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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 3985049" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>"Captain" Romdar</strong></p><p></p><p>“How much longer do we have to go through these thrice-cursed grasslands?” grumbled Barouk the dwarf. </p><p></p><p>“It shouldn’t be much longer. Look!” Severin gestures to indicate the mountains in the distance. “Another day or two and we’ll be on the skirts of the mountains.”</p><p></p><p>“This valley is somewhere along the range of mountains, then?” Kifla asks.</p><p></p><p>Grom nods.</p><p></p><p>“Well, let’s not tarry, then,” the dwarf mutters grumpily. He scuffs the ground with one wide boot. “Come on.”</p><p></p><p>They keep moving. More weary hours of marching slowly pass. The sharp, long grasses leave little cuts on their exposed skin. Only hardy creatures live here: armies of ants and small snakes and lizards underfoot, occasional tough old buzzards in the sky. And there are bound to be more kobolds, but at least our heroes don’t see any for the moment. Flies cloud around rudely before scattering on the wind; fleas and grasshoppers leap merrily onto the passing arms and cloaks of the adventurers.</p><p></p><p><em>Perhaps there is less to be said for adventuring than I initially thought,</em> Zelda considers sourly, limping on a twisted ankle.</p><p></p><p>Barouk shades his eyes and squints. <em>Did I just see movement up ahead?</em> he wonders.</p><p></p><p>“Halt!” shouts a voice. </p><p></p><p>A group of riders appears, thundering forward. The leader is mounted on a green-blue kocho- a type of flightless war bird, used as mounts by the daring and notoriously difficult to control. The others, about half a dozen of them, ride garen (zebra-like animals, each striped in two colors of green, brown and yellow). The leader is dressed as some kind of knight; his followers are clearly some sort of men-at-arms.</p><p></p><p>“Identify yourselves!” the leader demands, as he approaches them. </p><p></p><p>“Why should we?” Romdar retorts. “Who are you to ask who we are?”</p><p></p><p>“I am Sir Cranston, leader of this patrol,” the man answers sternly. “You are in our operational zone. Now, tell us who you are immediately, by the authority of the Emperor!”</p><p></p><p>Immediately, Severin and Romdar think of Cooper. The so-called “herald of Thrush” claimed that the Emperor was dead. <em>Still,</em> thinks Romdar, <em>he is an agent of rightful authority...</em></p><p></p><p>He explains to the knight that they are headed towards the goblin invasion at Drellin’s Ferry, and that they are here as adventurers. But as he speaks, the knight’s face darkens. Clearly, Romdar has somehow said something uncouth or gauche. “Drop your weapons immediately,” the knight demands.</p><p></p><p><em>Thunk.</em> Onto the ground the party’s weapons go. One of the men-at-arms hurries forward and gathers them up, and then our heroes are surrounded and marched off.</p><p></p><p>“Where are we going?” Severin asks.</p><p></p><p>“To our encampment,” the knight snaps shortly.</p><p></p><p>Indeed: our heroes are led further into the foothills, to an area where a small military encampment sits atop a hillock. There is a palisade of stakes beyond the wall, with a moat before the palisade. There are dozens of tents set up, and many soldiers in Forinthian uniform hustling and bustling about. The place shows typical Forinthian military efficiency, with guards posted at watch towers and everything ready to be broken down and carried away or burnt at a moment’s notice. The Imperial flag, as well as the banner of the maniple itself, fly from the watch towers. </p><p></p><p>The party is led into a tent, guards are stationed to watch them and the knight stomps out. Kifla and Barouk can hear some talk about local bandits, and Kifla groans inwardly. <em>They’re going to try to blame us for, for something,</em> she thinks. </p><p></p><p>Soon enough, the knight returns with several other guards. They begin badgering the party with questions, and it immediately becomes apparent that they suspect that our heroes are local bandits or thieves. Despite their protests, the soldiers strip them of their gear. The knight snarls, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, all right!” He sends a page to fetch “the list,” whatever that is, then fixes Romdar with a baleful eye. “We’ll soon see whether you are as innocent as you claim,” he declares.</p><p></p><p>“All right,” Romdar nods. “Then maybe we can get back to what we were doing.” He gives the knight a mild, but clearly annoyed, look.</p><p></p><p>The page returns a few moments later with a ledger, which he hands to Sir Cranston. Obviously expecting our heroes to be frightened by the news, the knight announces that the ledger contains a list of goods stolen in the surrounding areas in the last couple of years.</p><p></p><p>Romdar shrugs again, eloquently. </p><p></p><p>The guards begin sorting through the party’s equipment, none too gently. Meanwhile, Sir Cranston’s superior arrives and listens carefully as the knight relates the tale of his patrol’s meeting with the party, their arousal of his suspicions and “capture”, and now their interrogation and the status of the search. </p><p></p><p>Unfortunately for Sir Cranston, however, only two minor items (pieces of loot from the party’s adventures) appear on the list of stolen goods, and it is plain enough from everyone’s faces that even those are dubious matches to the list. Sir Cranston’s superior is none too pleased. He says, “It appears that you have misjudged these folk. Fine and release them.” With that, he leaves the tent.</p><p></p><p>Thus it is that the party pays 100 gold pieces to regain their gear, less the two confiscated items, and leaves the military camp, more than a little disgruntled.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Into the foothills, out of the Deadgrass Lands at last! Ah, free of the cutting, high blades that constantly irritate the legs (and often higher places). Away from the ash-tainted terrain, away from mazes of hedgerow and tangles of unwholesome growth! </p><p></p><p>“It may be slightly slower travel in the foothills,” Skaal notes, “but it is far more pleasant.”</p><p></p><p>Around dusk, Romdar and Severin both find excellent camp sites. The party chooses the one with water running through it, and soon they have a merry fire crackling as they cook dinner before bedding down. By morning, the sky has turned grey and overcast; the humidity is high, and the temperature has dropped from the normal tropical heat to a sticky mellow warmness. The group breaks camp and starts to march on, and as if to encourage them, it starts to rain a dirty rain. Severin notes that there are bits of ash in the rain yet. Clearly, the air is not yet clean, but the ranger is confident that a few hours of rain- or a few dozen more miles northward- should take care of that.</p><p></p><p>As the party heads down a slope, Kifla points at the opposite face of the defile. “Hey, look over there!” the gnome cries.</p><p></p><p>Another mounted group is coming towards our heroes, moving across a small creek. These ones are clearly <em>not</em> soldiers. They are shabbily-dressed, mounted on skinny garen, and five of the six of them wear studded leather, shortbows and longswords. The party halts and takes a somewhat defensive formation. The group reins in a few dozen yards away. Their leader, who is a middle-aged human with thinning grey hair in fancy-looking leather armor, squints at the party. “Huh!” he exclaims, and canters towards the group. “Captain Romdar? Is that you?” He looks everyone over. </p><p></p><p>Romdar looks puzzled. “I, uh, well, my name is Romdar,” he admits. “But I don’t... I mean... I lost my memory. I don’t know anything. I don’t recognize you...”</p><p></p><p>“You- what?” The man looks nonplussed, then looks the rest of the party over again. His eyes linger momentarily on Barouk. “Ah, I see. Maybe the earl can help. Well, it looks like you’ve at least kept yourself in good company!” He winks. “Come along, then; we’ll go back to camp and see what we can see.”</p><p></p><p>“What’s your name?” Romdar asks helplessly.</p><p></p><p>“Striker,” the man replies. “You really don’t remember anything?”</p><p></p><p>Romdar shakes his head. </p><p></p><p>“Well, you’ve been missing for weeks. You’re our captain, Romdar. You work for the Earl of Thyrozim, same as us. Let’s hope that he can help you with your, uh, little problem.”</p><p></p><p>The party falls in with the Thyrozim men. As they move towards their camp, the party relates the tale of how they met Romdar, captured by kobolds. Romdar listens closely to everything Striker says, hoping that something will provoke a memory, but... nothing. </p><p></p><p>The camp, which is very near to a small keep that looks run-down but not ruined, consists of one great pavilion tent surrounded by a dozen or so smaller tents, with several small fires and one great one beneath the pavilion. A banner with a heron emblem flaps soggily in the wind. As they approach, Striker pulls Romdar ahead and indicates that the others should wait for a few moments. </p><p></p><p>Together with Striker, Romdar walks into the pavilion. Several more of the- men-at-arms?- are beneath the great tent. Seated at a worn, crude table is another man, this one dressed fairly aristocratically. He wears fancy clothing, with a silver circlet set with a heron above the brow. “Look who I found!” Striker cries out.</p><p></p><p>“Romdar!” the aristocrat exclaims, and stands with a slight smile. “Well, well! What happened to you?” </p><p></p><p>“I don’t really know,” Romdar replies uncertainly. “Forgive me- I have no memory- who are you?”</p><p></p><p>“More importantly,” Striker interrupts, “Romdar here comes with <em>very interesting company.</em>”</p><p></p><p>“Oh?” The earl cranes his neck, to peer at the rest of the party, and his face undergoes a remarkable transformation: from a slight expression of pleasure to an exultant, predatory-looking expression of <em>victory.</em> He turns back to Romdar. “Is that him? The dwarf?”</p><p></p><p>“I, uh, don’t know what you mean,” Romdar admits. “But those people are my friends. Look, Striker said that you might be able to help me recover my memory...”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, in due time. But for now, have a seat.” The Earl of Thyrozim smiles and gestures to Striker. “First, I must speak with your friends. Bring them forward,” he commands Striker. The man nods and walks back to the party.</p><p></p><p>“The earl will see you now,” he announces. The party moves forward eagerly, barely noticing that the men-at-arms are closing in behind them. As they move forward and the earl comes into sight, Barouk comes to a dead halt. </p><p></p><p>“YOU!” he shouts. He begins to quake with rage. </p><p></p><p><strong>“MURDERER!!!”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong><em>Next Time:</em></strong> What does Barouk mean? When did he meet the earl before, and what is Romdar’s connection to all of this?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 3985049, member: 1210"] [b]"Captain" Romdar[/b] “How much longer do we have to go through these thrice-cursed grasslands?” grumbled Barouk the dwarf. “It shouldn’t be much longer. Look!” Severin gestures to indicate the mountains in the distance. “Another day or two and we’ll be on the skirts of the mountains.” “This valley is somewhere along the range of mountains, then?” Kifla asks. Grom nods. “Well, let’s not tarry, then,” the dwarf mutters grumpily. He scuffs the ground with one wide boot. “Come on.” They keep moving. More weary hours of marching slowly pass. The sharp, long grasses leave little cuts on their exposed skin. Only hardy creatures live here: armies of ants and small snakes and lizards underfoot, occasional tough old buzzards in the sky. And there are bound to be more kobolds, but at least our heroes don’t see any for the moment. Flies cloud around rudely before scattering on the wind; fleas and grasshoppers leap merrily onto the passing arms and cloaks of the adventurers. [i]Perhaps there is less to be said for adventuring than I initially thought,[/i] Zelda considers sourly, limping on a twisted ankle. Barouk shades his eyes and squints. [i]Did I just see movement up ahead?[/i] he wonders. “Halt!” shouts a voice. A group of riders appears, thundering forward. The leader is mounted on a green-blue kocho- a type of flightless war bird, used as mounts by the daring and notoriously difficult to control. The others, about half a dozen of them, ride garen (zebra-like animals, each striped in two colors of green, brown and yellow). The leader is dressed as some kind of knight; his followers are clearly some sort of men-at-arms. “Identify yourselves!” the leader demands, as he approaches them. “Why should we?” Romdar retorts. “Who are you to ask who we are?” “I am Sir Cranston, leader of this patrol,” the man answers sternly. “You are in our operational zone. Now, tell us who you are immediately, by the authority of the Emperor!” Immediately, Severin and Romdar think of Cooper. The so-called “herald of Thrush” claimed that the Emperor was dead. [i]Still,[/i] thinks Romdar, [i]he is an agent of rightful authority...[/i] He explains to the knight that they are headed towards the goblin invasion at Drellin’s Ferry, and that they are here as adventurers. But as he speaks, the knight’s face darkens. Clearly, Romdar has somehow said something uncouth or gauche. “Drop your weapons immediately,” the knight demands. [i]Thunk.[/i] Onto the ground the party’s weapons go. One of the men-at-arms hurries forward and gathers them up, and then our heroes are surrounded and marched off. “Where are we going?” Severin asks. “To our encampment,” the knight snaps shortly. Indeed: our heroes are led further into the foothills, to an area where a small military encampment sits atop a hillock. There is a palisade of stakes beyond the wall, with a moat before the palisade. There are dozens of tents set up, and many soldiers in Forinthian uniform hustling and bustling about. The place shows typical Forinthian military efficiency, with guards posted at watch towers and everything ready to be broken down and carried away or burnt at a moment’s notice. The Imperial flag, as well as the banner of the maniple itself, fly from the watch towers. The party is led into a tent, guards are stationed to watch them and the knight stomps out. Kifla and Barouk can hear some talk about local bandits, and Kifla groans inwardly. [i]They’re going to try to blame us for, for something,[/i] she thinks. Soon enough, the knight returns with several other guards. They begin badgering the party with questions, and it immediately becomes apparent that they suspect that our heroes are local bandits or thieves. Despite their protests, the soldiers strip them of their gear. The knight snarls, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, all right!” He sends a page to fetch “the list,” whatever that is, then fixes Romdar with a baleful eye. “We’ll soon see whether you are as innocent as you claim,” he declares. “All right,” Romdar nods. “Then maybe we can get back to what we were doing.” He gives the knight a mild, but clearly annoyed, look. The page returns a few moments later with a ledger, which he hands to Sir Cranston. Obviously expecting our heroes to be frightened by the news, the knight announces that the ledger contains a list of goods stolen in the surrounding areas in the last couple of years. Romdar shrugs again, eloquently. The guards begin sorting through the party’s equipment, none too gently. Meanwhile, Sir Cranston’s superior arrives and listens carefully as the knight relates the tale of his patrol’s meeting with the party, their arousal of his suspicions and “capture”, and now their interrogation and the status of the search. Unfortunately for Sir Cranston, however, only two minor items (pieces of loot from the party’s adventures) appear on the list of stolen goods, and it is plain enough from everyone’s faces that even those are dubious matches to the list. Sir Cranston’s superior is none too pleased. He says, “It appears that you have misjudged these folk. Fine and release them.” With that, he leaves the tent. Thus it is that the party pays 100 gold pieces to regain their gear, less the two confiscated items, and leaves the military camp, more than a little disgruntled. *** Into the foothills, out of the Deadgrass Lands at last! Ah, free of the cutting, high blades that constantly irritate the legs (and often higher places). Away from the ash-tainted terrain, away from mazes of hedgerow and tangles of unwholesome growth! “It may be slightly slower travel in the foothills,” Skaal notes, “but it is far more pleasant.” Around dusk, Romdar and Severin both find excellent camp sites. The party chooses the one with water running through it, and soon they have a merry fire crackling as they cook dinner before bedding down. By morning, the sky has turned grey and overcast; the humidity is high, and the temperature has dropped from the normal tropical heat to a sticky mellow warmness. The group breaks camp and starts to march on, and as if to encourage them, it starts to rain a dirty rain. Severin notes that there are bits of ash in the rain yet. Clearly, the air is not yet clean, but the ranger is confident that a few hours of rain- or a few dozen more miles northward- should take care of that. As the party heads down a slope, Kifla points at the opposite face of the defile. “Hey, look over there!” the gnome cries. Another mounted group is coming towards our heroes, moving across a small creek. These ones are clearly [i]not[/i] soldiers. They are shabbily-dressed, mounted on skinny garen, and five of the six of them wear studded leather, shortbows and longswords. The party halts and takes a somewhat defensive formation. The group reins in a few dozen yards away. Their leader, who is a middle-aged human with thinning grey hair in fancy-looking leather armor, squints at the party. “Huh!” he exclaims, and canters towards the group. “Captain Romdar? Is that you?” He looks everyone over. Romdar looks puzzled. “I, uh, well, my name is Romdar,” he admits. “But I don’t... I mean... I lost my memory. I don’t know anything. I don’t recognize you...” “You- what?” The man looks nonplussed, then looks the rest of the party over again. His eyes linger momentarily on Barouk. “Ah, I see. Maybe the earl can help. Well, it looks like you’ve at least kept yourself in good company!” He winks. “Come along, then; we’ll go back to camp and see what we can see.” “What’s your name?” Romdar asks helplessly. “Striker,” the man replies. “You really don’t remember anything?” Romdar shakes his head. “Well, you’ve been missing for weeks. You’re our captain, Romdar. You work for the Earl of Thyrozim, same as us. Let’s hope that he can help you with your, uh, little problem.” The party falls in with the Thyrozim men. As they move towards their camp, the party relates the tale of how they met Romdar, captured by kobolds. Romdar listens closely to everything Striker says, hoping that something will provoke a memory, but... nothing. The camp, which is very near to a small keep that looks run-down but not ruined, consists of one great pavilion tent surrounded by a dozen or so smaller tents, with several small fires and one great one beneath the pavilion. A banner with a heron emblem flaps soggily in the wind. As they approach, Striker pulls Romdar ahead and indicates that the others should wait for a few moments. Together with Striker, Romdar walks into the pavilion. Several more of the- men-at-arms?- are beneath the great tent. Seated at a worn, crude table is another man, this one dressed fairly aristocratically. He wears fancy clothing, with a silver circlet set with a heron above the brow. “Look who I found!” Striker cries out. “Romdar!” the aristocrat exclaims, and stands with a slight smile. “Well, well! What happened to you?” “I don’t really know,” Romdar replies uncertainly. “Forgive me- I have no memory- who are you?” “More importantly,” Striker interrupts, “Romdar here comes with [i]very interesting company.[/i]” “Oh?” The earl cranes his neck, to peer at the rest of the party, and his face undergoes a remarkable transformation: from a slight expression of pleasure to an exultant, predatory-looking expression of [i]victory.[/i] He turns back to Romdar. “Is that him? The dwarf?” “I, uh, don’t know what you mean,” Romdar admits. “But those people are my friends. Look, Striker said that you might be able to help me recover my memory...” “Yes, in due time. But for now, have a seat.” The Earl of Thyrozim smiles and gestures to Striker. “First, I must speak with your friends. Bring them forward,” he commands Striker. The man nods and walks back to the party. “The earl will see you now,” he announces. The party moves forward eagerly, barely noticing that the men-at-arms are closing in behind them. As they move forward and the earl comes into sight, Barouk comes to a dead halt. “YOU!” he shouts. He begins to quake with rage. [B]“MURDERER!!!” [I]Next Time:[/i][/b] What does Barouk mean? When did he meet the earl before, and what is Romdar’s connection to all of this? [/QUOTE]
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