like to learn more of what is going on here for my own reasons. I suspect I will be of assistance in destroying the thing." Then in a soft voice he finished with "I have some knowledge of such a revenant."

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GM

The Captain sheathed his sword, listening intently to the party. He liked what he saw of them, and what he heard made a lot of sense too.

There didn't seem to be a dullard amongst them and they'd reacted with far more avidity then he had when the wraith manifested. In short, Achelus felt this party was exactly what Rosencliff needed. He could see why the Order of Averness had chosen Weston and Zoltan to work together. They differed and were not a natural fit. In Achelus's experience, that was a boon in an investigation, as it prevented the investigators from jumping the same conclusion and then running rampant with it.

The half-elf Nestaron was an enigma to the Captain, but the Seneschal's ill manners had made the holy man more wary. Not to mention his followers. Two barbarians, a half-orc from the grim, storm-swept Wake Islands, and another, Seyja, looking like a mountain nomad both of whom seemed to be spoiling for a fight. The high elf, Tindarien, was astute and spoke without overt deference to Nestaron. If the Priestess hadn't sent these four, maybe they weren't bound by religious vows either. Whoever sent them, Captain Achelus believed that their intentions were good. Scoundrels would try a little harder to please.

He was less sure about Jex the Jester and the dark elf. Doubtless the bard was here to curry favour and gain patronage. Achelus knew the dark elf's type from his time as a constable, the type who'd walked the lower path for so long they looked out of place anywhere else.

Achelus took a moment to make sure the Sergeant and the shepherd, Irt, were sound. They weren't. They were badly frightened, which the Captain could understand, but he knew they'd master their fear if everyone else in the room could. Most common men were simple herd animals really.

When all was said, Captain Achelus sucked in his breath. Knowing his decision was awaited, he spoke up, "The truth is, I'm afraid none of this is my decision..."

Suddenly another voice, soft, yielding yet some how domineering, like the desert sands, "No!".

Eyes turned to the stone staircase leading up to a balustraded balcony. A woman stood there, gorgeous, dark, sultry. Her hair was worn immodestly loose, in long black tresses, that flowed down to a plunging neckline in a plain diaphanous gown. There were restrained two succulent breasts, two handers, that could captivate any red-blooded man. All on a womanly figure that barely crested five feet; small but exceedingly well formed.

This curvaceousness was also evident her broad cheekbones and soft pillowed lips. She would not be described as beautiful by any poet. They'd use other less savoury terms and best, or worst of all, she absolutely knew it.

She was in her late-forties and there was both experience and wiles in her sultry gaze.

"It is my decision." Said Lady Morgen.

Now you understood what the Captain had meant when he said the poor old baron hadn't stood a chance. He'd probably keeled over clutching his chest the first time he'd watched her take a bath.

The Seneschal emerged from the doorway behind her nervously.

"H-Her Ladyship, the Baronessa of Rosencliff!" He introduced formally.

As you sized her up, she did likewise to you with those deep, dark eyes. What did she see?

[Now's your chance to describe your character in words and introduce them formally.]

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Those watching the dark elf carefully would note a visible change come over him. From the sneaky, no see em tenebrous elf to something entirely different. His back straightens, his arms hang down at his sides and his posture completely alters. His dark pale features take on a pleasant cast rather than the more sinister scowl that had been on them earlier. Though he says nothing immediately, it is clear that he understands how this particular little game should be played. In point of fact, it seems as if he is more comfortable with this visage than the one he had uncomfortably worn before.

This was the person he had been sent to meet. Now he knew why. She was someone much more dangerous than just a undying revenant. Though to his mind that was useful too. It was entirely possible he might learn something about who he really was, or who he had been, anyway.

When recognized even if with the slightest of eye contact, the dark elf offers a perfect and very formal bow of greeting. He did not, however, speak until spoken to. The lady was in charge and he was willing to offer her the respect that she commanded.

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Tindarien

He looks up as the single word rings out. That word comes from one used to wielding power. He is not entirely sure what to make of her but for the moment at least, she deserves his respect.

"Tindarien, Baronessa."

Meeting her gaze he introduces himself, his manner suggesting more experience and wisdom than looked to be in his young frame. Not intimidated but showing a polite respect.

He stands straight, his bearing almost having a quality of its own. His clothes and armour are simple but of quality. He has a small crossbow strung across his back, a short sword at his hip. Grey green eyes appraise below a flock of silver white hair which despite its length does nothing to hide his elven ears. Slim and graceful, almost ethereal, he has all the marks of a high elf.

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<Weston>

He was not the most imposing of figures, standing at 5 and 3/4 feet and about 175 pounds with short, probably self cut, brown hair. But when he moved forward to introduce himself, his strength and grace were evident. His features were not quite gaunt, but seemed indicated a 'hard' early life. His equipment supported that 'hard life' image. The longsword at his waist was not fancy and looked well used, but also well cared for. Similarly, the longbow across his back had seen it's share of battles. His chainmail had clearly been 'pieced' together from more than one set rather than purchased whole. But like his other equipment, it was well maintained. However, while he looked the part of someone able to take care of himself, he did not look to be the 'brute'. There was intelligence behind his green eyes and something else ... an unexpected intensity of purpose.

It was clear that he wasn't all that familiar with 'formalities', so he was prepared to let someone else suggest what was 'proper'. Tindarien gave him a pretty simple example to follow.

"Weston, your Ladyship", he said in a jovial tone accompanied by an engaging smile and a bow that was 'unpolished'. Clearly someone that had not spent any time in the world of the entitled.


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Zoltan

He glances towards the stairs as the Lady Baroness makes her entrance. He stands easily in his armour. Weapons and shield strapped across his body. Hooded cloak pulled tight across his features.

Still it is easy to see he is staring. And not in awe or shock. Not even in respectful attention. Rather if any word could be used to describe his gaze, it would be appreciation. The appreciation of a male for a beautiful female. The whiteness of his teeth as his mouth splits in a smile shows from under the hood.

He nods casually. "Baronessa. A pleasure. Zoltan Molnar."

He stands roughly 6 feet tall. A muscular, lanky frame that moves easily. His skin, when he removes his cloak, is a golden bronze colour and his iris' are red and take on a sharp glow when he is angry. Two small horns protrude from his head, although they are often hidden by his hair, worn long, and almost always by his cloak's hood.

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Seyja


She was not particularly impressed with the noblewoman, but when she glanced around at the others, it was obvious that - to varying degrees - they all were affected by her presence.

Seyja frowned, not sure how she should present herself.

"Seyja Banic, Lady," she said with a curt nod.

The barbarian warrior had medium ashen blonde hair, haggled off unevenly at almost shoulder length. She wore stained but well maintained leather armor and carried an impressive looking battleaxe. Comely without approaching an inordinate level of pulchritude, Seyja was muscular and agile looking. Even when standing relaxed, she somehow gave the impression that she was a coiled spring, ready to launch herself in any direction at the slightest impulse.

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Heilbutt

At only five feet in height, the noblewoman didn't even reach his meaty shoulder.

His freckled face didn't flush as it had when meeting Seyja, and he seemed (much like Seyja) to be unaffected by Lady Morgen's presence. It wasn't that the half-orc was immune to a woman's charms. Far from it; at nineteen years of age, he found them irresistible.

But on the Wake Islands, men had a slightly different concept of attractiveness. Nothing more attractive than a woman who looked like she could beat you to a pulp! There was no fairer sex on those unforgiving islands.

Heilbutt stood behind Nestaron, but his eyes kept drifting towards the helm, in case it came to unlife again.

The half-orc was tall, six and a half feet tall and built like an ox. He had a fair complexion though, freckled, with fine, tawny hair and hazel eyes. With his heavy brow, sloped forehead, flat nose and strong jaw, there was no mistaking his orcish nature. And with his many ear-rings and armful of Behemoth tattoos, there was little mistaking his barbarian nature either.

He carried a short spear with a jagged, scalloped edge and wore a simple, knee-length woolen tunic with a drawstring neck. There was little else of note about him.

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

"Ah, twould seem you know me already, Your Ladyship, yet for me it is the first inducible pleasure.

"Jexric the Jester, at your service."

For some reason he couldn't put his finger on -- perhaps sincere graititude -- he felt his usual theatrical bow was inadequate. Instead, he placed his arm across his chest and gave a liegeman's bow.

He owed the woman that. After all, she had given him a fine gift; the pendant that he still wore.

The bard also wore a jaunty green felt cap with a feather, that he felt set off the more dour tone of his brown leather tunic with its embattled trim. Many entertainers felt the need for brighter, more gaudy apparrel to stand out in a crowd, but Jex took care of that with an eye-catching mantle of curly, fiery red hair.

He travelled 'luted and fluted', as he liked to call it, ready to play at the drop of a hat. The long swept-hilted rapier that hung from his belt was really more of a fashion accessory in modern day Glitterhaegan.

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Nestaron

"Nestaron Behlthandien, some times called Cilmion."

He did not bow, but inclined his head in acknowledgement of her station and position of power here. Deeply tanned, pale blue of eye, his gaze slightly more intense and fixed than was the norm. His hair and beard were long, cinnamon brown, and just this side of unkempt, and he wore a simple hooded robe. A few cloth and leather pouches hung from his belt and the small pack on his back, and his staff was both support and weapon.

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GM

Lady Morgen lifted her chin and stepped lightly down the stairs. Her gown was made from a pale rose-coloured fabric with flared sleeves, that contrasted with her dusky skin and enhanced her sensual appearance, tactile, as though wanting to be touched.

Her jewellery was subtle, a lariat around her neck and a tiara, rings on her fingers, none of it exactly matching, none of it at odds either. Together with the décor in the great hall, the pets, the illuminations, it created a sense of a woman aware of fashion but driven by her own tastes, which were humbly epicurean, though surprisingly not opulent.

The Seneschal followed behind her, much taller than she was yet somehow dwarfed by her presence. (No offence intended to dwarves.) The bear cubs yammered in delight and scrambled over to the Lady as she approached.

Morgen flashed a white smile when she saw Jexric the Jester.

"Ah, we are flattered that you would take up our invite so soon, good señor! Our spirits are in need of lifting in these troubled times."

She offered her hand and signet ring to the bard to kiss, which would be lady-like if not for him being a commoner. It was still gracious, either way, and she extended the gesture to Weston and Zoltan too.

"The speed of your arrival is greatly appreciated, both. The Captain did not exaggerate the Order's devotion to its cause. You shall, of course, have our every assistance." She said to them, nodding deliberately to her Seneschal, who wrung his hands awkwardly.

Approaching Nestaron and his companions, she instead bowed her head respectfully in reply.

"Your Reverence. I knew that word of our plight would reach the High Druid. The woods around here popular with the Faerie Folk and word travels fast by their lips."

Up close, Nestaron and Tindarien might have wondered if Lady Morgen didn't have some elven blood herself. Her small stature and youthful appearance at forty-eight years old were remarkable. She casually scrutinised them both, then Seyja and Heilbutt. She smiled gently at the barbarian woman.

"You are all welcome here. I hope the Captain and the people have already made that plain." Lady Morgen said bluntly and was about to return to the head of the table when she noticed the darkly-clad dark elf.

Again she offered her hand, but less surely this time. As soon as her skin touched Pale Dusk's, they both felt an uncomfortable darkening of their vision, suddenly faint. They stepped back from each other instinctively, and saw their shadows on the wall behind still holding hands. Their shadows lagged behind them for several disturbing seconds until they finally, reluctantly caught up with their casters.

Lady Morgen lips twitched but she said nothing to Pale Dusk, and promptly turned with a swish of her dress, striding over to the treasure. Her retainers hadn't observed the 'incident', standing too near the haunted helm to spare much attention to pleasantries. But when the Baronessa placed a finger on the helm, the Captain and Sergeant startled forward as though to protect her from harm. The haunted helm did not react, however, whilst Her Ladyship had also regained her composure.

"Let us consider what we've learnt." She said, "The Sergeant's grandsire was none other than Gorulon Gorehound, famed gladiator, mercenary, and adventurer.

"For reasons lost to us, he and his men perished on Titon's Elbow, over half a century ago, and there his infamous helm laid until one day, a few weeks past, Sir Edward the Red, knight errant, finds it and packs it on his horse together with the same treasure, presumably, Gorulon was seeking.

"For some reason the horse -- a trained palfrey -- bolts, finding its way back to this very town, where it is caught and so Gorulon's helm returned 'home'."

Morgen looked around the table, ensuring everyone was in agreement, or at least following so far. Her finger traced the line of the one remaining horn as she spoke.

"But Gorulon is cursed, by his wife, by his own deeds, and perhaps by what killed him. His ghost wants the helm and treasure returned to their rightful resting place on the Titan's Elbow, threatening to forcibly retrieve them if its will is not carried out by the new moon.

"Meanwhile, ever since the helm resurfaced, the River Scintilla has been poisoned, Sir Edward the Red has disappeared and the Titan's Elbow sits yonder, as mysterious as ever."

The Baronessa picked up the gold coin that the Captain had shown Zoltan earlier. She held it up in a beam of afternoon sunlight, then placed it back with its cohorts.

"As you say, this treasure trove is far older than Gorulon...

"We could toss this all into the sea, but might Gorulon's ghost still come looking for it in Rosencliff? We could lay in ambush, yes, but what if twelve other wraiths come with it?

"And should we defeat them, would that save the river for the High Druid? Would it reveal the knight's fate for the Order of Averness?

"Something on Titan's Elbow ended Gorulon Gorehound and twelve of his sword-brothers. Something that may have ended 'Red Ed' also.

"The river runs through the Titan's Elbow and our troubles seem to flow from it."

Lady Morgen didn't seem pleased by her conclusions, similar as they were to your own. But there was a flash of raw determination in her eyes nonetheless. This was the noblewoman who shipped in cannibal lizardmen from the Demon Coast to deal with her pirate problem when Axis had failed. She was a woman of hidden resources, cunning and pragmatism.

"I decree that the haunted helm and its treasure shall be returned to the Titan's Elbow."

She cast her gaze on you, eye to eye, and nodded, saying:

"This quest is yours, if you will take it. The Town of Rosencliff and I will be in your debt."

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D

The dark elf is surprised by the touch, and even more astonished by the interplay of their shadows. Had he known her before? Before all this? He didn't know, but certainly something was between them, even if it hadn't been before. What did it mean? Again confounded by more questions and a complete lack of answers. He just watched and listened. He cared little for treasure beyond what it took to allow him to search for answers and survive another day. It was an odd contrast with one who made his living the way he chose too now, yet there it was like so much of his life a dichotomy in action.

He nodded to the Lady, he would do as she asked, if for no other reason to see where the trail that damnable little cat demon had set him upon. So far he had no reason to distrust the messages it carried from its master, but one could never be too cautious. He looked around to see if the others would take up the mantle of the challenge.

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<Weston>

He was a bit awkward as he tried to imitate the actions of the bard, who should know how these things were done.

He listened to the Lady's summation, which seemed close enough to what he thought that he did not feel any need to comment. He did nod his acceptance of her declaration of a 'quest' to replace the treasure and, hopefully, end the poisoning of the river.



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Tindarien

"I accept the quest. Though initially the waters and their taint were my first concern, I also want to stay the hand of the undead."

He is glad that she has agreed to return the treasure. It could prove the easiest solution, though vanquishing the undead would be his preferred option.

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Zoltan

His red eyes gleam with a fervent fire when she mentions a dozen or more wraiths could be on the mountain.

"Yes. Yes." He agrees easily. After all, he'd accepted this quest back in Axis. "Besides, that wraith could have been lying and we'd be wasting time here waiting for him."

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

He kissed the Lady's signet ring. Of course he kissed it. It showed good faith and respect for the woman's title and house, and obeyance of her rule.

The bard was feeling musical... He'd been devising a dark, dreadful ballad as soon as the wraith disappeared back into the haunted helm. While others were sheathing swords, Jex was structuring a song.

Oh he was feeling musical now!! All the talk of knights, treasure, and quests had him seguing from a doom-laden first verse into a rousing, heroic second.

Outwardly he smiled an uncomfortable smile, like someone desparately needing to relieve themselves. He restrained his bardic ejecta by way of tapping his toes manically.

"Just show me the way, Your Ladyship! I'm ready to go right now!!" He said boldly.

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Seyja


Seyja chewed lightly at her lower lip and considered the situation.

She'd rather be doing something than doing nothing and would rather be doing something good than just doing something.

This seemed like the right thing to do.

Seyja nodded curtly.

"I will also help."

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Nestaron

Laying a comforting hand on Heilbutt's shoulder, he replied simply to the Lady.

"We will do our best."

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GM

"Then we are allies." The Baronessa said after you had pledged to the quest, and it was elegantly put.

In her own words you weren't her minions or retainers, you weren't her champions or vassals. You weren't subordinate at all, in fact, you were her allies.

No doubt the gesture would be deemed crass and contemptible by most nobles, but perhaps you were more appreciative of the gesture.

Lady Morgen evidently thought nothing of treating commoners as equals. From her reputation, you wouldn't be surprised if her criteria for an equal relied on more than one's heritage.

The Baronessa smiled warmly and nodded to Captain Achelus. While she bent at the knee and petted the bear cubs, the Captain of the Guards walked over to Irt.

Irt was dressed like a shepherd, a linen smock, a ragged straw hat and leant on a crook. He was ruddy-faced from the summer sun and had a wispy neck-beard. He had one of those blinks were his whole face scrunched up and it gave him a rather dim-witted facade.

The Captain gave Irt a reassuring look and cleared his throat.

"This man is Irt, a local shepherd whose family has roamed further along the river valley than anyone we know. Say hello, Irt." Said Achelus.

Sweat had broken out on Irt's top lip but he spoke, or mumbled. "If I knows a smidgen is all..."

Captain Achelus smirked. "Now now, no need to be modest, Irt. It was you who saw that herd of deer leaving the valley, all the way up on Hard-acre!"

The Captain turned to you. "Irt tends bonehead sheep and they're aptly named. They wander far and often without much sense. Every day Irt has to track them down first, then round them up and bring them back to the fold.

"According to him, there are two routes to the Titan's Elbow. On horseback, you can ride along the northern ridge, where the trees are thin on the seaward slope. There are goat trails criss-crossing the ridgetop that you would have to navigate, but this must be the route Sir Edward the Red took. He had his white palfrey for riding and a courser for battle, neither of which were suited to the alternative route along the riverbank.

"Following the river on foot would be easy enough. It's rocky, uneven ground but more open, with some low climbs and narrow paths in places. It will be tiring, but you're sure to get where your going with no time wasted.

"Travelling by horseback along the ridge should take you two days. Following the river on foot, a full day. Our stables can provide mounts if you need them, and Irt can guide you from town onto your chosen path."

"This will be a p-perilous journey, Captain, shouldn't you join them?" Asked the Seneschal with perhaps dubious motives.

The Captain stroked his moustaches coolly. "As you know, Seneschal, I'm a diplomat and negotiator, and I doubt there's anything on Titan's Elbow that would listen to reason..."

"I will go, Captain!" Blurted the Sergeant of the Guard, "Tis my grandfather's bane at the root of these troubles and someone local like should stand for the town."

Captain Achelus glanced to Weston and Zoltan, then back to the Sergeant.

"That was well done, Sergeant," he said, "but we must leave it to our allies to make that decision. This is their party now.

"Besides which, the woodland hereabouts is not nearly as wild as it looks. There are no bandits or hostile tribes that we know of, and the Faerie Folk are shy, but friendly.

"Other than the Titan's Elbow, this region is not known for monsters. According to Irt, there are lions, bears, wolves, though it's the dire boars that are the greatest threat. They're belligerent, lazy creatures, and fiercely territorial. They'll eat meat, carrion, or any prey they can catch, including unwary travellers.

"The rock apes on the southern bank might be a pest, but they scare easily. We also don't know what else might have been drawn to Titan's Elbow, if indeed a fell presence has awoken there."

Captain Achelus chewed his lip in thought but decided he was finished.

"If you have any questions, I will do my best to answer them."

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<Weston>

He smiled at the Baroness's words. She was much nicer than most nobles he had met.

He smiled at the 'enthusiasm' of the sergeant. He remembered a time when he had that sort of enthusiasm. But that was some time ago. He had mellowed a bit since his younger days.

He turned to Zoltan. "Walking the river path sounds like the better route. I should think it would be easier to find the source of pollution traveling along the water itself ... especially if it is not connected to this 'treasure' but was merely a coincidence."

He didn't really believe in coincidence, but they =did= happen.


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Seyja


"Did the knight travel alone or did he have company when he left?"

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Captain Achelus

"'Red Ed' went through squires like most men go through hose. On this occasion he was travelling alone and travelling light, without pack animals, his lances or suit of armour.

"He resupplied in town and drank at the tavern. Her Ladyship was still abroad at the time, but we offered to receive him here at the demesne. He preferred the tavern, so I met him there to discuss our business."

The Captain shook his head, remembering the meeting.

"He was in fine fettle and enjoying his cups. Sir Edward the Red was brash and full of himself, as always, but you could tell he truly loved life on the road. He hated the idea of a knight errant, 'roaming the wilds' with an entourage of valets and a palatial pavilion.

"But no, whilst he spoke loudly and at length of the foes he vanquished, he made no mention of any ongoing enmity.

"He slept outside the town gates, under a tree by the road and the Guards saw him riding out at first light. No other strangers have been through here, by land or sea. If 'the provinces' had provinces, that's where the Sword Point would be."

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Zoltan

He nods agreement to Weston. "Not in the mood to hassle with mounts anyway. Usually more trouble than they're worth for anything other than a long journey."

He glances at the Sergeant, judging the man's martial appearance.

[OOC - Neal - Does he look like a capable fighter or does he look like a towns-person in ill-fitting armour?]

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Tindarien

"I agree, the river path seems the most opportune. The knight's horse did not prove to be of assistance and a more stealthy approach may be called for."

He doesn't comment yet regarding the Sergeant.

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Seyja


"No armor," she muttered, nodding but rather doubtfully.

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<Weston>

He nodded at Seyja's comment. "I was thinking the same thing. It sounds like he was not expecting trouble ... more like a treasure hunt than a monster hunt."


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GM

Captain Achelus nodded slowly at Seyja then Weston's comments.

"Though without a squire to assist in putting it on there wouldn't be much point in lugging plate armour around.

"He was wearing his arming doublet though, a light armour at least. And of course, he carried his sword and shield.

"Still, I think you might be right. It's not as if we were being terrorised by the Beast of the Elbow at the time. Sir Edward must've thought whatever monster had lived there, if ever any did, it must have long since perished."

The Sergeant of the Guard shook his head sadly at the folly of it all.

He was a large man with a grey beard and thinning hair. Carrying a few too many stones, he was not what you would call fighting fit, but he looked vigorous and healthy otherwise.

You would expect a man-at-arms who patrolled the steep streets and battlements of Rosencliff to handle a day's hike easily.

His arms and armour appeared well maintained and the Sergeant seemed proud of his station. Was he skilled in battle? Probably not. Probably not even experienced. But all of that mattered less than a man's mettle when it came to facing down the monsters of the world.

Looking at him, perhaps your greatest concern would be that he's a family man. No bachelor would eat so well unless he was a pie-maker by trade.

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<Weston>

"So, do we want to leave today or wait for the morrow", he asked.


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D

"Why wait? If we have a specific reason to do so, then by all means. I came provisioned and am ready to travel now."

Last edited by Pandemonium; Wed 24/06/15 20:26 UTC.
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Lady Morgen

She stood, leaving the bear cubs to shamble along in her footsteps.

"As much as I admire Jexric's eagerness and your... readiness, Señor Dusk, you should siesta this afternoon. Tonight you can prepare what you need for the journey ahead, then set out at dawn. It will be cooler then, and by high noon you should be down by the river's edge.

"You are welcome to stay here in my demesne, as my guests, and dine with me this evening. Or you can stay in town, if you wish, and the Captain can make the arrangements for you."

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Seyja


At the mention of plate armor, the barbarian woman's expression tightened in distaste but, after a moment, she shrugged and her expression eased.

"Tonight, tomorrow..." she shrugged again.

"It would give me opportunity to check my provisioning and gear," she said, thinking of the items she had lost when she had had to jump in the sea.

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<Weston>

"Sounds like tomorrow it is", he said with smile. "And thank you for your generosity M'lady."



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D

He nodded in acceptance of the suggestion. "I would very much like to accept you generous hospitality, Lady." He didn't continue that he would like to learn more about her and his own connection to her. He couldn't assume that she had time in her very important life events for wandering mercenaries. Though he hoped that was just the case.

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Tindarien

"I would be glad to accept your hospitality Baronessa."

He is still considering the Sergeant. It might be useful to have someone with them that knows the area and its people. And they could send him back with a progress report before the really serious stuff starts, assuming of course they can recognise it before it starts.

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Zoltan

He frowns at the delay. There is evil nearby and he'd like nothing better than to go destroy it now. But it seems the others prefer to take the Baroness' advice and wait until morning, and for better or worse they are all together in this.

He looks closer at the Sergeant. A bit heavy, but that comes with age. He looks fit enough. Not a gladiator ready for the games, but his heart is in the right place. He has a right to come if he wishes, but he needs to do it fully aware of the risks.

"You are welcome to join, Sergeant Gorehound", he says, looking the man in the eye. "But if you do so, know you may not return. Is there a wife and family you would leave fatherless?"

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GM

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the Sergeant, "but my name is not Gorehound, my grandfather never told us he was a gladiator.

"We have always been Almadors... That is, I am Sergeant Almador, sir, and I have a wife and five children and eleven grandchildren."

The man-at-arms shifted uncomfortably on his feet and again shook his head, struggling with his quandary. He looked from the Captain to Zoltan.

"I've no wish to repeat the mistakes of my grandfather, sir. But what choice do I have? It cannot be right or decent to let strangers fight my family's battles, and when they've imperilled the town I love too? I can't abide it, sir. I feel I must do something!"

In two minds himself, Captain Achelus turned to the Baronessa but she regarded him blankly like a stone wall. You saw in that look the ruthlessness you'd heard about. She gave Achelus nothing, no decision, no advice, not even her opinion. However, she had a point insomuch as it was ultimately the Sergeant's decision. She could order him to go or stay, but why make it easy for him?

The Sergeant wore a brigandine and helmet, medium armour really. He carried a cudgel and a polearm (a partisan), and as one of the town guards he would also be trained in the crossbow.

Did you have any objection to him coming?

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Nestaron

"Heilbutt and I will gratefully accept your offer of lodging, Lady."

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

"As will I!" Chimed the bard with great enthusiasm, his hands itching to snatch the lute off of his back.

Instead he sucked in a breath and gave a dashing, if snaggletoothed smile.

"And it would be my honour to entertain you all over supper!"

Then he saw the Sergeant's slouched shoulders and head, almost the look of a condemned man.

"There's naught right or decent to it, Sergeant Almador. Your grandfather's wife, presumably your grandmother, swore on her life that no-one from this town would go chasing after him.

"I have studied fables in great depth and will say this: It might be better if you do stay here, otherwise you could have another narked off dead relative knocking at your door."

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Heilbutt

He'd been calmed by Nestaron's hand on his shoulder and was gradually dragging his attention away from the haunted helm.

He whispered to Seyja, "I am amazed they wear anything in this weather. So hot is it!"

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<Weston>

He shook his head at Jex's ... suggestion. "I'll not deny you a place on the expedition Almador, if that is truly your desire. The caution about worry for your family =is= a valid one, however, and should be given due consideration. But, at least as far as I am concerned, that is for you to decide. If you are sure you want to guide us, I would welcome your company."



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Seyja


"The lady would probably have them locked up," she whispered back to the half-orc, "if they didn't dress all proper like."

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D

He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a local coming along. But he could voice no reason against it. Every man had the right to take the chances he chose.

D was pleased that the bard would entertain them. He was begining to like the man's sense of humor and tales.

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Tindarien

"Sargeant, you could perform an even more important role by staying here. There is no guarantee that we will succeed. Who then stands between your ancestor and those who live here?"

It is an honourable out if the Sargeant wishes to take it.

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GM

Sergeant Almodar heard what was said, but did he listen? You could tell the notion of 'honour' gnawed at him, but there was a very thin and permeable line between honour and pride. And wasn't it pride that had been Gorulon Gorehound's downfall?

Still, men could be very stubborn about such things...

Lady Morgen smoothed down the front of her dress and smiled at the man-at-arms.

"Just do one thing for me please, Sergeant Almodar. Speak to your wife first, before you decide."

The Sergeant gulped -- actually gulped -- as he pondered that prospect, and nodded to the Baronessa and his Captain.

"Yes, Your Ladyship." He acknowledged then Captain Achelus dismissed him.

The Baronessa looked around the great hall. The beams of summer sunlight coming through the high windows were gradually heating the space. The black bear cubs had collapsed in a shaded corner and were now snoring gently. Even the songbirds had petered out, and the silver pitcher had been drained.

It was going to be a hot afternoon, even in a stone-walled keep.

"From what I gather, you have had a busy day." Said Lady Morgen, "I beg your pardon, you must be fading fast in this heat.

"You will have our best lodgings. Seneschal, show them the way and see that they are given every courtesy."

The Baronessa inclined her head, turned and left with an enticing sway of the hips.

Captain Achelus dabbed at his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve. He was done up in an arming doublet and cuirass and must have been literally hot under the collar.

"Hmm. Well done, I must say. Not sure how you did it, but the Baronessa was impressed. I've seen her treat nobility far worse! You remember the Prince of Valsaavedra!?" He said to you, though directing the question to the Seneschal.

The pale bald man just shuddered in reply, and Achelus chuckled.

"Anyway. My thanks! See you at supper, I hope. And if you need me in the meantime, ask for me at the gatehouse on the outer wall. You'll be glad to know it's downhill." The Captain said with a wink. He wanted to shake hands with each of you before he left.

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D

The dark elf watched and listened. The heat was begining it's rise towards stifling, yet not quite there yet. He watched the Baroness walk away, with too many questions filling his head. Probably not the least of which revolved around the suggestion to come here. What was it that the demon cat and it's master wanted. On the surface it had been to his favor, bit there was something else going on. Only time woukd tell. For now water, rest till it cooled, and then maybe an enjoyable meal in her presence. He would have to ask questions if he had a chance. He did his best to be ignored. He would rather not shake the Captain's hand, if he could avoid it. But he would if he had too.

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<Weston>

He had to admire the way the Baroness diverted the man. He had been trying to offer him a choice. He knew how important it was for a man to feel like he had a choice and made the right one. And he had tried to give him that chance. It seemed clear that the Baroness felt it better to steer things towards the result she thought was best. And while he thought that it would be better for the sergeant to remain here, =he= wouldn't have tried to force the choice. He wondered which was =really= the better way.

He had not really noticed the 'heat' until it was mentioned. He was happy to accept the offer of a place to relax ... especially if it was deeper into the keep, and so possibly cooler.

He smiled at the captain's description of the Baroness's treatment of 'royalty'. But then he could appreciate that sort of reaction to those 'people in power' that were so full of themselves that they couldn't look beyond their own nose. He decided that he like her, a 'breath of fresh air' among the entitled. He smiled secretly at that as he followed their guide to their rooms.



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Tindarien

He shakes the Captain's hand and turns to follow the others to their rooms. He will be glad of the opportunity to freshen up. However his mind is on the task ahead of them.

"Perhaps we should take the opportunity to review our equipment and discuss any thoughts on how we approach this mission?"

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<Weston>

"I had lots of time aboard the ship to make sure my gear is ready =and= since we don't know =anything= about what we are dealing with, my thoughts are we follow the river until we find the problem. Then we might learn something that will let us 'discuss and approach'", he said with a grin.



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Zoltan

He watches and listens as the Countess speaks and takes her leave, then turns to the Seneschal and says, "I'd like to set my gear down", he turns to the others, "and then we can get some drink and chat all evening."

Turning back to the Seneschal, "So, if you would?"

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GM

'Seneschal' was a position of great importance in most dominions, being the ruler's chief steward. It seemed that this self-importance was cherished by the Seneschal of Rosencliff Keep. With the Baronessa being away on business so often, the Seneschal was left in charge much of the time. He'd gotten used to it then.

From his age and accent, the Seneschal was probably a hireling of the old baron, unlike Captain Achelus, who told you he was hired by Lady Morgen, being a constable in Axis previously.

And all of the above was in some way meant to explain the imperious scowl the Seneschal gave Zoltan, once the Captain had left.

"Certainly, sir." He said.

The afternoon heat that had rapidly concluded their meeting in the great hall was something that could be considered.

They'd get an early start tomorrow, and apparently with Irt as guide, they'd be down by the swift-flowing river before noon.

Even hiking along the bank of the river, it could get stifling hot and they might be wary of drinking the water further upstream.

So enough water gourds and skins would need arranging.

A hooded cape, or gugel, was an all-purpose traveller's garment, worn by many in the Empire. Wealthy fashionistas wore them rolled up into a padded hat called a chaperon, which required yards of excess fabric.

Both protected against harsh weather, as would any hooded cloak, but for peasants who could hardly afford such extravagance, a straw hat was more common in the sun. South of the Sword Point a long scarf of cheap, light fabric was often worn. Called a cheche, it could be wrapped around the head in the hottest weather, protecting most of the face also.

And of course, the alchemists of Horizon produced many an unguent to protect the skin from the sun's rays. (Most smelled so badly, they also repelled mosquitos.)

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

After shaking hands vigorously with the Captain, he picked up his bindle and danced a single jig around the Seneschal, just to piss the man off.

"Tout de suite, sir!!" He cajoled the chief steward, before falling in line with the rest of the party.

"I think we have fallen on our feet here." He said aloud and in good cheer.

He kept a watchful eye on his companions though. The more he found out about them, the more he wanted to know.

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<Weston>

He had to smile at the Seneschal's scowl. Clearly a man who never had to survive in the world. But he =had= survived for some time in the 'cut throat' world of the 'entitled', which he understood had it's own 'problems'. Unfortunately he suspected that the Seneschal would end up being more of a hindrance than a help. But he was willing to keep an open mind for the time being, at least.

Being a 'city boy', he didn't think much about all that other stuff. He was mostly just itching to get started.



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Seyja


Seyja gave the captain's hand a quick, firm pump and then turned to go with the others. She wasn't much worried about her gear - she tended to travel light - but she wanted one last chance to check her equipment for any damage it had incurred after she'd had to jump into the sea.


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D

He watched the interplay and smiled. The seneschal was a creature the dark elf understood. For now D was content to ride the little waves to where they lead without angering the locals over much. There was much to discuss but he agreed there was far too many unknowns to even really consider a plan. For his own part he had wanted to start off right away. Thankfully the Baroness had steered them clear of that idea. The heat would have made their investigations less than thorough. He would have to keep that in mind tomorrow to keep himself in peak form.

He followed the seneschal to whatever room had been designated for him.

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Tindarien

He is already thinking ahead. Water. They will need to carry supplies. He does not want to rely on any supplies from the river or mountain as they don't know how far the taint has spread. Likely they will need ropes as they may need to climb up the mountain or down into its depths. Food. Spikes. Mirror. Light. Many things to consider.

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Heilbutt

He was taught to never shake hands with a man from outside his clan. It made you vulnerable to knives and spells.

So the half-orc made sure Nestaron was between him and the Captain, and kept a watchful eye on the man.

Seyja seemed much more worldly than Heilbutt was, but she had been travelling with gypsies so who knew where she'd been and what she was accustomed to.

Tindarien's words got Heilbutt thinking about preparations for the journey. It wasn't a long one, but they might be away for four days in rugged terrain and under the hot sun.

He'd seen some of the sailors wearing tassled shawls over their heads at the hottest times of the day, so when it got cooler later, he'd walk into town and obtain something of the sort.

The Seneschal's manner was absurd but it didn't bother the half-orc. As long as no insult was given to his master. He wasn't going to tell a servant how to do their job. He didn't know the first thing about being a servant...

So he picked up his and Nestaron's baggage, Tindarien's and Seyja's too if they let him, and carried it to their rooms.

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GM

Nostrils flaring at Jex, he swept his faded black houppelande out of his way and exited the great hall, presumably with you in tow.

Two maids were awaiting him and you at the bottom of the spiral staircase. They reported in blushing, shy whispers to him, seeming somewhat overwhelmed by your presence. Whether you knew it or not, you were exotic strangers in Rosencliff; most of you were also bachelors. Even Seyja, a nomadic amazon was both daunting and exciting to a provincial chambermaid.

You were led downstairs and out of the tower, across the stifling courtyard and into the shell wall encircling it.

Inside the shell wall, the passageways were cramped and bare, but blessedly dark and cool. If north was 12 o'clock, you were led counter-clockwise to about 10 o'clock where you entered into an annex that had been built more recently than the rest of the shell wall. Here the walls were plastered and whitewashed, and the floor was tiled with red terracotta.

The Seneschal opened the door and presented the Baronessa's 'best lodgings' to you. The apartments were in a loggia, airy but shaded with hanging blinds. Between the tall arches you were struck by the brilliant blue of the sky and the Midland Sea. Outside the loggia was a sheer drop, nearly 100 feet to the rooves below, which meant a truly spectacular view over the town and cove.

The blinds nudged as a fresh sea breeze blew gently in, creating a very restful atmosphere together with the relaxed lighting.

Reed mats, quilted blankets and plenty of cushions had been laid out, along with low tables and stools. The apartments were partitioned by ornately carved screens for privacy, and there were several wooden bathtubs.

For decoration, creepers grew on the rear wall and there were some well-placed statues. They'd even provided small bowls of dried fruit and nuts and vases of water and wine.

You could spend a pleasant afternoon in these apartments, but you noticed that with only one door and a sheer drop over the side, they also made an effective prison. The same could probably be said for the guest rooms in any stronghold, so there wasn't necessarily anything untoward about it. Indeed, you'd be rather naïve to have strangers sleeping under your own roof in an insecure location.

The Seneschal walked through the apartments, lips pursed as he inspected the work done by the chambermaids. Satisfied, he shooed the chambermaids away and gestured for you to make yourselves comfy.

"A page shall be posted to your door and should you need anything, please ask. You are free to roam, if you wish. Supper will be served at moonrise in the baronial chambers. Good afternoon."

Apparently you had no questions because the Seneschal turned and left you standing. He also left the door wide open and a young page, maybe twelve years of age dived out of the Seneschal's way as he strode through and off around the corner.

The page peeled himself off of the wall and looked into the apartments apprehensively. He was too tall for his livery, but he was at that age where you grew a foot overnight. At least his mother had freshly cut his hair, so it wasn't as if no effort had been made on your behalf. You might not have cared about such things anyway; you weren't exactly courtiers.

The page smiled nervously and closed the door for you.

As a party, you were alone for the very first time since meeting on the ship.

nem #817972 Mon 29/06/15 20:06 UTC
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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

"What a stinker!" He said after the door was closed, and he assumed his companions would know who he was referring to.

He gestured from one end of the loggia to the other.

"This I could get used to though." Jex said.

The view of the Midland Sea and the Sword Point's north coast also put a smile on his face. He couldn't wait to experience the rugged wilderness of the interior for himself.

"So what do you make of Her Ladyship? I am biased, o' course! Since she's evidently a fan of mine, it would be rude not to be a fan of hers in return."

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<Weston>

He =really= wanted to chuckle at the pompus posturing. He managed to suppress that, but the smile was there where the others could see as he moved to follow their guide.

"Very nice", he said as they entered their 'quarters'. The breeze, the food, the pretty appointments ... all meant to distract from the fact that there was a single exit. But, to be fair, it should not have been a complete surprise. This was a keep after all.

"Yeeesss, isn't he =just= the nicest", he said with a chuckle in response to Jax. "But I =do= like her ladyship a =lot= more than her steward", he said with a nod of his head towards the door. "She seems less worried about 'appearance' and more worried about her people."





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D

The dark elf walked in and to the window. There he stood enjoying the view and possibly eyeing the way down, should that need arise. As the damn cat had said, he liked windows more than doors.

For now though he turned back to the group "this seems fitting and fine. What the lady's agenda is, time will tell, I suppose. Anything we discuss could be passed back, if she had an urge to do so. Yet I doubt that she has any real reason. We presented ourselves as likely tools, and have agreed to a mission which will benefit her, regardless of the risk to us." He watched the others to see how they took his words.

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<Weston>

"Well it seems obvious that everyone, including her ladyship, needs to have 'the problem' resolved. Beyond that ... is there anything in particular that concerns you", he asked.



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Seyja


She reached for her knapsack just as Heilbutt gestured that he would take it and she frowned for a moment, but then smiled briefly.

"No need," she said as she slung it over her left shoulder. She gestured toward him with the battleaxe in her right hand.

"It helps balance out the weight."

Seyja stopped just inside the door into their designated lodgings and frowned at the limited access and over fancy - to her tastes - decorations. She stepped forward and took a handful of dried fruit and nuts and put half a handful in her mouth, chewed swallowed and tasted the wine directly from the vase. She grimaced.

"Too sweet..."

If she heard the dark elf's words, her face gave no overt indication of it, but she did turn to make sure she heard the answer he might give to Weston's question.

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"Many things." He answered simply. "Not the least of which why did the treasure make it back to town? What caused the shade to stay dormant for so very long? Are we really facing a fell shade, or is there something else behind this particular evil? Too many other questions that can't be answered without further investigation. I for one want to know what it is that is going on, but for my own reasons. I do not undertake the task lightly though, the risk is likely to be very real." Any time a demon was involved things were dangerous.

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<Weston>

"One possibility is that the treasure's guardian was sleeping while this Red was loading the horse. When he went back for more is when the trouble started", he postulated. "And ... based on what 'it' said up there", he said indicating where they had seen the 'apparition' with a nod of his head, "it was happy as long as it had it's treasure. I thought that was why we were taking it back. How do we find out more without going there? And does it really matter? If we take it back and make 'it' happy, problem solved ... right?"



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Tindarien

He is not averse to carrying his own gear but having been with Nestaron and Heilbutt for some time, he had given up the contest with Heilbutt and just let him carry it. It did have the advantage of leaving his hands free for casting.

As they are led into the guest area, he admires the sea view and then the area in general. Well thought out by someone. The others start to talk and he listens.

"Of course that assumes that the river taint and the treasure are both related to the same source. They may be, they may not. I plan to go into town this afternoon. It may be that we need to procure more supplies. Does everyone have enough waterskins and food for several days? Enough rope, spikes, light sources, local clothing to help with the heat? There may be other items that people can suggest. I am willing to offer my services if anyone wishes me to purchase and carry items back here. Perhaps Hellbutt could accompany me to assist?"

He looks over at Nestaron and Heilbutt as he asks the last question.


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<Weston>

"Coincidences hardly ever turn out to be that ... at least when it is something bad", he said with a shrug, not =completely= discounting the possibility. The timing of the two events made it pretty unlikely that they were =not= related.



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Zoltan

He eyes the rooms offering a simple grunt of acceptance. Nicely apportioned, and the setup to entrap potential guests is not abnormal.

Moving across to a room, he pulls open the partition, enters, and drops off his gear, quickly returning to the main area. He pours himself a glass of wine and scooping up a handful of nuts he pops a few in his mouth.

He nods to Tindarien. "Yes. Whatever killed Gorulon and the others may or may not be related to the Spectre we saw. It seemed to imply that Gorulon and his companions were tied to the treasure and it's return would satisfy them. However it did not give any clues as to what it was he disturbed or what killed him. All it cared about was the treasure be returned."

He takes a drink of wine.

"I, myself, can live off the land and I have what I need." He says to Tindarien. "But I am not opposed to some window-shopping."

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Seyja


She chewed and swallowed again, then shrugged slightly.

"I could use a new rope... maybe a waterskin."

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<Weston>

He had spent =some= time working caravans, so he had a pretty good idea about what was important. And since the river had to be considered undrinkable, it would be important for them to have a supply of drinkable water.

"Good point Seyja", he said with a nod. "We =all= should plan to carry some water. We won't be able to use the river and we should probably be suspect of any water running into the river."



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D

"I for one would rather carry too much and not need it, than not enough and..." His voice trails off.

"I could either pay for a couple of water skins or travel to help acquire what is needed. Whatever is desired." He was also not against remaining in the nice rooms and enjoying the hospitality.

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<Weston>

"My guess is that we won't have to do that, just let these good folk know what we need", he said with a smile.



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[Ghosted for Owain]

Nestaron

The half-elf didn't cultivate his reputation as a holy man and he often wondered how he'd gained such a moniker. One thing was obvious though, he hadn't gained it by bandying disingenuities with an ass like the Seneschal.

He had to give the Lady Morgen benefit of the doubt and hope the chief steward was a retainer of her late husband.

Despite not speaking, Nestaron was far from trenchant. He communicated with subtle facial expressions, that Heilbutt was slowly learning to understand.

Nestaron approved of the accommodation though and stood at the railing, admiring the belle view until he felt the sun prickling his forehead.

He nodded. Tindarien was right, they'd need to be prepared for the journey. It wasn't so much the length, it was arriving at the end of it in good condition, ready to fight if need be.

"This is a good place. We should rest." He said, shrugging off his outer robe and hanging it over a wicker chair.

Nestaron smiled kindly to his companions and walked to the door.

"I'll speak to the page and arrange that water."

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

Dumping his stuff, he collapsed into a chair and untied his pointy leather shoes. He whipped off his felt cap and threw it onto a table, missing it entirely. He didn't seem to care.

Although his spirits were soaring to be out of the city and in an exciting new country, it all just made a revitalising nap more needed. So with a big yawn he reached for his lute.

If the cleric wanted rest, Jex could play a quiet, restful tune.

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Heilbutt

Grabbing his spear, he followed Nestaron to the door and stood to one side. While the others rested, he would learn heavily on it, eyelids drooping as he stood stoically on guard.

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D

He picked out a spot where the breeze would keep him comfortable and settled. He would listen, but the initial things had been decided. Patience was key now, and not one of his strong suits.

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GM

The page was sharp as a tack and eager to please, if a little awestruck at these dangerous-looking strangers from overseas.

You might not have thought of yourself as 'dangerous looking', but here in Rosencliff you were an armed party that wasn't known to the locals. You were dangerous looking.

Supplies were brought to your apartments. Two gallons of water each, mostly in bundled gourds. You could cache about a third of your load somewhere along the trail and recover it on the return hike.

Top quality rope was purchased from The Issitia, which was still anchored in the cove.

As a party, you could forage and hunt for food in the wilderness, but time was of the essence, so rations were obtained. Biscuits, hard cheese, smoked mutton, sweet brittle with more of the dried fruit and nuts in it and green-tinged tangerines. Wholly adequate for your needs.

You weren't asked to pay for any of it.

Heilbutt was standing guard at the door, but it would be almost impossible for men-at-arms to tip-toe through the stone passageways outside and surprise you. Likewise, they wouldn't be scaling the cliff or swinging into the loggia from above without a lot of noise. There might be secret doors, and of course, magic was the great upsetter, that could make those men-at-arms invisible or even fly, but apart from the haunted helm, nothing in the town had felt off so far.

Lady Morgen was a strange one, certainly something very mysterious about her, but then who were you to speak...?

[Siesta? If so, we'll move on.]

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Seyja


The barbarian woman stopped eating long enough to inspect the rope and rations, grunt and nod her approval and then, after performing some limited ablutions, lay down and was soon snoring.

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<Weston>

He had spent a good part of his life living on less that these 'trail rations' so he could only smile at the supposed 'hardship' of having to live off them. Satisfied with the preparations ... mostly because he wasn't really expert on much of this, he had only worked a few caravans, and they always had plenty of food and water ... he pulled his boots and lay down to rest. He had no problem falling asleep with a tummy full of good food and some nice wine.



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He passed the time with some rest and relaxation.

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[Ghosted for Khamsin]

Jex

After tinkering on the lute for a while, he leaned it against a pillar and settled down on one of the mats with plenty of cushions under him.

Relaxed, dozed off, stirring with a chuckle when he noisily broke wind, but soon asleep again.

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{OOC Tindarien wants to purchase or obtain some more appropriate clothing even though much of the time he will be wearing his armour, otherwise he'll rest.]

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Zoltan

Picking thru the supplies for whatever he feels he might be able to use, he puts them with his things and spends the rest of the time relaxing with some wine and fruit.

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GM

Siesta.

The shadows in the loggia shifted as the afternoon wore on. The adventurers all rested, whether they relaxed and slept or not.

As the sun was setting and the western horizon was awash with strokes of fiery colour, Tindarien and Heilbutt quietly slipped out, down into town, accompanied by whoever else wanted to. The page stayed on the door to the apartments, but he gave the high elf directions to a mercer who would have what they needed, or could quickly obtain it from local artisans.

So you could procure light cotton clothing and cheche from the mercer, a gnomish woman. Even though you arrived early, before she was fully open for the evening's business, the mercer was happy to assist you and insisted that you joined her for a cup of mushroom tea. She taught you how to wear the long, gauzy scarf and tie it in different configurations, depending on your needs. Dark colours were favoured to hide the sweat stains.

The cheche was more of a Santa Coran style, and Heilbutt thought wrapping your head in cloth was a stupid idea in the heat. So he bought a wide-brimmed straw hat with a cloth strap, and a full-length cloak of thin goat's wool.

The cost was pittance.

Either way, after thanking the mercer, you took your bundles and climbed the busy streets through town, back to the keep.

Night was falling. Soon it would be supper.

[Go to HHE4: Supper.]

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