Session 01, part 1 Meetings and Explanations
Dusk the next day found Ren standing before the door to Popa Thorson’s home. The FRONT door. He had never crossed that threshold before and was having trouble bringing his hand up to knock.
Shonder’s advice, despite how arrogantly it had been given, was good advice. Ren had bathed and dressed in his finest clothes, which made him look like a cleaned-up field hand but that was the best he could do. He wasn’t about to spend precious coin on clothes he’d only wear once.
Over the last day and a half, Ren had dreamed up countless reasons why Popa Thorson wanted to see him. Most were ridiculous. Quite a few involved Ren being somehow in the noble’s bad graces. But none of them really made any sense. Ren’s ragged fingernails, now bitten down to the nubs, were testimony to how much this was driving him mad.
Steeling himself, Ren forced his hand to knock on the door.
It opened almost at once. Shonder, in another of his fancy outfits, looked him over. “You cleaned up. Very good. This way then.” With that, the old man stepped aside and gestured Ren inside.
As soon as he crossed that threshold the hunter felt very much a fish out of water. Thick rugs, detailed tapestries, colorful plants in fine pottery atop delicately carved stone stands, and more shows of wealth decorated the wide hall. Ren gawked at the riches as Shonder closed the door and led him to the corner stairs. They walked up those stairs and around an inner balcony and Ren’s nervousness returned. Any one of the things he’d seen could feed his entire family for months. What would such a wealthy man want with a common hunter, or even an extraordinary one, that needed a private meeting?
“You are the last to arrive,” Shonder said, bringing Ren out of his thoughts.
“The scroll didn’t say anything about others,” he said.
Shonder sniffed. “Would it have made any difference whatsoever?”
Ren bit his lip.
“I didn’t think so,” Shonder said at the hunter’s silent answer. “Here we are.” The old servant gently rapped on a heavy looking door and waited. A muffled answer came from inside and Shonder opened the door.
Ren took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The smell of scented oil from the lamps struck Ren at once. Two of them sat on the wide table that dominated the room. Two others hung low near corners, casting light on the nearby shelves, full of books and scrolls.
Ren recognized Popa Thorson immediately. The big, bearded man was a large as he was generous and in his oversized chair he was the focal point of the room. Three of the other four seats around the table were occupied; Popa Thorson waved Ren to the one that wasn’t.
“And here is the fourth,” the master of the house said as Ren took his seat. “Shonder will send word for the dinner.”
The servant wordlessly nodded and closed the door. Ren took that moment to glance over the other guests. Next to him was a man he didn’t recognize, but judging from his expensive looking outfit the two probably ran in very different circles. Next to that man was a woman in leathers much like Ren’s own and suddenly Ren felt a little bit of relief. That was Bessie Fisherman, a druid that he had met once or twice before. On Ren’s other side was someone wrapped head to toe in robes. It was impossible to even tell if it were a he or she.
Popa Thorson cleared his throat, snapping Ren’s attention back to his host. “You are all here to answer the call of heroes. I have been given permission by the Council to assemble a team for the decennial quests. I have chosen you four, if you are willing.”
He paused to let that sink in. He had to pause for several moments. What he was saying was outrageous.
Everyone knew about the Quests. Every ten years or so the ruling council in Maissen chose several prominent national figures to assemble a team of Heroes, “Heroes of Maissen”, to spend a few months out beyond the national borders. If the heroes returned in time and with proof of heroism, then it proved their sponsor was a good and wise leader. He, or she, was then allowed to found a new settlement somewhere.
Critics, what few there were that spoke openly of such things, decried the whole thing as stifling, resulting in inorganic national growth. They also decried the restriction of traveling beyond Maissen’s borders. The ruling council’s age old reply to the critics was the simple fact the nation’s resources had to be tightly managed. Willy nilly growth and far wandering citizens would stretch things dangerously thin, and Maissen was surrounded by enemies.
The system had worked so far. Maissen boasted several towns and cities and was safely stretched along the coast. But that all left a burning question.
“So why us then?” asked the man beside Ren.
It was exactly what Ren had been thinking. People that went out on these adventures as Heroes of Maissen were the great ones. He checked himself. People that -returned - from these adventures were the great ones. Their lives were lives of fame and fortune, without the sort of mundane concerns that hung over common folks such as the d’Hayson family. It would be great beyond words to be a Hero of Maissen.
But most of the people who went out into the wild to chase that title never returned. They were honored and remembered in death, but they were still dead.
“I picked you four for your talents, Thorson answered. "Killian, as a sorcerer your natural spell casting talent will be useful wherever you find yourself. The rest of you excel at thriving in the wild. Bessie, as a druid you have an innate connection with nature and can heal any wound. Ren is hunter known for his stealth and keen eye. Madge is ranger, at home in the wild and strong in a fight – and there will be fights.”
Ren squirmed in his seat. A sorcerer, a druid, and a ranger?! He felt a little outclassed and a little redundant.
Popa Thorson seemed to read this. “I assure you all, I have given the composition of this team long and serious consideration. Individually you are outstanding. You represent strength and stealth and magic both arcane and divine. You are the best at these that Vaunth-on-the-Lake has to offer. Together – I have complete faith you will be even better.
In her robes, Madge spoke up. “How long do we have to prepare?”
At the question, Thorson’s shoulders dropped. “You are to be in Maissen the city, ready to depart, in three weeks time. The local ceremony to see you off is in three days.”
The other four glanced back and forth at each other, mouths open, eyes wide in disbelief.
Popa Thorson held up his hands. “I know. Believe you me, I know,” he said. “Tradition calls for a year, but little about this is traditional.” He stood and began to pace around the table.
He’d only taken three steps when the door opened. Dinner had arrived. Shonder and three other servants laid out a small feast of spiced fowl, potatoes, and more, while Popa Thorson and his guests sat in uncomfortable silence. When at last all the food was in place and the servants departed, he continued.
“I have made enemies on the Council,” he said, “and I believe they are trying to present me as a fool. If I, by way of you four, fail, I become irrelevant in all things.”
“You become irrelevant,” Madge said, her voice gravel. “We become dead.”
“You are not forced to do this. None of you are.” Thorson paused and took a long drink. “I regret that this is thrust upon you so suddenly but there is nothing to be done about that. What I can promise you is that you will have the very best equipment available. You tell me what you want and I will get it for you.”
That got Ren’s attention. “Really – anything?”
“Short of horses,” Thorson answered. “Those are beyond even my reach.” Everyone nodded at that. A single horse cost probably as much as the house they were in, and everything in it.
“That,” said Killian as he reached for some chicken, “I believe we can work ‘round.”
Thorson smiled at the group. “Furthermore, I have gifts now that will help your adventure.” He stood and stepped over to one of the room’s shelves.
After gethering four bundles, Thorson stepped over and handed them to his new Heroes one by one.
"Bessie, a scroll that will summon a powerful ally of nature to aid you. Killian, a wand that detects magic. Ren, a pair of arrows that will slay any natural beast they strike. And Madge, two doses of a potion that will increase your strength and stamina."
Popa Thorson let them handle their gifts for a few moments before speaking. “So then. What do you say to my offer?”
Only one thought was playing through Ren’s mind. Lela. If he returned, Goodman Needleset wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of their marriage. He smiled. That was worth any risk.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
Beside him Killian was stroking his chin as if a beard were there. “Y’ can count me in too, Thorson.”
“It sounds interesting,” Bessie said. “I’ll be a part of it.”
All eyes turned to Madge, still wholly obscured in her robes. Slowly she nodded. “It suits me to come along as well. I’ll get my affairs in order.”
“Wonderful!” Popa Thorson said. His face brightened and he looked ten years younger. He raised his mug, “Here then is to the newest Heroes of Maissen.”
The others joined him in the toast and then he turned to the matter at hand. “Let’s turn our attention to this food and I’ll tell you the other news.”
Over dinner, Popa Thorson told the group about three others in town that would have business with them as the newest team of heroes for Vaunth-on-the-Lake. Corrin the brewer, Shayder, wealthiest of the local shipowners and fisheries, and Petris, a local high priest, really didn’t want much to do with Thorson himself, but they were eager to speak with a group about to venture beyond the borders of the nation. What they wanted, Thorson didn’t know, but he suggested that between tonight and the departure ceremony that the four take time to visit and speak with each of them.
Talk then turned to Popa Thorson’s own adventures. He’d been a Hero of Maissen as well, and pointed out the badge he’d been given at his departure ceremony.
There were rules to follow, he explained. The team would have ninety days. That was all. Ninety days to go and do heroic deeds and discover exciting and interesting things. And to not die. “Don’t return too soon,” he said, “or the council will just presume you didn’t really try. And certainly don’t be late. Bringing back the keys to the universe on day ninety-one counts for nothing.”
No help would be offered by past heroes. The point was for the current heroes to discover things, and deal with them, themselves. He could help on basic geography though, just general guidelines that any well educated Maissener knows. Even the ones that were never official heroes.
“To the south of Maissen is the great desert, home to Idien, the witch king whose name parents use to scare small children into behaving. Despite that, have no doubt that Idien is real. He is lich, and an ancient enemy of Maissen.
“West of the nation are the endless plains. The Chakta, bison riding barbarians live there, and they aren’t the only threat. As many heroes as they have killed, more have died simply by becoming lost in the featureless grasslands. They get their days confused, don’t know if they’re heading east or west, and often wander in circles until they die of thirst and starvation.
“The northwest leads to hills, forest, and eventually the Ghost Dragon Mountains, said to be home to dwarves. Also in that general direction is the Valley of Drayne. Due north and northeast are swampland – bad lands. East of Maissen of course is the sea, from where the earliest Maisseners came during the troubled, hard days after the storm.”
Popa Thorson answered a few more questions after that, but the night was wearing down. Soon the quartet left his home, having decided to meet in the morning and start calling on those that wanted to see them. Their host broke with tradition and saw them to his door personally. He stood at the open door and watched as they went their four separate ways, praying to all the gods he hadn’t sealed their doom.
But he knew he had.
One way or the other, the life they knew had come to an end.
[continues on post #8]
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