Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
InterSession #8.4 – ‘Denouement & Decampment: “Aboard the Silver Milk”
Teflem, the 6th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Tim and Markos sat below decks in their tiny cabin on the Silver Milk, betting iron pieces in a rather dull head-to-head game of bluff & draw. The ship rocked slowly as it progressed northward. Telémahkos was atop getting some fresh air and avoiding their cramped quarters for a while. He was also avoiding Markos after a failed attempt at some kind of conciliation when they first came aboard the day before. (1)
"So, did anyone ever figure out what was up with that Vanthus Vanderboren guy?" Timotheus tossed a couple of coins into the pot. "Like, what the deal was with that map with the stuff about the 'Ivory Pearl'?"
Markos was bored. "No… I do not think anyone did but I plan to look into it in Moon City."
"Huh. You know, I've been to Azure lots of times, but I never got around to crossing the water to Moon City. I hear it's pretty impressive." He pushed another coin into the meager pot. "Raise you one."
"It will cost a lot of coin to be thorough," Markos ignored the small talk regarding the City of Sorcerers.
"Eh, it's no big deal. I'm not sure I want to get wrapped up in some other magic pearl hunt anyway, especially if it's just going to lead to more smugglywugs somewhere far away. We've got lots of better things we can do much closer to home, like the hobbos and the King Stones. Fold, raise or call, Markos,” Timotheus shrugged.
Markos said, "You left out "bluff." He then raised. "If this pearl is anything like the black pearl we should probably at least look into it. Even if we take some time before acting."
"Sure, as long as you magic men can make sure that we don't get turned into smugglywugs like those poor bastards at the Cove. I got no problem with stuff I can fight, but being turned into some creepy mindless frog-thing isn't high on my list of things to do this year." Tim called Markos' raise and flipped his cards over. "Pair of rogues. What do you got?"
Markos threw in his cards without showing them, "You're lucky you're playing with an honest mage. Avoiding being turned into anything is exactly why some research would be nice. Perhaps you could ask the rest about contributing funds to compensate me? I estimate a hundred to one twenty-five per day would be needed. Can't say how long would be needed so should probably just come up with a number of days we would stop at, though I suppose taking it one day at a time would be ok.”
Tim rakes in the pot, shuffles and deals. "That's a sh*te-load of money, sailor boy. I say we hold off on that until after the King Stones. We make a decent sized haul there; maybe we can look into funding your anti-Ivory-Pearl research. But me, I'd rather sink our purse into doing some real, for-certain and good for folks close to home. Not on going on some wild goat chase for some magic doodad that may not even exist. Ante up."
"I'm inclined to agree but I would like to get as much input from the others as possible. The only counter argument I can make is that I will have access to resources I may not have access to at a later time unless we are in Moon City's vicinity again. I raise in the dark…" Markos put his cards down and then looked at them again and sighed.
"I cal…" Tim peered at his cards. "I wouldn't worry about that. Moon City's pretty central, especially if we come back up to Schiereiland again. It's right on the way. And you know I still want to come back up and clear the hobbos out as soon as we raise the cash for troops. Raise you one."
"Yes, yes very reasonable. We should allow others their say, however." He flipped the next card over and then looked at his cards again before saying, "Raise you…uh…fifteen…" He looked Timotheus directly in the eye waiting.
Tim rolled his eyes. "No sh*t, sailor-boy. Fold." He tossed his cards in. "Course everyone gets their say. We all agreed to that, right? I just hope we can work it out with everyone one-on-one first, because you know what any kind of group discussion with this bunch turns out like. That's the problem with not having a leader, everyone's gotta stick their own oar in and we waste five hours arguing over sh*t that ought to take two minutes."
Markos appeared to be grinding his teeth, biting back on the sharp answer he would have liked to spit at Tim. Instead, he sighed and replied calmly, "I guess I simply meant to suggest we drop it until the others were present. I think we are in agreement though I could easily be swayed given what Lavinia told T.K. she heard." He quietly gathered and piled the cards before handing them to Timotheus for his turn at dealing. "As for the problems of not having a leader, I've been trying to push you to take a more aggressive hand in that - especially when violence erupts. I have some very basic ideas on what to do in a fight - just common sense things really - but you're going to have a better feel for things when the decisions need to be made quickly, I think, given your experience."
Tim shuffled. "Thanks, Dad… Next time we storm a villa full of frog monsters, I hope you're there to make sure I can actually lead." He raised a hand to forestall Markos' reaction. "Sorry… I'm sure you're trying to help. But it's not me you need to push. I can lead men just fine if they've agreed to be led. But we got a bunch of snobby nobles here who signed a charter saying that everyone gets a vote. I'm doing what I can to keep on top of things in battle, but until they actually agree to follow me, the best thing is probably just to take it slow and hope they get used to it.
Markos raised an eyebrow at being called "Dad" but did not interrupt. When Tim finished he cleared his throat, "Just push a little harder than you have been, alright? We had one battle where we coordinated our actions well and it was mostly due to our discussing things ahead of time… You didn't have to give many ‘orders’ as a result. Just a reminder to everyone to mind fields of vision and dart in and out, giving archers and such opportunities to time their shots effectively.”
Timotheus began to deal the cards, as he replied. "Think about it. If I push too hard, who knows what they'll do? The last thing we need is them calling votes in the middle of a fight, or worse, they decide that if they gotta have a leader, they'd rather have Pukey the Golden Boy or Little Miss Never-Surrender, instead of a jumped-up guardsman who's got nothing to offer aristocrats except something as useless as ten years of experience."
Markos grunted and looked up. “By the by, I'm trying hard to control my anger and keep my displeasure with certain members of our group to myself - your being an assh0le because I think the group needs your direction and say so doesn't help."
"Aww, everyone's so mean to poor Markos, after he's been so nice to everyone." Tim chuckled, accentuating the words with an infantile sing-song teasing style. He did not look up from his hand. "We all know you're a big brain, and like I said, I know you're trying to help. But no one likes a know-it-all. Especially one who's… what…? All of fifteen? I think you need a beard before you can pull off the 'master of all knowledge' routine." Tim made an attempt at a comical 'elderly sage stroking his beard' face, as he looked at Markos.
Markos' face hardened, looking away he said with angry wonder in his voice, "I'm a know-it-all and putting on airs of the wizened wizard because I've made some suggestions?" He refocused on Timotheus, the creases of his face deepened with anger. "And I was speaking of you, you f*cking prick! Not ‘everyone’. I expect the others to act as they do, and sure as there is whale sh*t in the ocean I don't feel sorry for myself for it. I know who they are and I know how I am… You, however, I didn't expect to be such a f*cking assh0le. And I may be a f*cking kid, but I've seen just as much sh*t in this world as you! If I have a gods damn idea I'm going to say it! And if you were smart," he stood up from the floor where they were playing. "…you would judge the f*cking idea and not who f*cking gave it!" He looked down from his standing position for a few moments, breathing heavily but then sat down abruptly, spitting out with disgust, "Just f*cking deal the cards… I'll leave you to your own council."
"Gosh, silly me," Tim replied mildly. "I sure am the assh0le. After all, I yelled at you, told you how to do your job, and threatened to punch you in the face. (2) Oh no, wait, that was you talking to me."
Tim set his cards down on the floor. “What I did now was listen, and give my own opinion in a having-a-discussion kind of way, and thank you for trying to help. Okay, maybe I teased you a little bit. And boom, here you are, throwing a tantrum. I don't really mind, I've seen lots of 'em before from my sisters when they were little. But it really is pretty childish, no matter how much sh*t you've seen.”
"So, how many cards you gonna discard?" He added after a moment, holding the deck in his hands.
Markos looked disgusted, "Just give me three cards you condescending prick."
Timotheus slid the cards over with a wry smile. "Sure thing. Here you go, little cousin."
(1) This was one of a handful of InterSession scenes that did not make it the story hour. As much as I would like to be able to say that it’d be great to include all of them, that is just not the case. Just imagine your typical Telémahkos/Markos interaction, perhaps with a misinterpreted apology in there, and that was basically it. No need to beat a dead horse or anything…
(2) This occurred during the parley with Harliss Javell. While the story hour did not cover it at the time, it later became a point of contention. Basically, when Telémahkos and Markos were arguing over Markos’ laughter upon hearing that Harliss had sent the bullywugs to the Vanderboren Manse, Timotheus tried to break it up, and Markos threatened to punch him in the face for his trouble.
(1) This was one of a handful of InterSession scenes that did not make it the story hour. As much as I would like to be able to say that it’d be great to include all of them, that is just not the case. Just imagine your typical Telémahkos/Markos interaction, perhaps with a misinterpreted apology in there, and that was basically it. No need to beat a dead horse or anything…
That was a ridiculous waste of time. For those dying to know everything about the characters, Telie wanted to inform Markosk that he is going to ignore him when he is being an a-hole, but that Markos should, in turn, let Telie know when he is insulting Markos since Telie had not been able to tell when this is happening (except when he has tried to do so on purpose of course).
It went poorly from the start, with Markos taking everything Telie said as manipulation, which may be the case but is innate to Telie's personality so it all went south from there.
However, there were no blows exchanged, and I think Telie has been living up to his end of the bargain, treating Markos with respect and ignoring his jibes. Then again, Markos is much more likely to read and ignore the group these days than he is to openly insult. Though the negotiations with the hirelings got him going.
I think everything would go a lot more smoothly if a gnome invented ritalin for Markos to take.
InterSession #8.5 – “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile, Bleys About In Quillton
Balem, the 5th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
After seeing his companions off and an hour of uncomfortable poses at the Rare Earth Armory, Bleys Winter walked past the Quillton market. He rolled his neck and stretched his arms, trying to work out the cricks that developed while Harvel Hammeral and his assistants measured and sketched, and asked him to change positions and then back again while they gibbering in numbers. He heard a deep voice call his name over the sound of the peddlers and their customers loudly haggling. Bleys blinked in the late afternoon sunlight, as he turned to see a tall handsome man with long black curly hair approaching. He had deep tanned skin, a well-kept goatee, and amber eyes. He wore bronze watch-mage's robes over a black tunic and close-fitting pants, and tall boots. His ears were pierced with only slightly more various silver hoops hold tiny sparkling gems than his fingers were covered in gaudy rings.
"Bleys!" he greeted smiling. "I was hoping to run into you! I was just doing what watch-mage's do. wandering about town talking to folks and seeing how they are and how I can help them… But I am glad I ran into you, I should have some time now if you'd like to walk with me back to my house and talk… Maybe have a drink…"
Bleys met the eldritch-knight's eyes and extended a hand, careful to control his excitement. "Sir Malcolm the Bronze! I apologize for not announcing myself sooner. As you were busy, I took the time to visit your armorer. Harvel is obviously a master of his craft, and I am truly fortunate that he finds the time to hammer for me."
“Oh yes, and Harvell is an excellent armorer… None better on the island, and among the best in Thricia. He must like you if he is taking personal time to work on armor for you… Usually he relegates his everyday work to his family…"
Malcolm the Bronze shook Bleys’ hand firmly and he smiled widely.
"I imagine that it may have something to do with liking you, sir, but I am greatly appreciative nonetheless. I hope you do not think I take advantage of our shared alma mater," Bleys replied, his voice betraying his awe at having this conversation with the famous Malcolm the Bronze. He cleared his throat, and regained his normal even tone. "He tells me he has crafted armor for you."
"Yes. He did. . " Malcolm replied with a sly smile as if hinting at a secret. "As for taking advantage of our alma mater - well, that's what it's for! We take care of our communities and if we are lucky they help take care of us…It is a reciprocal relationship…Anyway… How goes the charter? Having fun yet? Any good plans? I assume this more than a social call… but a social call works just as well. . . "
"I have the time and can think of nothing that I would rather do than consult with you," Bleys added.
"That's the spirit!" Malcolm said with an avuncular slap on the younger mage’s back as they begin to walk. Bleys gave an uncharacteristic wince at the blow, which was harder than he expected, but then he noticed how broad the watch-mage really was. He rivaled Timotheus.
As Malcolm the Bronze led the way through town, the people… Well, gnomes of Quillton all greeted him kindly, some interrupting to ask if they can come see him later. He treated each one of them with great respect and seemed to have total recall of their many names.
"It like having the best of both worlds once you have established yourself," he said, musing. "Wandering and adventuring are fun and diverting, but it is in the coming back here that I see what all that work and danger are really for…”
Soon, he pointed out a large house near the center of the town as they approached it. It was two stories tall and loomed over the squat gnomish architecture used in most other places in town. In front of it is a large green plot on which is planted an exquisite garden. A small figure was working in it.
Bleys admired the garden as they approached, but tried to keep the conversation going. "And here I worried the Charter's conception eclipsed by the disappearance of Agon's Reef. Even so far as the far shore of Quillton, you have heard of our coming? I must admit, it is not all the glory I had hoped for. Nothing so daring and as adventurous as I am sure you are accustomed to…"
The gardener stood and waved as the two watch-mages came through the gate.
"Perhaps we will find more excitement when we travel to the King Stones,” Bleys added as the gardener greeted them warmly, standing beside a patch of yellow tulips.
"Hello Master Malcolm! Back from your walk already?" Malcolm introduced the curly-topped halfling named "Penn". Bleys gave a courteous half-bow to the gardener.
"The King Stones, huh?" Malcolm said as he held the door to his house open for Bleys to step in first. "It has been a while since I have been there… But there's a long tradition of exploring that area… Lot's going on… Plenty of mysteries to still be discovered and solved… Ah!" He looked wistful. "It was a simpler time…"
The front door opened into a main hall with a wide staircase that led up into a large parlor with a picture window. Here he asked Bleys to sit and called loudly for one of his servants. A petite woman with a round face, probably on the far side of thirty, came to the door. "Oh, hi Tanya! Can you please be a dear fetch us some wine and maybe something to nibble on…” She nodded and was off to do his bidding.
The picture window was more glass in one place than Bleys has seen since his time at the Golden Tower of the West. It looked out on the town square and the market, and the towers of the harbor fortress was visible in the distance, as were the tall masts of the naval ships docked there.
"We'll get back to the King Stones in a minute… So, I have to admit," Malcolm said, sitting down across from Bleys. "I did not know of your coming or even who was in your charter exactly until I spoke with Mistress Vanderboren the other day. She explained that you and your companions were looking to find her brother and save him from himself when you ran into those that wished him harm, or wished his family harm as a means of hurting him…?"
"That is correct, sir, apparently the result of a series of unfortunate events, which we discovered while pursuing leads to a haven for smuggler's known as Kraken's Cove."
"Hmm, yes… Well, if he made enemies in Kraken's Cove no wonder they tried to kill him…Sometimes you have to leave well enough alone… So I take it you went there? Were you quoted good prices?" He winked and then stood as Tanya came back into the room with a bottle of wine and two goblets. He turned to her and said, "You know what? I don't want wine in the afternoon, have Tomo bring up a couple of hand casks from the basement instead." She nodded and turned away again.
"I hope you don't mind," Malcolm said, turning back to Bleys. "But meeting fellow alumni always makes me feel like I am back at the Academy, sneaking skins of mead into the dormitories, sneaking them under our robes after coming back from White Plumerock… Well, you must remember that stuff better than I…Not too long ago you were still doing it!" He laughed and sat again.
"Yes, I did graduate but only recently," Bleys offered timidly, not sure how else to respond.
"So… Any idea where this brother is now? Do you think people might still be wishing him or his sister harm?"
Bleys did his best to elucidate. "Well, obviously Vanthus made an enemy of one Harliss Javel, the pirate who sent her first mate, Drevoraz Kabran and a hold full of bullywugs to savage the Vanderboren manse. And while I think Mistress Lavinia is in no further danger at the moment, her brother I am not so sure about. Vanthus now seems to be consumed for some quest after some magical pearls." Bleys eyed Malcolm for a reaction. “Apparently the destruction of the black one in the cove caused all of the unfortunate inhabitants there to be transformed into feral, tentacled, hybrid, bullywug creatures. Harliss blamed Vanthus for its destruction, thence laying said mission upon her crewman. Her tale had Vanthus escaping the cove aided by great feats of jumping and swimming."
Again, Bleys regarded Malcolm carefully, checking for reactions to his revelations.
"What?!" Malcolm frowned. "This is the first I have heard of these pearls and this transformation! Please recount to me your tale from the beginning… and tell me everything you know about these magical pearls…"
Bleys did not react to Malcolm's surprise, as if suspecting it. And with composure began to recount the tale of seeking out Vanthus and the rumors regarding an attack on House Wetherwax. He also explained about the map folios and the sepia snake sigil, and finished with Aug Bohr’s escape (1), and the reference to the ivory pearl on Vanthus’ map.
“And as the bloated bullywug shaman hopped off into the night, he called back…” Bleys concluded. “Or at least, that is what my companions have recounted to me. He said… something about how we’d get what was coming to us when the ‘savage tide’ begins…? Or maybe, he said, when it comes… Again, I was not there…”
During the time Bleys was telling the story, Tanya appeared with the two handcasks (2) and poured a rich frothing ale into two large mugs on a low round table between him and the elder watch-mage.
"The Savage Tide…? Hmmm…" Malcolm was quiet a long time. "I wonder if there is any connection to 'the Savage Tide' in Azure? Um, I forget his name, young kid…Must have been at the Academy at the same time as you, he runs the place by that name. . . If I understand correctly he inherited it from his grandfather who was also of the Academy… Other than that, I am not sure what it refers to… But I can try to find out…Now that I hear your story, the bullywug involvement makes a lot more sense, however, I can never imagine that ‘wugs would align themselves with anyone, unless it had to be done for their bizarre religious devotion."
He took three large gulps of ale and then poured himself some more, gesturing to Bleys' mug. "As for Kraken's Cove. . . It won't be long until the Coopers find out what happened…You know the Cooper's right? And if they find out that the Charter of Schiereiland were there, they may think you were involved… So be careful whom you tell… But boy, is THAT going to de-stabilize the area. . ."
Bleys grabbed the large foaming mug grudgingly and put down a large swallow with an audible gulp.
"Coopers? You mean barrel-makers? Yes, I understand what a cooper is…" Perhaps it was the taste of the ale, so uncommon for Bleys, but he seemed slightly annoyed. "But I fail to understand what they may have to do with the cove. It is my suspicion, however, that the place will continue to be used for nefarious purposes. But, I cannot understand why, if House Wetherwax, or Swann for that matter, knows of its existence, they allow such activity to persist…"
"Bleys…" Malcolm smiled widely with paternal condescension. "The Coopers are a guild of thieves. They are the Thrician branch of what is sometimes called 'Berman's Gang', which are Herman-lander merchant/thieves. A bad bunch, but certainly no Red Lantern Gang… As for why the noble houses tolerate the cove, well, they profit from it… And they always know where the contraband is being traded - in a controlled and relatively peaceful environment outside of Thrician territory… Is that not preferable to many small clandestine possibly violent meetings that become more dangerous the more those involved have to worry about secrecy? But now, if the involvement of young nobles gets out, and if this Harliss lives, it is sure to be reported to her superiors, whoever they may be, it will undermine the security the smugglers felt they had there…" He took another sip. "Good stuff, right? Quillton Brew. . . At least sixty percent of the reason why I have stayed on here…" He winked again.
Abashed by his display of ignorance, Bleys made no inquisition as to who Berman might be or what the Red Lantern Gang's province was. Instead he swallowed another less hefty mouthful of Quillton Brew, noting that it was good, bringing his palate to life after so long.
"This 'savage tide' in Azure? Is it an inn? A Watch-mage runs it?" Bleys finally asked.
"Yes, you know Azure…Council of Watch-mages and all that…The watch-mage of Graingate has always run the inn there. Just one of those strange little local traditions, I guess. Well, the kid there now, I forget his name… Something the white? No, not white…" He scratched his beard as he puzzled at it for second and then continued. "They change the name, but the new one… He gave it the same name his grand dad had… It was the 'Mulberry Bush' during most of my time. . . You should know him, he could not have graduated more than two or three years ago…"
Malcolm the Bronze stood and went over a table with small drawers and pulled out a pipe and leather pouch. "Have a pipe? Want one?"
Bleys politely refused. "No, thank you all the same. I wish not to sully the flavor of this fine beverage." Bleys finishes his mugful. Malcolm packed his pipe and soon there is a sweet lime-like smell in the room.
"Athoen the Blanche?" Bleys tried to remember, "Fercal the Sand?"
"Athoen! That's it!" Malcolm laughed easily. "Pale as a ghoul. . .!"
Bleys the Aubergine produced the map folios, and held them out to show his senior. "These are the maps we recovered. I have yet to circumvent the warding on the bottom two."
Malcolm took the folios and tossed them casually on the table. "I shall examine their wardings later, and if it is a simple matter I shall remove them for you. Were there other things you wished to consult me on?"
Abashed again, this time by Malcolm's dismissive treatment of what he considered a rare and precious find, Bleys soldiered on. "Well, um, yes. I am excited to be visiting these King Stones. Though they are not exactly in my realm of knowledge, I have always been fascinated with the time of Thricia'sSix Kingdoms. You implied that you have been there. Any sagacious words?"
"Hmm, well actually I was hoping that you might do me a favor… Do you know about the Moor-tombs?" Malcolm sat back, down taking a long pull on his pipe before continuing. He rolled his rings around on his fingers as he talked. "In my youth, when I visited the King Stones with some friends, we never got to see the one place I was most interested in exploring… I have an old map I could give you to find the place, though it was drawn from memory… And more information, of course… If you are interested…"
Eager at the talk of high adventure Bleys let down his guard. He grabbed his refilled mug and took another long sip, nodding.
Malcolm continued: "As for the Stones themselves, I recommend exploring as close to mid-day as possible, as whatever humanoids are living there are usually active in the late evening and the time before dawn… Also, avoid the Baphomet Stone Maze…"
"The Baphomet Stone Maze? Sounds mysterious…”
"Let me say again. . . DON'T GO THERE,” Malcolm’s face grew serious, and his voice deepened with practiced authority. “It is for that reason that were never got to the Moor Tomb, that I spoke of… For my old companions' curiosity led to the death of one of our number and we chose to return to civilization instead…”
"If you order me not to go, I will not,” Bleys sat up straight, considering the connotations of the warnings of one of the most powerful wizards outside of the Academy Masters that he knew of… “But, may I ask, what more you know of it? Knowledge, especially of this kind, is ever my pursuit. It may help me further convince someone else to proffer from your wisdom some day. Sir, and if I may ask without being impolite, how green were you then?"
"A race that was long considered extinct in Thricia, and most other places in Aquerra except perhaps the U.K.S.F… They live there,” Fatigue crept into Macolm’s voice. “And even though many years have passed and I have grown, I hope…wiser than those green years, I would not go back. We were warned and did not listen, and thus we were in the wrong… Green or not, it is a place best avoided.”
“But certainly, I'd be honored to do you the favor, but I don't quite understand…” Bleys wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin that he conveniently noticed beside the keg. “Do you merely just wish your curiosity slaked? What has kept you from the final tomb? I thought they'd all long since been plundered?"
“Life being as it is, I just never got back there,” Malcolm replied, perking up again. “Regardless, the map I have shows the way to it. I don't think anyone has found it and lived since the last time I was in the area… As far as I know, it remains untouched for over a millennia."
“I see…”
Malcolm the Bronze leaned forward and continued in a quieter voice, as if practiced for the use when retelling lore. "Dalvan d'Amberville was a wizard that served Agon the God-King much to the chagrin of his fellow nobles of that lost house. The d’Ambervilles purged all those members of their house who served the God-king after he was defeated, and Dalvan was among those. In exile, he went among the people of the moors who among the ancestors of the Ray-Ree."
“The name ‘Ray-Ree’ appears on the map of the King Stones we have,” Bleys mentioned. “They are a barbarian people, are they not?”
"Yes. They are usually willing to trade information and give food for common tools and the like…But they are a proud people. Everything should seem like a gift freely given or else they will drive a hard bargain or refuse to trade at all." Malcolm paused and furrowed his brow, and then slapped his leg. "Oh! So. . . Dalvan hated Fallon and her followers, and it said he had stolen an amulet once blessed by the mortal Fallon from one of her followers. He cherished the theft of it, and it is likely still among the treasure in his tomb. I would like to examine it before giving it as a gift it to the Church of Fallon, which is my primary intention…” He looked up and then smiled again. “Of course, you and your companions would be given the credit for retrieving it."
Intrigued, Bleys peppered Malcolm with a salvo of questions: "The moors: who were they who lived there, barbarians as well? And did Dalvan just end up there or search them out? So, you suspect that the sole tomb that you did not enter is where Dalvan is interred? Along with this artifact of Fallon?"
"The people of the moors were common folk and mercenaries driven out of the northern portion of the Island of the Six Kingdoms when Agon was defeated, for they had supported him…Legend says they were all evil people, though I doubt that… I am sure many were just caught up in the wrong place and had to serve him or die… And while death is ever an option for people such as you and me, a common person cannot be expected to do the same, or else they would no longer be common…” He cleared his throat. “I am fairly certain the amulet is there… And I know the tomb is Dalvan's and thus likely to be well-guarded. I know of at least three groups that sought it out in the past and did not return… But they were from before my time. I have not heard about it again in all these years, and I keep my ear to the ground for the softest of rumors and news of adventuring exploits…"
Malcolm paused and smiled again, seeing Bleys was excitedly trying to piece together the information he been given. "By guarded, do you mean traps… Wardens? Might there be some similarity to the other tombs I should know about?"
"I do not know of what other tombs you know of, but it is certainly nothing as dangerous as the Mud-Sorcerers, for example, or I would not send one so inexperienced as you there… No offense. As to what kind of protections, it is hard to know except that Dalvan was something of a necromancer and that each of the wizards that ruled the people of the moors took pride in devising the protections of their tombs when immortality became inaccessible by other means… Of course, all of them were seeking to emulate Dalvan… and as far as I know, his is the only tomb left."
"I take no offense sir. For I was still suckling at my mother's teat while you were already engaged in learning the ways of magic. I am green, I concede, but seeking to remedy that, though it may take some doing to convince my companions that this is worth doing…"
"Seems to me like you need to learn how to make them think its their own idea," Malcolm winked. "But it should not be hard to convince them… It is less than three days march from the King Stones. The Ray-Ree should know the general area, and the map should help from there…”
The younger mage patted his sabre hilt, "I was also wondering if you might be able to procure the skills that would help me meld my arcane abilities with the martial skills I trained for in my youth," Bleys grew sullen. "As I have mentioned, I still wear armor despite the danger of its weight and discomfort disrupting the free somatic expressions required to cast. It seems fruitless to abandon the training I had when I thought I would become a squire… The goal to someday, perhaps, even become a knight…"
“Returning that amulet will begin to cement your reputation, and knighthoods are built upon reputation… Trust me on that one…" Malcolm the Bronze smirked. “As for casting in armor, I can introduce you to someone, if you want to get better at it. (3) It'll cost some, but it shouldn't take more than a week or so… If you can promise you'll do your best to get your group to check out the Moor-tomb I will use my influence for you to get you a discount…" The elder watch-mage’s smile never died.
"Ah…" Bleys was somewhat deflated. "I am greatly interested but my desires far outweigh my purse…Unfortunately, I also lack the leverage to make the promise that my companions will want to look into this Moor-tomb. I would rather not give my word lightly to you, sir. But I can promise you that I will do my best to convince them. And I believe that they may be receptive, particularly the priests…
"You don't have seventy-five silver?" Malcolm looked at Bleys with disbelief.
Embarrassed for a third time, Bleys nodded and admitted that yes, he did have that much. They shook hands on the deal. Malcolm told him he would send word to the manse once the arrangements for the training were made, and that he would also send along the map to the Moor-Tomb. In addition, he would look into dispelling the wards on the map folios.
Bleys thanked him graciously.
"And while I am sure you will decline, I believe proper decorum demands I offer you spell exchange. I am not so naive to think as I may have anything to offer you, but I humble myself all the same…" Bleys slipped his spellbook from his satchel and handed it over. Malcolm smirked and flipped through it disinterestedly and then handed it back with amusement.
“No, there is nothing, but I appreciate the gesture,” Malcolm said.
As Bleys the Aubergine left soon after, Malcolm told him that since he was called away on business often this would likely be the only time they would get to meet, but that Bleys should come back the next time he was in Quillton.
Bleys agreed.
End of InterSession #8.5
--------------------------------------------------------- Notes:
(1) See Session #8
(2) A handcask is a small cask of ale or mead with a handle for easier pouring. It usually holds one and half gallons.
(3) Soon after Bleys began his training with a local gnomish wizard to learn the still spell feat.
So is anyone finding these InterSessions remotely interesting?
I am nearly done with the next one (which may be in two parts), and after that there is only one more (which might also be in two parts) before we get back to the actual game sessions.
Unfortunately, between my (recently ended) summer class and preparing these for posting, I have fallen four sessions behind in writing them up (we recently played session #12).
In the future, I think any significant between session downtime we take care of via email/messageboard will be handled in the story hour via flashbacks and footnotes in the normal session updates. While I like the individual scenes, they are not as fun to prepare for posting as the sessions themselves, and in some cases can seem repetitive as the info gained in them has to be gone over again in the session itself.
I am not saying there won't be any more InterSessions at all, but am going to limit them to no more than 2 or 3, and not more often (on average) than every three or four sessions.
Well,I didn't realize that you would get so mired in these. I thought that they would be easier for you to handle and post as most of the typing is already done. A simple matter of cut-and-paste, but I guess not.
I thoroughly enjoy them as I am a completest. But, if it is really a chore and slows things down so much, you should do as you've suggested.
Thanks for editing them though, and posting them up.
InterSession #8.6– “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile in Schiereiland… (Part 1 of 2)
Tholem, the 11th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Telémahkos arrived in Epithalassos-by-the-Sea just before mid-day. After paying off a debt to a gambling associate in Floodwall, he was able to talk some sailors he met into dropping him off on their way to Sluetelot. He would meet up with Timotheus and Tymon (1) back in Azure the next day, and from there they would be leaving for Chalkour. Originally he thought he would have more time, and had sent a message to his family’s trusted servant, feeling out the atmosphere about his father to gauge if a visit back home after having so recently left was a good idea. However, he had come to the village before hearing back, realizing that in order to accompany Timotheus north their schedule would need to be more hurried. Markos had taken a ferry over to Moon City the day before.
Telie walked through the dock market, taking in the many familiar sights, sounds and smells. “Mom” and Ham were selling their hearty stew and buttery bread nearby, and dockworkers and merchants alike were lining up for it.
The Fighting Square was being raked in preparation for some brawls likely to happen later in the afternoon when the sun was not so hot, but right now it was very hot, and Telie looked over at the Longhouse remembering the coldness of their mead. The rowdy yelps of the Tholem crowd would soon emanate from there, as Tholem was pay day!
However, before he could decide whether to risk a public appearance before seeing his father just to get a drink, he heard a familiar voice. “Master Briareus!” It was Mena, a long-time servant of his father’s household. He was dressed in his typical drab gray robes and sandals. A few strands of curled gray hair clung to his sweaty liver-spotted head. “What are you doing here already? I am just coming back from sending you word back!” He spoke to Telémahkos with a familiarity that only a servant who had seen his master grow from a young boy could have. There was even the hint of a careful scolding to it.
“Mena! It is good to see you,” Telémahkos walked over, shook the elder man’s hand, giving him a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “I am a busy man. I have to head to Chalkour with Tim tomorrow. Just taking care of loose ends as we finished one adventure and now head out to the Disputed Territories. How are things here? Are you well?”
“You should not have come,” Mena said in his usual even and calm manner, taking Telie's arm, and leading him to the direction of the edge of the village and the trail to the Briareus manse. “Bad things have been happening… And you cannot be involved…”
Telémahkos’ stomach tightened with nervousness and he stopped walking. “What is going on?”
“Keep walking!” This time Mena did scold, as he yanked on Telie’s arm. “As you know, my connection to the Barrel-makers has always been because of my days working for the Herald's Guild as a… courier. . . For all their faults, the Guild was made up of Thricians - and if the bosses were Herman-landers. . . well, I did not care because I rarely if ever dealt with them. . . But now some people don't seem too happy with the Barrel-makers anymore and their squeezing of their Thrician resources dry to cover for losses due to the war on their side of Aquerra… “ (2)
He sighed and stopped for a minute to catch his breath in the shade of the eaves of a house at the edge of the village. Telémahkos looked up and saw two of his father's guards sweating out in the sun at the opening through the outlying trees to the path up to the manse.
The old man continued: “So in the struggle for power some people have been dying…You know accidents, bar fights, sudden illness… Nothing suspicious…Except of course, it all is… And among those killed were my main contact, and conveniently, his replacement is a loyal Coop… (3) The father of the man I had to… deal with that night. . . You know which night I am speaking of?”
“Yes,” Telémahkos replied in a course whisper. His mouth dried up and his lips got stuck on his teeth as he spoke. “The Guild is bringing Herms here? (4) Is there any way to stay out of the fight?”
“Not the Guild, the Coops… At least, that's the rumor. . . a few ringers to spill a little blood and show the Trumps (5) who is boss. . . But those who started to chafe and fight back, and want to drive out the Coops altogether aren't going to stand for it. . . This fight is coming. . . And it is going to be ugly. . .”
Mena swallowed hard. “There is some kind of evidence against me. This man, Kristopf, knows or suspects about the real fate of his son and has brought this information to your father…Now your father does not know the details of why and how this happened, and he does not care… The truth is…” He looked back and forth and then right into Telémahkos’ eyes. “The truth is your father is aware of my talents and contacts and has made use of them from time to time… But if this accusation becomes public there will be nothing he can do to protect me, and then the Coops will use the excuse of my coming public trial to kill me before I can rat on them…”
He took a deep breath and took Telie's arm again as they continued up the path. The guards nodded their greeting as they passed.
“But it gets worse…” Mena said even more quietly when they had passed them. “Your name has come up…”
Telémahkos squeezed his temples and wiped the sweat off his face, closing his eyes with passing anguish. “How? Has my father heard anything?”
“Conveniently… old rumors about Kristopf the Younger bragging how 'the young son of the lord' was going to let him into the House have re-surfaced… And while I have no doubt that he did the bragging, I am sure that it was to people who could generally be trusted to keep their mouths shut until they were convinced or paid to remember again… And that is why I said you should not have come,” Mena said. “Your father is furious about the accusations and the threat to his increasing business this entails. If he pushes back against the Coopers too hard, how many of his ships or caravans are going to arrive safely? And if that happens, how long until he will be forced to something about it? It would have been best if you had just stayed far away for now… But it is too late…”
Almost panicked, Telémahkos let out a harsh whisper, “Let us find me a horse and I will be off!” But then he gathered himself and added, “No, the guards saw me. I need to give a grand performance…”
He stood up straight and walked resolutely toward the manse.
Mena led the way into the house and the other servants greeted Telémahkos warmly, including a kitchen wench who had warmed his bed more than once. They made their way to Agamemnon's parlor/trophy room and then Mena left to fetch him. Telémahkos looked over the various weapons and mounted animals; examples of his father's prowess.
“Shouldn't you be somewhere robbing tombs and killing kobolds?” Agamemnon barked by way of greeting as he entered the room. He was flush and sweaty, and dressed in a light toga that revealed the dark coarse hairs of his stout muscular legs. He gave Telémahkos a rough little push into a chair and then took a seat himself. “What failures are you here to whine about? Are you here because you need money or help to get out of some mess? Mena says not, but that old man would feed you his teat if you told him milk would come out…”
“There is no problem, father. In fact, we were successful on the first adventure, the House split will be a modest amount of silver… but this is just the beginning. We head to the Disputed Territories next and Timotheus wanted to take care of some family visit so I joined him to let you know I was doing well… In fact, I have had some discussion with the merchant Cornwallis Lowe. There seems to be lots of trade opportunities down south and perhaps I can set up a new base for you down there… Is that something you wish?”
“Heh. If you think you can manage it… Lowe, eh? The name is familiar. But don't go mucking around with smuggling if you don't know what you're doing… Which you probably don't… Is that all you came to tell me? Some scheme that is going to require the re-annexation of the Disputed Territories to work? It seems your instinct for quick coin is as developed as your courage. . But it matters not… Go do whatever you want down there and stay away from Schiereiland for a time. It looks like I am going to have to dismiss Mena over that foolishness with that intruder a few years back, and I want you gone too, so you cannot be called to testify about it.”
Agamemnon’s small dark eyes never left those of his ne’er-do-well son, boring into him with contempt.
Telémahkos paused, and then tapped his temple. “I have an idea! Do you think Mena would want to join the Charter as a hireling?”
“Gods, damn it!” Agamemnon stood, towering over his sitting son. “THINK, why don't you! I don't know if you were dropped on your head as a child, or if being dropped on it now would fix you, but you certainly make me want to try!” His big meaty fist pulsed as he squeezed his hand tighter and tighter, but he did not strike Telémahkos. Instead, he paced around the room, panting to let his purple-faced anger pass.
“Actually, you had better hope these plans you are trying to make pan out, as we might be needing that income if everything goes as badly as I think it will. Gods damned Herman-lander thieves! Look, I don't want to see your face until I can actually trust to send you to do things for me… Difficult things… The kind of difficult things I long ago asked Mena to prepare you for when I thought Philo and Jason would be taking over for me and you would be doing something else useful for this family… Now it seems I have to hope you learn to do both… Or else wait until your twin brothers are old enough to do it…”
“Alright father, I will do what I can… I… uh,” Telémahkos stood, but his eyes never left the floor. He continued in a low defeated voice. “I think I can become great with the blade… I will make… I can help with coin. I am sure of it and… and we will see what else needs doing once that happens.”
Agamemnon only smirked, his body language making it clear their meeting was over.
“I only wish to see Paulien before I go. I will seek a servant. Good day, father.” Telémahkos did not even try to shake his father’s hand. He left the room, and out in the hall he swore, “I will never return here as long as that man lives…”
------------------------------------
A little later, after finding a washroom where he could weep in private, Telémahkos washed his face and then summoned a servant to bring him where he could find Paulien, his sister-in-law; Bleys’ sister.
In a large sunlit parlor, Telémahkos found her sitting on the floor and playing with her children in a very unself-conscious way. She was tall and thin, and had sharp, almost severe features framed by straight thick black hair. She still looked youthful despite being nearly ten years older than him. Her unusual looks gave her an indefinable beauty. Also present was the light-haired and voluptuous Agatha, his stepmother. She was only a couple of summers older than he was, and quite lovely. She sat in her chair with a paper fan as she watched the twins scamper around knocking over Spiro wooden soldiers.
“Telémahkos!” Agatha was exuberant when she saw Telémahkos, standing and hurrying over to hug and kiss him. Menaleaus, his younger brother began to cry, toddling over to grab his mother's leg possessively, while Paulien carefully tried to extricate Andrea’s hair from the claws of Nestor who was clearly already developing a cruel streak. Paulien looked up at her brother-in-law with a weak smile.
After some pleasantries and greeting the children, he asked Paulien to accompany him for a walk through the nearby orchard. “Your brother has given me a note for you and the shade is long enough for us to escape the heat.”
“Oh, of course, Telémahkos… I am glad my brother still thinks of me. It is too bad he could not come with you on this visit.” Paulien’s voice was smoky, deeper than most women’s, but with a delicate mellifluousness. She stood and asked one of the nannies to watch the children.
Agatha gave her a jealous glare and then planted a soft kiss on Telémahkos cheek close to his mouth. “And how long will you be here? I do hope we get a chance to catch up and you can entertain us with tales of your adventures…” She said to her stepson.
“Unfortunately, not very long, but I will be back to chat,, Telie replied, offering his arm to Paulien as they leave the room.
As they walked out to the orchard he began: “I wanted to let you know that I wish to take my responsibility to you and your children more seriously. I am not sure yet what this will entail, but know that I think about you and your children and plan on making sure you are always given what you need…” Telémahkos spoke with an awkward cadence ending his speech suddenly to wait for a reaction.
“Are… Are…are you asking if I would like to marry?” There was awe in her voice. “I mean, I understand the sentiment and it is honorable for a man to take care of his brother's widow… But we hardly know each other and I am not sure where this is coming from… I would have to think on it… Though it would provide me and the children with a more stable place in the household…”
Telémahkos’ eyes open wide and he stammered. “Ahh! We both know how rash I am. Let us take a first step and not even consider that yet as I am going to be away for a while anyway. Know this, though… I consider you like a sister and even if I were to marry another you would have place of honor in my household, and I would make that bond legally binding so as to relieve you of worry. If I make anything of myself I will fulfill my brother's obligations one way or another.”
“So, you aren't asking. . . “ Telémahkos could not tell if that was disappointment in her voice. She continued: “I mean, the only legal obligation I can think of is marriage… Not that I care to dishonor Jason's name, but finding me a husband is the best way to make sure we are cared for. But then again, I worry a new husband will want children of his own, and Spiro and Andrea would suffer it. Someone who already considered them family would be the best choice.” She stopped talking and walking very suddenly and scrunched up her face with suspicion. “Did Bleys put you up to this?”
Telémahkos stopped as well, and smiled. “All he did was show his deep regard for you and your children, reminding me of responsibilities I have not paid much attention to before. Before I forget…” He reached into his toga. “Here is his letter.”
He handed it to her and continued. “I can't ask yet for your hand yet. I can only find out where you stand because I have no means to support even myself let alone a family. My father does not trust me with much at this point. And when I say legal obligations, there are agreements that people reach… nobles reach about the rights and such of the members of their household… You could have a special place in my family. I am not a traditionalist, so excuse me if this all sounds odd to you. If I find other lands for the House to rule, we will need able-bodied lords and ladies to take on responsibilities and I am sure Spiro and Andrea would be perfect for such a thing. I am sorry to speak of so many uncertainties…let's leave it at that, and I will do what I can to fulfill that obligation willingly.”
He noticed her turn the sealed letter in her hands. “Do you wish to read that now?”
“I would rather read it later,” She replied, still sounding a bit suspicious. “And I thank you for your concern and for trying to make plans that fit me and your brother's children. It is very noble, even if Bleys did put you up to it.” She gave Telémahkos a light kiss on the cheek. “When you see him, tell him he is as much in my mind as I am in his, and I look forward to his visiting as I have not seen him since the funeral…” (6)
“I will let him know…” He looked at her again in the sunlight, noting that much like Lavinia, she was taller than he was, but her beauty, while very different, was no less striking. He felt overcome with the emotion of the moment. “You are a beautiful, strong woman so do not think anyone needs to plot to have someone show interest in you… Anyway, it was good to talk with you, especially since I do not have many relatives here any longer that I can speak to with… much sincerity. Out of curiosity, How does Agatha treat you and the children?”
He began to slowly escort her back the way they came.
“She treats me fine,” Paulien replied unconvincingly.
“And…” Telie stopped and looked at her gently. “Can I ask you a terribly personal question?”
“Yes?” She replied, with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
“Was love a part of your marriage to my brother? Was he a loving man?” In a quieter voice, he added: “I did not know him as well as I would have liked.”
“He was in his own way…” Paulien replied hesitantly. “As with any arranged marriage, it took time for us to get to know and love each other, but he was a good man, and very driven when it came to his work… whatever that was.”
“He was secretive about what he was doing for the House? Was he always having meetings with my other older brothers? Am I naive to think a House in this day and age can survive without daggers hidden behind cloaks?”
“I know nothing of daggers,” She replied. “But he was often traveling on business, or seeking out some spell. More than once he spoke of adventures in a kind of off-hand and vague way, and yes, sometimes he had Philo or Demosthenes with him…sometimes not…”
Telémahkos nodded and began walking slowly again, offering Paulien his arm and changing the subject. “It is amazing how much Andrea looks like you, and Spiro, my brother. Isis has blessed you.”
(1) Timotheus would spend this time drinking with old caravan guard buddies and visiting the local house of ill-repute in Azure, while Tymon visited family that lived in Azure.
(5) ‘Trumps’ or ‘Trumpeters’ is slang for the Thrician Herald’s Guild, long beholden to the Coopers.
(6) There was a large funeral for Telémahkos’ three older brothers, and Bleys was excused from the Academy to attend and be at his widowed sister’s side.
So is anyone finding these InterSessions remotely interesting?
I think they're awesome. They provide perspective on, and insight into, the characters that we simply don't get from the sessions themselves. More please.
Just caught up again, and I have to say that while I greatly enjoy the intersessions, I much prefer the actual games. If I have to pick one, I pick the game sessions. I am excited to see what Markos might learn during his time in Moon City. And it will be interesting to see how the combat tactics change with everyone's advancement.
InterSession #8.6– “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile in Schiereiland… (part 2 of 2)
Balem, the 19th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
By the time they reached Chalkour, Timotheus was tired of Telémahkos’ withdrawn mood. The blond Briareus arrived from Epithalassos-By-The-Sea exhausted from his hard ride, with nary a grunt by way of greeting. They had accompanied a well-guarded merchant caravan going up in the direction of Pyla, as the road to the eastern foothills of the Westen-Scherp Muur was often dangerous. Telémahkos had climbed into one of the wagons, wedging his bedroll into a corner and went immediately to sleep. Tim had to withstand the cutting comments of his old caravan guard companions, through which he had arranged the trip. While he and Telie were guests of the caravan and were not officially expected to do any labor, good manners obligated that they help, but even after Telémahkos caught up on his sleep he did little. He wandered away from the fire when song or jocularity began, and never took a watch. Additionally, he had dismissed Tymon, allowing his servant to spend the rest of his break with his family in Azure. They would meet up again later.
It took seven days of driving the heavy oxen further and further up into the hills until the wall of mountains on the horizon made night fall all that more quickly. As slow as the trip felt, so too was Telémahkos’ mood slow to improve.
“Don’t worry, cousin,” Telémahkos said when Tim complained. “Once I bask a bit in the warmth of your own family, I’ll feel a lot better.”
Timotheus normally cheerful demeanor was all the more effervescent when he first caught sight of the thatched roofs of Chalkour’s homes.
“Here we are! Home, blessed home!” Tim took a deep breath of hill country air, redolent with the smells of grape and goat. “We'll stop over at my folks' house first, then we'll head over to the castle,” he said to Telémahkos as he shouldered his pack and began to take long-strides up the road towards the village, waving good-bye to his friends in the caravan.
“Just a minute, hayseed. I'm going over to the foreman's station and finding out when we need to ship out of here to meet the others on time. I can meet you back at your folks,” Telémahkos called, and he headed down to where the merchants coming into and out of town registered with the local authorities, paid tariffs and made deals.
“Sure thing, Killer,” Tim called back. “Try not to get lost; I know how confused you get by all the trees and grass and sheep.” “Hey, Evan!” Timotheus greeted a local youth, as he walked down the one thoroughfare in the village. “Can you go up to High Talon and tell my lord father that my cousin and I are in town? Let him know we'll be over to pay our respects after we get cleaned up.”
“Sure thing!” the kid said happily and headed out towards the small stone keep at the top of the neighboring and taller hill.
Timotheus waved and called to the villagers as he made his way to his step-father’s smithy.
"Look what the cat dragged in!" Tim’s half-sister Ivy's voice bellowed as he approached the smithy. She stepped in front of the doorway and gave the tall man a rough, but playful, push by way of greeting. "What are you doing here??!" She did not let him in. Ivy had long wavy reddish-brown hair and a freckled round face. She was squat, like all the Chalkour Smiths. (1)
The clanging in the smithy stopped.
"Just came back to see my favorite little sister," Timotheus made an exaggerated show of looking around. "I don't see her anywhere, but I guess you'll do." Laughing, he pointed past her into the smithy. "Is that dad or Bird-Brain in there? And is everyone else around? I won't be staying long, so I want to get in all of the visiting time I can."
Ivy shoved Tim again. "Don't call my husband a bird brain, you son of an ogre! Anyway, both father and Nicky are working in there."
As Timotheus stepped the rest of the way in, Hagen stepped up, leather apron wrapped around his thickening mid-section, to greet Tim. He had curly reddish-brown hair and was nearly a full foot shorter than his stepson. "Son! It is good to see you. I was not expecting to see you so soon…" He put out one big calloused hand to grasp onto Tim's and the other reached up to squeeze his shoulder.
Timotheus grabbed hold of Hagen’s hand and then pulled the man into a bear hug. "It's good to see you too, dad," he said warmly. "I had some time off from the charter, so I came up here to see all of you. Telémakhos is here too." Releasing his father, he continued, "I have to go see Master Erasmus as soon as I get cleaned up, but I'll see you all for dinner afterwards, okay?"
“We wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties with the charter or to your Lord father,” Hagen said with humility.
Timotheus nodded to the broad, blond and horse-faced Nick. He was Hagen’s apprentice; betrothed to Ivy.
“Did they kick you out or something?” Ivy asked, smiling.
"Making us proud, I hope!" Hagen smiled broadly, and while facially he looked very different from his stepson there was a quality to the smile that was often seen on Tim's face.
Telémahkos stepped in with a smile and a shy wave.
The smith greeted Telémahkos as well, shaking his hand. He turned back to Tim: "You just missed your uncle Soren, he was here three days ago to speak with your Lord Father…"
"Oh well, maybe he'll stop in again while we're in town. Seems like I hardly ever see him anymore,” Timotheus shrugged. “Anyway... did I hear something about a husband? Did you guys hold the wedding without me?"
"Eh, you know Ivy…She's been referring to him as her husband on and off for a year now, depending on her mood…" Hagen says.
Nick's grin melted as Ivy shot him a glare. "Father! You're terrible! Talking about me as if I weren't here!" She pouted melodramatically and takes up the basket she had used to bring them lunch.
"Timotheus, I will see you later…" She said as she left. Tim waved absent-mindedly.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck and walked back to the crucibles they were heating up. Telémahkos looked around bored, whistling a tune.
"Heh." Hagen paid no mind to his daughter’s tantrum, and continued. "As for your uncle, I doubt you'll see him. He took off with some your Lord Father's scouts to show them what he discovered, but I am sure you'll learn about all of that at the keep…"
"Well," Tim replied with a sigh. "I'd better get ready to see my lord father. It's really good to see you, though. It's good to be home."
Timotheus headed out the side door towards the house across the yard to his mother and the rest of his siblings. Telémahkos followed. “There is a barge leaving for Azure on the twenty-second. We have to catch it if we hope to get to Sluetelot in time.”
“Will do, Killer,” Timotheus replied.
"Where are we staying?"
"We'll bunk down in my old room. I turned it over to Flora once I moved out, but she can go back to Ivy's room for a few days. You can take Andy's old bed. He's off on apprenticeship, and I figure you two are about the same size." Tim snickered. (2)
After many more greetings, hugs and tears, the two cousins, dropped off their gear, washed up, changed clothes, were fed and then made their way up to High Talon.
Timotheus called up with warm familiarity to the gatehouse guards. As he led his cousin through the courtyard calling out for the steward, the other servants greeted him either coolly or effusively, but all of them were respectful to Telémahkos. They were led to Sir Erasmus' study, and Timotheus was taken aback by the sound of his noble father yelling at someone. He rarely, if ever raised his voice.
"Then check it all again and find it! A whole cart load of copper ore does not walk away on its own …" Erasmus Briareus was as tall as his son, but not quite as broad as his brother Agamemnon. He was lighter as well, having inherited the fairer traits of their mother evident in Telémahkos. If anything, Telie looked more like Erasmus’ son than Agamemnon’s. His collar was open, and his coat was folded over the back of an overstuff chair. He had one foot up on a low stool and a young boy was shining his boots. Erasmus held a rolled up piece of parchment in one hand
Timotheus recognized one of the mine foreman as the target of the knight’s derision. The man walked out meekly, barely looking up to greet them.
"Greetings, my lord father! Would a hundred silver pieces brighten your day?" Timotheus stepped in with his arms open and wide smile.
“Timotheus! I had word that you had arrived. This is an unexpected surprise!” He shooed the boy away and walked over for a firm handshake and manly nod of approval. He greeted Telémahkos with cool familiarity. “Nephew…”
Telémahkos nodded back.
“I hope there is nothing wrong with that missing copper shipment,” Timotheus said. “We can help find it, if you need us to…”
“No! No!” Erasmus laughed off the suggestion. “It is just my lazy-minded foremen and their clerical mistakes. I need to pay a healthy donation and get some local boy with a head for letters and numbers to join up the church of Thoth and come and work up here a few years… But, no… Everything is fine… And with you? What have you and your charter been up to?”
Timotheus gave his noble father a truncated account of they had been doing in a familiar, yet still deferential way. Telémahkos only offered his view on things when a question was put to him, otherwise he tried to figure out how his own father could be so different, for while Erasmus had no less potential menace in his comportment, he had a genuine warmness towards his bastard son.
“So there have been no consequences of this event that you are looking for me to help you out of? Nothing like that?” Erasmus asked, skeptical.
Timotheus laughed. “No! Not at all father…” It took a bit to convince Erasmus, but once he became so he warmed up even more and asked to have parts of the tale told him in more detail, being more concerned with the fighting tactics used and the general strength of the foes than any intrigues.
“It is unfortunate that your other charter members are not also here, and that you did not come sooner,” Erasmus commented. “I would have hired you all to accompany your uncle Soren and some of my officers. It seems he’s discovered some secret trail, partially subterranean that hobgoblins are using to travel down into the Schrabs from the Oreithales. It might be big numbers, and if so we may have to try to arrange something with House Roose to take care of it…”
“Oh yes, my… Hagen mentioned something about Soren having been around…” Timotheus was intrigued. “Hobgoblins in the Schrabs… Interesting… And we’d be happy to visit House Roose for you if it comes that… Wouldn’t we Telie?”
“Um… Yes? Yes!” Telémahkos nodded vigorously.
“Make sure you go down to the kitchens and let them know you and Telémahkos will be here for dinner,” Erasmus said. “I will see you then…”
“Not tonight, father… I have having dinner with my mother, but tomorrow?”
“Very well…” If Erasmus was disappointed, he did not show it.
Timotheus and Telémahkos spent just over three days enjoying everything Chalkour had to offer. They bought rounds at the Lighted Lamp, and there was not a dry eye in the house when Telie sang ‘the Lay of Isis’ and got tears of laughter when he acted out all the parts to gnomish song he had learned while slumming it one night in Quillton. (3) Timotheus found time to gives bits of his share of the Kraken’s Cove booty to his stepfather and his mother and his sister to help towards her wedding. Telémahkos spent afternoons practicing his tumbles in sheep meadows, ducking and rolling to emulate what Mena had described. (4)
In the early morning of the twenty-second of Ter they boarded a river barge, and joined a crew poling goods south back to Azure. There they would catch a ferry to Sluetelot and meet the others.
(1) As with most small places in Aquerra, people’s surnames here are based on the traditional profession of their family.
(2) Anders (aka Andy) is Tim’s 14-year old half-brother.
(3) While in Quillton, Telémahkos spent one evening sharing songs and drinking heavily with the cast a gnomish theatre, and would have lost a great deal of coin in a card game if not for the generosity of the local gnomes.
(4) Telémahkos was doing self-training to gain the evasion ability of rogues.
Who is this Timotheus? I dunno, but I like him. Like, really, really, like him. Where is this guy? Can we get him in our party? Or is it that we are all such jerks that we stifle this side of his personality, making it cower in fear?
InterSession #8.7– “Denouement & Decampment”: The Road to Sluetelot…
Ralem, the 22nd of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Laarus Raymer of Ra had arrived in Sluetelot the night before, but after meeting with Euleria Finch and seeing what progress she has made on behalf of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland he headed out to Lilly City. Three days before that he had passed through Moon City and had made an attempt to find Markos at the University of Thricia, where his cousin was training, but the city proved even bigger than he had imagined.
He took a barge down the Sluetelot Canal for something short of silver, and by late afternoon he was in ‘the Drowned City’. Lilly City, also called ‘the City of Flowers’, or ‘New Heliopolis’ and at least once by a drunken bard, ‘the City of Too-Many Names’, was a city of canals, its buildings constructed atop the remains of the old city lost to the encroachment of the Captured Sea. The young priest of Ra was forced pay for a gondola to take him o the High Temple of Ra near the center of the city.
The temple had fort-like outer walls topped with a golden glass pyramid surrounded by seven tall hieroglyphic-covered pillars. He knew that with dawn he would be up there singing praises to his god before the sacred flame, as that was holiest of Ra’s shrines in Thricia. The filmy water of the city’s canals lapped at broad stone steps that led up to the thick bronze doors of the place, and the guards bowed to him as he entered. The temple foyer was a room paneled in beaten bronze relief of Matet’s journey across the sky, reflecting numerous candles and open braziers.
Laarus called a novice over. “Young novice, let Master Dracius know Laarus Raymer of Ra is here and requests an audience at his convenience.”
The novice bowed his head. “Yes sir. . .” He hurried off.
In the meantime, he sought out the temple steward and arranged for a cell to sleep in. Having led enough guests to their quarters as a young novice himself, he did not require someone to guide him. As he brought his gear there, Dracius of Ra greeted him with a smile, hand outstretched to clasp.
He was an older man with a clean shaven head and a golden torc about his neck clasped firmly to his bronze-colored cassock. “Young master Laarus! What a pleasant surprise! I would have thought you would have been deep in the Disputed Territories by now…”
“We made it to the Disputed Territories. But only to a secluded cove… We were investigating rumors of an attack against House Wetherwax, but found ourselves in a completely unexpected situation,” Laarus explained, stopping in the doorway to his cell. “House Weatherwax may still be in danger, but we've learned little else to lead us in the direction of the truth. We are now preparing to depart towards the Disputed Territories once again. We plan to stop in Wesmearshire on the way. There seems to be great interest in the King Stones, but I am uneasy about it. Do you know anything of them?”
“An attack on House Wetherwax? You mean on their citadel in Tribunisport? Or on their ships? Did anything come of the rumors? Or were they just that?” He followed Laarus into the cell and closed the door behind them for more privacy.
“We were led to believe it would be against their fleet, but so far it has remained a rumor, but we all sense it is more serious. We only know of one who would have more information, but we don't know his whereabouts,” Laarus said. He kept his hands folded in front of him and spoke in an even and unexcited tone, never looking away from the elder priest.
“And that is?”
“Vanthus Vanderboren. We don't know how he is involved. He appears to have had contact with one who is,” Laarus replied.
“Vanderboren? I seem to know that name… Son of Vareck of the Dancing Sword, correct?” Laarus nodded, and Dracius of Ra continued. “Interesting… Have you alerted House Wetherwax?”
“I have not.” He paused and bowed his head slightly to the right, deep in thought and then looked up again. “I don't believe anyone else has either. But, as I've said, it is little more than a rumor at this point.”
“But you must have felt there was something to it or else you would not have investigated it…” Dracius rubbed his scalp hard with his right hand. “My question is: If this Vanthus is a danger to the Wetherwaxes or has information that can guard them against attack should they not be told so they may raise their own effort to find him?”
“Feeling there might be something to the rumors does not make them true. One should pay mind to their feelings, but never mistake them for fact,” Laarus stated, as if quoting an old adage. “Had we informed Weatherwax of our initial assumptions, we would've misled them. We have little more proof of anything now. I would not wish to steer their efforts in the wrong direction.”
“How can you steer their efforts in the wrong direction by warning them of a possible attack and someone who knows more of it, young Laarus? I can understand not wanting to propagate rumors, but what do you think will happen if there is an attack and the word gets out that you and your companions knew something.… anything about it ahead of time?”
“I see your point,” Laarus conceded. “I still feel uneasy about doing so.” He gave it another moment’s thought, and continued. “I've not the time to visit them immediately. I'll need to meet with the rest of the group and convince them it is the just thing to do.”
“I can easily send word for you and tell them of this 'Vanthus', and you can go on with your journey to the Disputed Territories and the King Stones…” Dracius offered.
“I feel it would be best if we were to bring the news to House Weatherwax ourselves. Should I not be able to convince them to delay our departure, I'll send you a message gladly accepting your offer.”
“It is no trouble at all. I am sending an agent of the church down there for temple business. It is someone I trust implicitly,” Dracius assured him.
“Have there been any new divinations concerning the Disputed Territories and the Kingdom of the Red God since we last spoke?” Laarus asked.
“Divinations? I am not sure which you mean…?” Dracius frowned. “But I would not be privy to the divinations of our higher priests unless I were being briefed for some duty I was being given.”
“I mean, do you have any further information on the activities in the Disputed Territories?” Laarus rephrased. (1)
“No. . . Nothing new… It has not been very long,” He smiled. “Now, did you say you had some questions on the King Stones?”
“Yes. What do you know about them? As I said, there appears strong interest to head there. But, I'm not so sure.”
“Well, I just have a general knowledge. Long ago they were the tombs of pretender barbarian kings, but have long since been ransacked and transformed into the lairs of various humanoids that are always vying for control of the resources in the area with the local remaining human barbarian tribes. . .”
Laarus holds up his hand. “I don't want to waste your time. I was more wondering if you saw any significance to the matter at hand.”
“Significance? I am not sure I know what you mean. . .”
“Traveling to the King Stones was first mentioned by Joezyn Barhyte. He suggested we could gain treasure by raiding the tombs found there. The tombs may be defiled. But some of those buried worshipped Ra's Pantheon, though in a different visage. I do not feel it is right to steal from their tombs. We've since learned of a group of adventurers doing just this. They encountered dervishes in the area. This news gives the area significance, as we know the Red God has at least a passing presence there. But, there are some in my band who are still interested in Barhyte's suggestion. And one who has another motivation, though he sees it not fit to share. This is what troubles me.”
“Well, if you know of dervish camps in the area of the King Stones then you know more than I do, for I have not heard of such. . . From what I know these camps are further south - but that does not mean there are not more in other places. . . The barbarian kings followed syncretic heretical cults. . . Their rituals of burial are not those of the recognized laws of Anubis. . . And even if they were, whatever belonged to the so-called kings originally buried there are long gone. . . If you do come upon a tomb that is still sealed from that time, then within will be a great amount of wealth - but you must decide then whether it would be a violation based on the situation, and if it is, then leave it sealed.”
“Are these kings of old not from the barbarian tribes that exist today? Are you saying that none of these tribes are true followers of Ra's Pantheon?” Laarus asked. The young priest still stood, though the elder priest sat on a low stool, occasionally flexing his knee in slow exaggerated stretches.
“If they are remains to be seen. . . They have unapproved of traditions, and at such a time when the Disputed Territories are reincorporated into Thricia the church will have to make a ruling on those barbarians, and work towards bringing them into the fold of the proper way to honor Ra and the other gods. . . Again, this is something you will have to decide upon your arrival and interaction with them. . . As for the connection of the current tribes to those of old. .. Whatever connection it tenuous at best. . . Similar to those noble houses that declare themselves descendants of Harbinger or Amarantha…”
“I see. So are these Beast Gods not truly Ra and the other gods in a different visage? I always saw them as such. Not as a loose approximation of the proper gods of Ra's Pantheon. Or is only the barbarians' method of worship and their rituals suspect?” Laarus continued with his query.
“Generally, the latter…but do not think that all these tribes worship in the same ways or the same gods. . . There are as many different customs as there are tribes. . .”
“I was not assuming such. And I understand not all the beast gods have connection to Ra and his Pantheon.”
Laarus took a moment of silence to let it all set in. “You've eased the burden on my mind. While maybe not moral, removing items from these tombs would not an affront to the gods. I've less to worry of my companion's behavior. I'll heed your advice and rule again once the evidence is seen.”
Turning to his items, Laarus picked up his suit of scale mail. “I'm donating this to the church. I plan to purchase a different set of armor tomorrow.”
“I shall bring it to the armory for you, if you like, as you must be fatigued from your journey” Dracius said, standing and reaching for it. Laarus thanked his mentor and handed it over.
As Dracius turned to leave, Laarus asked one final question. “Should I need to take you up on your offer, what is the name of the agent you are sending?”
“Eubren Winter of Ra.”
Tholem, the 25th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Victoria of Anhur and Bleys the Aubergerine traveled with a caravan of gnomish merchants heading for Weirspierogen thanks to the efforts of Lavinia Vanderboren. The road between was not safe enough for two to travel alone, and the gnomes were happy to have extra bodies to discourage bugbears and bandits. There the militant and the watch-mage would catch the ferry across Drie-Hoek Bay to Sluetelot .
The road west made its way over and around wooded hills, coming round bends to come upon half-deserted hamlets of poor folks living off the land. It skirted atop the bald foothills of the Little Groots Mountains, known for its goblins. However, they traveled without event.
As neither was very talkative, they fell into an easy and comfortable silence around each other. The kind of quiet respect that requires no verbal acknowledgment, and that even years of friendship cannot always muster. When they did speak it was succinct comments on horses or birds (2), and once a brief conversation about the relationship of the gods to one another.
The journey had taken a hard week, spending most of their day walking, which made Victoria miss Argos all the more. (3) They made their final camp just past mid-day in the shade of towering trees atop the final rise of the northern Ben Huevels where they gave way to Weirspierogen and the bay. Bleys Winter thought of his father not quite a day’s ride to the south, and then his mind drifted to the map folios he carried, their wards dispelled by Malcolm the Bronze and their great value appraised by Lavinia Vanderboren. He remembered that evening when he went to ask her the favor, and to try to fill in some questions he had regarding Vanthus, and her parents. He recalled how he had bended to one knee, her hand clasped in his and held to his chest as he swore, “I vow to do my best to bring Vanthus and answers back to you, my lady. From this night forth: I swear before Isis.” (4)
Bleys noted the Tower of High Hill and realized how close they really were.
Victoria walked over. “Bleys, I was thinking we should request the hospitality of Sparlange… Since House Devenpeck is known to be no friends of House Wetherwax, perhaps if we bring up the rumors of the plot while there something will come loose… Perhaps some name will be mentioned…”
“I would rather not,” Bleys replied flatly, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Could you not bed down at the Temple of Anhur? I am almost certain that Garkhan the Green would grant me hospitality for one evening.” (5)
Noting Bleys' rare show of discomfort, Victoria asked, "What's wrong? Didn't the others suggest that we all try to find more information about the possible plot against Weatherwax while we were going our separate ways? Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Well, I can say that there is much you don't know?" Bleys sighed, it was half a statement and kind of a question. "Let me ask you this: Where do you stand on honor? Is it more honorable to serve duty and law, or to serve altruism and goodness?"
"Laws form the path by which we travel toward the light, so I do not feel the need to put service for one over the other. That said, law is the means and good is the end, if that answers your question any," Victoria responded, obviously confused by this sudden philosophical discussion, despite her immediate answer. She considered Bleys for a moment, and then continued, "Do you have reason to mistrust the Devenpecks, but lack evidence? If so, what better opportunity to obtain some than staying at their manse?"
Bleys nodded as she replied, as if in agreement. "You are entitled to your suspicions, I will not correct you. He adopted a tone of formality and lowered his voice just slightly. He surveyed the hasty camp, looking for any caravan members who might be attempting to overhear the young nobles' conversation. "However, Lady Victoria, it should be known that as second son to Callum Winter, patriarch of the Devenpeck Winters, Master of the Roost in the Ben Heuvels, in service to House Devenpeck, it would be uncouth of me to cast further suspicion upon the nobility of the house we dutifully serve, or propagate uncorroborated rumors as to their political machinations or agenda as I certainly have no evidence to do so. I must now beseech you to desist in your inquiry." Bleys looked directly at her with the last. "…And I would rather not look for venom and snakes in the vipers' nest. At least not yet, not now…"
As realization of Bleys' blood ties dawned on Victoria, her eyes widened, but quickly narrowed again. She returned Bleys' stare. She whispered, "I had not spoken of suspecting House Devenpeck … My thought was that they may know of others with bad intentions toward House Weatherwax. I understand that it may be… unseemly to use our benefactors for information this way, but I have no intention of accusing the Devenpecks or even of spreading any rumors of their involvement in the plot, since I have little reason yet to think they are involved. My intention is merely to bring up the rumors of the plot as light dinner conversation, and hope that it will lead to some possible suspects we are unaware of. If you have some problem with even this, Bleys, I wish you would as straightforward as I have found you so far and tell me why."
Victoria Ostrander put her fists on her hips, striking an imposing figure in her scale mail armor, silver spear of Anhur shining around her neck.
Bleys looked about again, as if nervous. "Victoria, listen to me… Have reason… This is a conversation that we can no longer have. Not now. Not here. We may speak again in Sluetelot . I cannot go to Sparlange with you tonight. I can be no clearer on this." He leaned closer. "And while you may do as you wish, I would encourage you to do the same. At the very least, should you do so, make no inquiries while there, into this suspected plot. And it may behoove us were you not to offer my presence in town. You are blooded of a minor noble house, should an accident befall you, well… excuses could be made."
Bleys paused, but Victoria seemed to still be mulling it over, so he continued: "The Temple of Anhur, I am certain, could house you for one evening, would not protocol be slaked by requesting this?"
Victoria studied Bleys for a long time. "Very well, I'll take your advice, but we will speak of this in Sluetelot . I mislike secrets among those who are ostensibly friends."
The caravan master was calling out in his high gnomish voice that the break was over. “We should be in Weirspierogen proper in about three or four hours,” he announced. Victoria walked to where the front of the caravan was forming up, not saying another word.
Later, Bleys reminded her that they would meet just before dawn at the ferry to Sluetelot . She nodded her agreement.
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Hours later she was in the sparring court of Weirspierogen’s temple of Anhur, taking out her anger on a practice dummy. The novices, who lined up to spar with the guest militant, as was custom in this church, did their best to hide their worry when they saw her brutal and precise blows.
The temple was halfway up the western side of High Hill. From here there was a good view of Weirspierogen below, and it was much smaller and impoverished than Victoria had imagined. Passing Sparlange on the way, she noted there was no lack of splendor and pomp there, and the temple of Anhur, while spartan, as was custom, was large and well-attended; everything of the finest quality.
Militant Julian Spar played the part of host for her. He had earned a reasonable high rank at this temple despite his youth. He was friendly and eager to hear of her exploits. He also passed on the high militant’s invitation to join him at his table at dinner.
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High Militant Crispus Devenpeck was a tall and handsome man just past thirty, his brown hair cut very close to his scalp, and counter to Thrician custom. He took his meals in the mess hall with other militants and novices, at a table removed from the others, where he and his advisors could talk privately, if they needed to. This time, however, the occasion was merely good form in handling a guest.
He stood as Victoria approached, reaching his hand out to shake it with the equal respect some militants failed to show women of their order.
“Well met and welcome,” he said, sitting down and gesturing for her to do the same. “I must admit I am surprised to see a member of your charter here in town without young Bleys. I hope all is well with him…” He smiled.
“Bleys is alive and well and traveled with me here to Weirspeirogen,” Victoria replied. “Though he felt his visit was better spent consulting with the local watch-mage… I must compliment the impressive statue of Anhur above the sparring court. It is a wonderful example of craftsmanship…”
“Yes,” High Militant Crispus replied, going along willingly with the change of subject. “It is a Brairley… A relatively recent installation, obviously…” (6) And the talk went on in that fashion…
(1) There was some confusion regarding Dracius of Ra’s use of the word “divined” when he first discussed the Disputed Territories with Laarus. The latter interpreting it to mean, the information the elder priest was sharing was gained by means of divine magic.
(2) House Ostrander is known for their ability to breed fine horses, and Bleys’ father is the Master of the Roost, House Devenpeck’s aviary for faultless and falcons.
(3) Argos was killed by falling into the yellow musk creeper pit in Session #4
(4) This scene, too, is from an InterSession thread that did not make it to the story hour.
(5) There was also a scene covering Bleys the Aubergine’s visit with Garkhan the Green, some the contents of which may be covered in a future installment in the young watch-mage’s journal.
And so, that is (finally) the last of the InterSessions between Sessions #8 and #9 - the next installment will be the first part of Session #9, which I will be posting as soon as I am done writing the whole session up (I am about 3/5 of the way through it). But I also have Sessions #10 thru #12 to write up, and I am sure we will play Session #13 before I get that completed.
But I won't be working on it this weekend, as I will be away celebrating my birthday with friends (some of which are in this campaign). . .
I have completed writing up Session #9, and I hope to get the first installment of it (1 of 3) up tonight after today's session (#13), and then get to writing #10.
The coolness of the night gave way to the cleaving heat of mid-summer Sluetelot. The sea gave no hint of a breeze to alleviate the closeness, and Bleys the Aubergine was glad to get up early and greet the day rather than struggle for an extra hour of the damp tossing and turning, as Telémahkos and Timotheus were doing, weary from their late arrival by ferry the night before, followed by their immediate joining of revels. Tymon was already up, washing his master’s travel clothes.
Bleys and Victoria had arrived in Sluetelot late in the evening two days before, where Laarus awaited them having returned from Lilly City that same afternoon. They were nearly done with their own breakfast when Timotheus and Telémahkos joined them, and might have gone on their way if there were not news to share of their time apart, business to handle with Euleria, and grousing to do about the fact that Markos would be late.
“Did he say why he would be late?” Laarus Raymer had asked the steward of his cousin when he had passed through a few days before, doing nothing to hide his disapproval.
“His message only said that he training would take longer to complete than he first thought,” Euleria had replied. Then as now she was wearing her typical tight fitting-clothes that seemed appropriate for an afternoon hunting foxes, and she had a calm demeanor only occasionally broken by the slightest of smiles.
The common room of the Death & Taxes Inn was empty of all other patrons, and still being cleaned up from the night before, as was common at this time of the day. Barton Digits served with even more obsequious joy than normal, having happily collected and recorded the tax the young nobles paid on their spoils from their adventure in Kraken’s Cove. (2)
Euleria presented them with an itemized list of all the expenses that had incurred since their last meeting. No one objected to discussing financial matters in Markos’ absence, though the steward was certain to ask before she began. The expenses included purchasing provisions for their upcoming long journey and arranging for transport of their horses from the livery outside New Harbinger by barge to Sluetelot. She also informed Victoria that three good light warhorses had been picked out for her to choose from at the stables in New Sluetelot. (3)
“I have also arranged for the halflings of Wesmearshire to provide a guide into the Disputed Territories, but I could make no details in terms of what it will cost. It shall have to be negotiated when you arrive there.”
“Thank you, Euleria,” Bleys said to the steward. “As always, your service is invaluable. Much more than we could ever hope to expect. You do those of your profession credit…”
Euleria smiled awkwardly and thanked him for his praise with sincere humility, and then she turned the talk to the hiring of Falco Fletching and Dunlevey the Swordsman.
“They want to re-negotiate their pay,” Euleria explained. “They would be willing to lower their per day pay to five pieces of copper, or five-percent each of the gross spoils recovered while in the Disputed Territories, whichever is greater.”
The young nobles all found this very disagreeable, but Telémahkos was particularly vocal in his opposition to agreeing to those terms. There was a long debate about crafting a counter-offer to the would-be hirelings, And Bleys suggested they dismiss them altogether, while Timotheus wanted to try to make an offer to Dunlevey to be hired on as his personal sword-arm, while Laarus was concerned with the phrasing of the charter when it came to the split of spoils and did not want to agree with any thing requiring a split off the top before the noble houses got their share.
“Why do you think they want to change their terms?” Victoria asked. “They were happy with less before.”
“I told you dismissing them was a bad idea,” Timotheus said. “Sell-swords don’t like having their time wasted.”
Falco and Dunlevey arrived soon after and negotiations began in earnest. It soon became apparent that the two would-be hirelings had decided to negotiate as a duo as to have a stronger bargaining position. Worried that after taxes and paying the Houses, their own shares would hardly be more than what the two were asking for, they could not agree. After a long discussion, Falco and Dunlevey were offered three copper pieces a day or two and half percent of the gross treasure recovered, whichever was greater. The party would also pay for their provisions. It was agreed.
The discussion turned to what exactly the party would do next, and while the discussions were relatively peaceful without Markos around, but they were no shorter.
Laarus of Ra brought up taking a detour by Tribunisport to warn House Wetherwax that an attack on their naval forces might still happen, but the others were against any possible delay. They were more agreeable to his alternative of having Dracius of Ra send word with his agent who was headed to the area anyway. (4)
Later that afternoon, Bleys accompanied Victoria of Anhur to the stables in New Sluetelot to look in on the party’s horses and aid her in the purchase of a new warhorse to replace Argos. After some haggling on her part from the watch-mage, she bought a particularly hardy light warhorse that the hands had dubbed ‘Ironside’. It was a gray horse with a mottled white belly and legs and a black mane.
Osilem, the 3rd of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Though evening’s shadows had arrived, it was still very light out this time of year, and the patio Death & Taxes was as crowded as the common room.
The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were gathered around a table, finishing dinner and complaining that Markos had not yet arrived, when he was spotted pushing his way through the crowd without looking up, his nose buried in a small book he was paging through. (5)
“Markos!” Telémahkos called to him, getting up to meet him half way. The slender mage looked up and made a weak wave by way of hello and continued upstairs to the suites. Sighing, Telémahkos went after him and brought him back to the table, so the party might discuss their options and fill him in on decisions regarding the hirelings and expenses.
Markos looked bored throughout the entire discussion. They also told him about the vote to go to the King Stones, and he did not object. All that was left was the matter of when they would leave.
“I would like to stay one last day or two in order to scribe some spells,” Markos asked. “I have learned a new spell I plan to use on our front-line fighters… with your permission…” He gave a weak smile to the group, despite the contempt that burned in his eyes. “It would enlarge you, making you stronger, and giving you more reach. Victoria, I thought you in particularly would benefit from it with your long spear…”
The militant shook her head. “I already have access to that spell by Anhur’s grace,” she said. “And I personally find the downsides outweigh the benefits.”
Markos’ lip twisted in disapproval. He turned to Timotheus. “And you?”
“Sounds fun,” Timotheus smiled, and took three big gulps of ale.
“If we are to be headed to the King Stones, I believe we may be able to kill two birds with one stone, as they say,” Bleys said. “We might do service to the Triad (6) and to Ra’s pantheon by retrieving the amulet of Fallon. I know the church of Isis, specifically would also hold those who accomplished this feat in high esteem.” (7)
Bleys the Aubergine brought out the map that Malcolm the Bronze had provided him and retold what he knew of the Moor Tombs (8), and noted how both maps they had referred to the barbarian people know as the Ray-Ree. He also told them of the amulet, and the likelihood of finding it.
Victoria and Laarus, of course, were eager to look into this and do honor to their gods and the followers that came before them, and Telémahkos and Timotheus had no objection to looking into it while they were down there.
“Anything is better than fighting ogres,” Telie said with a forced smile.
“Malcolm the Bronze mentioned that the Ray-Ree are used to having adventurers come through their territory, and may help us, but they are a proud people and we must come bearing gifts… Tools that are rare for them, but common for us…” Bleys went on to explain. We are to give them these things with no expectation of trade or payment. Anything they give us will be as gift as well… But if we do not offend them, we will benefit from their aid more than the mere cost of such items…”
There was no objection to this at all, and soon Euleria was given the task of procuring such tools for the party to bring with them, given a budget of up to thirty pieces of silver.
Isilem, the 9th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
It was not until three days later that the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland headed out of Sluetelot once again, by way of the Beach Road as they had nearly two months before. In that time they took care of last minute business, including packing their gear, agreeing to pay for Bleys to learn and scribe the enlarge person spell as well, and discussing their route and goals some more. In addition, a horse had to be acquired for Tymon.
They wondered at the reputation of the Beach Road when once again three days of travel on it brought no noteworthy event, let alone an attack by bandits.
“Bandits would not be foolish enough to attack a band of nine men on horses,” Bleys commented.
They hurried past Bog End, not wanting to deal with the aggressive locals, and Falco led the way into the rolling plains divided into perfectly square farmsteads. Here local farmers waved to them as they passed on the dirt tracks that divided up the properties, and just before mid-day on their fourth day of travel they came upon a hamlet at some crossroads that was having their market day. Here they happily paid a few copper for homemade muffins, fresh cow’s milk still warm from the udder, and spicy blackened sausages on a stick.
As they made to leave, they were called to by a tall figure in long yellow robes. As the man approached they could see he was a watch-mage. He had long graying wavy hair, and a long face with a jutting dimpled chin. He held a long ornate staff. He introduced himself as Terrance the Yellow.
After a brief discussion of the weather and the possible dangers on the road, Terrence made mention to Bleys the Aubergine of one Jacoba the Brown, a watch-mage of House Brill who was stationed in the Border Shires. He bid them farewell.
Before nightfall, the young nobles and their retainers made camp on the edge of a wall of thorny trees.
“Beyond is Thistlewoodshire and the Border Shires,” Falco explained. It was rare that he strung so many words together at once, and he had a strange habit of picking one person he stared at when he spoke, even if he was addressing the whole group. “We will continue in the morning. The narrow paths beyond are unsafe for our mounts in the dark, and there will be many places where we need to dismount to make progress.”
“Do you know this area well?” Timotheus asked their guide.
Falco shrugged, “As well as a human can. I have passed through here once or twice, but though the halfling are always polite, they are not overly fond of big folk, which is what we are to them…”
“Wow, you are almost downright talkative tonight,” Timotheus kidded.
“I had something worth saying,” Falco replied curtly, and walked off to prepare his bedroll.
(1) This session was played on May 27th, 2007, in Maplewood, N.J., rather than our usual Brooklyn gathering place.
(2) See Sessions #6 & 7 for the party’s adventure in Kraken’s Cove. Thrician law states that 6% of all spoils of adventuring or war must be paid in tax. This is halved to 3% for those of noble houses, or chartered by a House or the Crown.
(3) This was part of the instructions sent to Euleria via Faultless during the various InterSessions between Sessions #8 and #9.
(4) Laarus did send word to Dracius to have Eubren Winter of Ra pass on the warning regarding the attack.
(5) Not to be read by other players in the campaign:
Spoiler:
This is a book that was left for Markos at the front desk that Barton Digits had been informed not to show or talk to about to anyone else.
(6) In Thricia, The Triad refers to the alliance of the three goddesses, Isis, Nephthys and Fallon. Otherwise, in most of central Aquerra it would refer to Ra, Thoth and Anhur.
(7) Upon arriving in Sluetelot, Bleys sought out Leisel of Isis to tell her of what Malcolm had told him and get her approval for the quest as a means of encouraging his priestly companions to agree to undertake it.
(8) Bleys learned of the Moor-Tombs from Malcolm the Bronze in InterSession #8.5. To see the Moor-Tomb map itself, click here.
It's good to get another dose. Markos was surprisingly polite this time around. I can't wait for the next combat sequence when we can see what everyone learned in their training.
Session #9 – “Returning to Sluetelot & Leaving Again” (part 2 of 3)
Osilem, the 10th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Mid-morning found the signers of the charter of Schiereiland riding their horses at a slow walk single file along narrow winding tracks through thick woods. The trees on either side of them were tall and tightly packed making it difficult to reach the tall green of the wooded hills that rose to the north. After a time they came across a low stone wall parallel to the trail, and could occasionally see a second similar wall about sixty yards away at the top of a gentle hill, also running parallel. Eventually they came to a branch in the track guarded by a wooden gate connecting the two walls. There they were greeted by the barking of dogs at the top of the hill, and halflings in studded leather armor at the gate. Two held arrows gently to their short bows, while a third did the talking.
“We were told to expect you,” the halfling said in his child-like voice.
They were told to bypass the gates and take the branching southwestern track towards the village of Tunbury. There their guide, someone named Brennis, would meet up with them and take them the rest of the way into the shires.
A few hours later, not long after they packed up after stopping for lunch, they heard the awkward clop of hoofs coming down the obscured embankment to their right. A hairy-hoofed war pony broke through the trees ahead of them. It was brown, with patches of white, and a thick white mane. It snorted. Astride it was a tallfellow halfling with long curly locks and a narrow face. He wore a chainshirt, and had a long sword forged for his size in a scabbard on the saddle. He raised his hand and hailed them.
“Hail, and well met! Are you the nobles of the charter of Schiereiland?” He asked, his high voice not betraying his seriousness.
“Aye, we are,” Bleys called back, and the halfling visibly relaxed, smiling and bringing his pony up the track towards them.
“I am Brennis the Outrider. I bring you greetings from Lady Brigid of House Kilcullen and High Guardian Isolde,” the halfling said.
“Nay, I am merely here to keep you on the right track to Wesmearshire and to he who will be your guide if you can come to acceptable terms,” the halfling outrider replied. “Old Kermit is as good a guide into the Disputed Territories as you can find, and he knows the way to the fabled King Stones and the barbarian lands around it well…”
Brennis began to lead them down the track, and soon it widened enough to allow them to ride two abreast.
“I will bring you somewhere you can sleep tonight, and then tomorrow we will continue,” Brennis said to them.
They rode on for nearly another four hours before crossing an open field that came to a place where four grassy hills were sculpted with homes of the halfling village of Tunbury. The local watch let them through the gate tipping their caps to Brennis, and a few to the party as well, and he led them through the hills to an expansive farm beyond. A barn there would serve as their shelter for the night.
Though the barn was too small to fit all their horses, they would safe tethered outside, and two stalls had been opened for them, spare blankets and pillows folded atop a hay bale. There was also a basket of food prepared for their dinner and a small cask of the local brew, which Timotheus was especially thankful for.
“How can we repay this farmer’s kindness?” Markos asked Brennis.
“Please… You are guests of Thistlewoodshire…” Brennis demurred.
“Oh? Are we still only there?” the young mage asked. “I thought we were in Wesmearshire…”
“Oh, no, we will not reach Wesmearshire for another day and a half,” Brennis replied.
The young nobles fell to discussing tactics once again as they ate, and after a few mugs of ale they were out in the yard for Markos to practice casting his enlarge person spell. Bleys and Victoria watched on soberly, as Laarus and Timotheus stomped around, the latter giddy as he swung his now six-foot long flail.
There was talk of going through some drills in order to practice, but reactions were half-hearted, and fatigue and alcohol began to stretch their moods thin, and soon they were snoring softly in the dark barn, finally exhausted by their frequent clashes of temper.
Balem, the 11th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
All this day Brennis led them along more winding trails through thick woods, passing a few more of the low stone walls half-hidden behind tall hedges and wooden gates. As afternoon waned he directed them to a small lean-to on the side of a babbling stream. Here they would camp and replenish their skins and the horses could graze in the rich meadow on the other side of the water.
As Tymon built the campfire, and the young nobles and their hirelings pulled off their boots and armor, Laarus Raymer of Ra announced that it was his birthday, and drew a bottle of Remoli from his pack. (1) They had to make do with a small cup each of the valuable wine, but it was a fine little celebration, and after another long day of travel they would arrive at the place where they would meet their guide.
Teflem, the 13th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Wesmearshire was notable for its strings of burrows at the edge of meadows atop tall green hills. Here the natural landscape provided the halfling villages with amazing defenses. All the trails they took were way below these homes and meadows, and they could hear the clanging of goats’ bells wafting down to them.
Just about mid-morning they came to large burrow connected to a small barn, at the end of a field broken up by many little streams fed by a nearby river.
It was the home of Kermit Buckleburr. He was harfoot halfling, not more than three and a half feet tall, but wiry, and his sun-weathered skin, thick brushy mustache and narrow-slitted eyes gave him an air of competence that belied his size.
“So you be the big folk that wanna head down to the Disputes, eh?” he asked, through a cigar wedged into the corner of his little mouth.
“Yes,” replied Markos. “We were hoping to negotiate your rate to guide us… I assume you know the area well?”
“Well enough,” replied the halfling, with a smirk. “I been down there and back many times, and I know how to live off the range down there, and keep unseen. Listen to me and you can survive down there, too…” Kermit smirked. “As for my rate, well that’s simple enough, I get an equal share of whatever you find down there… But I don’t go in the caves… I’ll keep an eye out, and keep the animals, but I don’t go in… That’s part of the deal…”
Markos was speechless. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He merely shook his head and turned away sharply, and stepped away. “No…” he mouthed.
“Or you can find your own way,” Kermit added, shrugging.
“I shall leave you to your negotiations,” Brennis said, the awkwardness clear on his face. He wandered over to chat with Dunlevey, Tymon and Falco, who were dealing with the mounts.
“We cannot afford to pay you that much,” Telémahkos said, working hard at hiding his own annoyance at what he considered an unreasonable fee. “It is much more than we are paying our other hirelings, and they will be going into those cave and risking their lives…”
“Where do ya think you’re going? The Disputed Territories are plenty dangerous on their own without going in caves, and I gotta find the safest way for nine big folk with ten horses, or do you know how to avoid the feeding grounds of landsharks?” Kermit spat. He grew gruffer each time he spoke, his disdain for humans becoming apparent.
“Landsharks?” Timotheus was skeptical.
“Well, we cannot afford it, and thus are forced to give you a counter offer,” Telémahkos said, with seething diplomacy. “If you will allow us a few moments to confer…?”
“Of course…” Kermit said.
“I was against hirelings from the outset,” Bleys commented, as the nobles huddled to discuss their options and the counter-offer. “It eats into our coin to a degree beyond our ability to comfortably maintain.”
There was a long discussion and eventually it was agreed to offer the halfling guide the same as Dunlevey and Falco were being paid. Kermit agreed.
“We leave immediately,” the halfling said. “Let me get ole Duckhunter ready, and we’ll be off…”
“That your dog?” Markos asked.
“He’s not my dog. He’s just a dog and my friend,” Kermit complained. “You big folk are always want to proclaim ownership on everything…”
Curious about the process of using a canine as a mount, Victoria asked to accompany Kermit, and he agreed, seeming to find a human woman less objectionable than the males of her kind.
Duckhunter was a Thrician Tall Lushond. Charcoal gray with hints of red and brown, it was a tall and thick-chested dog, that whined happily when Kermit opened the door to the den where the beast made its home, connected to the halfling’s own modest home.
Victoria watched Kermit fasten a small leather saddle of excellent quality onto the hound, but was amazed by the lack of reins.
“Dogs don’t need reins when they been raised right,” Kermit explained. “They are better off with a kind word or a quick pinch to the scruff than being yanked around.” The halfling guide also attached a small pack to the back of the dog’s saddle before mounting.
Brennis bid them farewell, and headed back towards Thistlewoodshire, while Kermit led the party due west into the borders of Rocropshire. Kermit took the lead atop Duckhunter, taking them up drying dusty bluffs that left the thick woods and lush meadows of Wesmearshire behind. Here the yellow chalky landscape was broken up by small copses of scrubby trees, or a lone drooping tree winding its way out of drying pools. Up and up they climbed, as the land to the south fell away sharply.
“Aren’t we climbing away from the Border Rift?” Timotheus asked, unsure of his own knowledge of geography.
“Yep,” Kermit replied. “But we need to take a long way around for the sake of the horses, and to avoid being vulnerable on the steep climb down. Past the river above the Takken Falls, the descent is much more gradual, and better for our purposes.”
“And how will we cross the river? Is there a bridge?” Victoria asked.
“Look! Ferry…” Kermit pointed. They had come to the top of a rise and below them a broad river valley extended, a shocking line of green bordering a wide river on both sides. To their left, which was south, they could hear the distant roar of falls, and see the tall cloud of spray that obscured the horizon in that direction.
A safe distance upriver from the falls, they could make out several buildings on the close side of the river, and a large flat-bottomed boat being poled into a space beside a dock. The glare of the sinking sun obscuring the sight moment by moment.
Anulem, the 14th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
With dawn the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waited as their entourage and mounts were poled across the strong river in pairs on the ferry. It would take most of the morning, and Timotheus went first with Falco, and Laarus went over second with Dunlevey. Meanwhile, the others discussed Vanthus’ map of the islands beyond the Sargasso Bands (2), Markos was eager to determine if the pinhole in the map that was somewhere in the western Disputed Territories might match up with some known place in that area. He asked Kermit, but the halfling was dismissive.
“Nothing over there but barbarians and Dervish camps,” Kermit scoffed.
“You know of the location of Dervish camps?” Victoria asked, overhearing.
“Not specifically,” Kermit replied. “And nowhere near the King Stones… Those are places best avoided by halflings…”
“So you don’t know anything about a magical pearl in that area?” Markos asked.
“Pearl?” Kermit scrunched up his face in confusion.
“Yes! Pearl!” Markos spat, letting his frustration through. Kermit looked to Victoria and raised his eyebrows as if to comment on Markos’ sudden flare of temper. The young mage continued. “You do know what a pearl is, right?”
“I don’t know anything about a pearl in those parts,” Kermit said. “It seems rather silly, it being so far from the sea and all…” The halfling whistled for Duckhunter and then went down closer to the dock to see if the ferry was returning.
(1) Remoli is a fine wine from the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. This bottle was among three found amid the spoils of Kraken’s Cove. See Session #6.
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