[Burning THAC0] B2: The Keep on the Borderlands

[engrishonly]

​

The group has travelled for many days, leaving the civilized parts of Karameikos far behind and entering into a wilder area known as the Borderlands. Farms and towns have become less frequent. Travelers are few, and those who brave the Borderlands are armed and far less hospitable. The trade road has climbed higher into a forested and rugged country, and the air has taken on a quality of cold crispness.

Signs from the trade road point up a narrow, rocky track to the Keep on the Borderlands. There is a sheer wall of rock cut into a cliffside on the left, with the path falling away to a steep cliffo n the right.

Ahead, there is a small widening in the smooth cut path, where the main gate to the KEEP is. A pair of vigilant, blue-clad men-at-arms guard the entrance to the Keep. Long before the party reaches the gates, the men-at-arms shout at the adventurers, demanding that the visitors give their names and state their business at the Keep.

All along the crenelated walls of the outer Keep, there is the appearance of men in rugged iron helmets. Here and there, the adventurers actually see curious faces peering down at those who stand before the guardians of the Keep. The men-at-arms of the Keep seem eager to welcome new champions of Law, but ready with crossbow and pole arm to give another sort of welcome to enemies.

 

[Kobold Stew]

Constance has been with the group for a while. You probably didn't see her join those walking together along the road, but you remember the paladin who had been there at the start, but who had turned back three nights previous. Constance remembers him, and will show you the kerchief he had been given by his lady love before he set out. She doesn't explain how she came to possess it, however.

Constance is not especially tall, but her legs are log and her posture is straight, and there is never a hair out of place, even after a long day's march. She's looking at you now, and her assymetrical smile seems to suggest that everything you say is of greatest importance. To her. Her eyes seem never to leave you. She is dressed well, in loose silks and travelling trousers, with high boots -- better than most who travel along this road -- and it seems that she has convinced some of the fellow travellers to carry her bags for her. She's grateful to them, of course. But they want to help the Pardoner.

Because the Pardoner promises shortcuts -- Constance knows all about shortcuts. The Pardoner has been vested with an authority that most priests have not. How a woman this young came to own this responsibility is not clear, but there is no doubt among those who walk with you that it is something that is hers. And whispers, later, confirm it.

When she is stopped by the Keep's guard, however, she does not mention her office. Her office is assumed. Her words are confident but not imperious.

"My name is Constance and I was born here. It has been years since I have visited, but I have come to claim an inheritance. This is now my home."

 

[Mathalus]

Ferrantos shouts from the path leading up to the Keep. He has a large bag slung hobo-style from his spear, "I'm Ferrantos and I'm here to see my brother, Auromos. The rest of these guys are with me."

He pauses and wheezes, "Don't worry, Vellekhyr. My brother owes me tons of money. He'll get us all set up and we'll get you some real clothes. In fact, I'm sure he'll be happy to buy us all drinks. You hear that, Dwarf? Beer."

Shouting up the path towards the keep again he asks, "Um... Constance? Do you want your bag back now? I can keep carrying it if we are going the same direction."

 

[Voidrazor]

Throughout the recent days of travel the elf, Vellekhyr has been a study in contradictions. Though literally luminous and exquisitely fair, he seemed to slip in and out of view like a being made more of spirit than flesh. And even before being reduced to wearing a coarse and ill-fitting travel blanket in the style of a toga, his tattered and threadbare silks were incongruous on a figure of obvious noble bearing. No where has this clash been more palpable than the the elf's eyes where even now abject and inhuman sorrow wars with stoic serenity.

"Your concern is most kind Ferrantos. Yet I hesitate to prevail upon your brother's largess. Given only a few moons time I should be able to stitch together reasonably suitable replacements. My old clothes were one of a dwindling few relics of my youth in Alfheim, so I am not greatly eager to don even the finest wares this frontier land may have to offer."

(Vellekhyr allows several fellow travelers to stream past, attempting to discern the disposition of the guards before approaching.)

 

[Kobold Stew]

Shouting up the path towards the keep again he asks, "Um... Constance? Do you want your bag back now? I can keep carrying it if we are going the same direction."

"Ferrantos, you are helping me immeasurably. I am sure it shan't be much further at all till we are all safely in the keep."

She clicks the heels of her boots and makes a mock bow by leaning forward a few inches, and then continues up the hill.

 

[mistrlittlejeans]

In fact, I'm sure he'll be happy to buy us all drinks. You hear that, Dwarf? Beer."

Shouting up the path towards the keep again he asks, "Um... Constance? Do you want your bag back now? I can keep carrying it if we are going the same direction."

Aurvang had been sullen and dour for most of the journey, at least until the evening fires were lit and the bottles were passed around. On more than one night the dwarf had won a drink by entertaining a peasants child with tales of cave trolls or night goblins, all true of course. However, the bottles and casks were emptied over a fortnight ago, and Aurvang had grown a mighty thirst. Upon hearing the wizard's mention of the fermented beverage, the burly dwarf's lip-whiskers twitched as if tickled by the frothy brew itself.

"Beer you say? It's about time, eh!" he said, peering up at the Keep and the guards standing by the gate. "Step aside Ferranatos. I'll take that," he quipped, grabbing Constance's bag out of the magic-users hands. He scurried toward the gate, his axe and hammer rattling against his mail and shield slung over his back. He was moving so quickly that he shouted to the guards in a huff. "Name's Aurvang... of the Dwarven Host... I'm reporting to Captain Onar... just as soon as he buys me a drink."

 

[Mathalus]

Now relieved of his burden, Ferrantos steps a little livelier, “That’s right, Dwarf. We’ll go get the beer money from my brother. Constance, I’d like you to meet him too. Also, Vellekhyr, don’t be a mope. We’ll get you some clothes, and some armor for when we go spelunking, oh, and some rations…” the list grows, just as the amount of money owed by Ferrantos’ half-brother has grown during the retellings of the past few weeks.

 

[engrishonly]

The blue-clad men-at-arms seem mostly satisfied by the responses from the group, recognizing the Pardoner's familiar face & acknowledging Ferrantos' brother as part of the Keep's complement of guardians. The men look curiously at the half-dressed Elf (as few Elves visit the Keep, and fewer half-naked ones), and pay the Dwarf little heed (who are likely to be common visitors to these parts). However, the visitors to the Keep lack any obvious taint of Chaos, and the men-at-arms wave casually to their comrades atop the walls of the Keep.

The heavy, black iron portcullis slowly raises into the gatehouse. The men-at-arms call out the names of the visitors as the portcullis rises.

"The Pardoner, Constance! Ferrantos, brother of Sir Auromos! Vellekhyr, of Alfheim! Aurvang, of the Dwarven Host! Avros, the Bannerman!"

ooc: just added that last part to move things along...

Once the portcullis is secured, the men-at-arms step aside, allowing the visitors safe entry into the Keep on the Borderlands.

Just past the gatehouse is the entry yard. It is a tidy space, neatly graveled. Horses poke their heads out of a long stable, which has a wooden parapet atop its flat roof.

A rotund, pock-marked man with a yellow-trimmed blue uniform watches the visitors enter. Besides this officer of the Keep is a man in a robe, holding some kind of mobile lectern before him.

The pock-marked officer leers at Constance & licks his fat lips as he stares at the woman walking towards him... but he says little. "You, Pardoner, I am familiar with. These others will have to be entered into the ledger."

The scribe begins scribbling into a book atop the movable lectern as soon as the officer begins speaking.

"I am Georg, Corporal of the Watch. There are three simple rules here in the Keep: Obey the Law. Keep your weapons sheathed. Do not annoy Georg. Follow these rules, and we shall get along. Now, as for who you are...

"Ferrantos... we know full well who your brother is, and of his exploits in the countryside!

"Vellekhyr... of Alfheim? I don't know what your customs are, but in Karameikos, we wear civilized clothing, sir!

"Aurvang... we've always need of skilled fighters, so long as they do no fighting within these walls!

"Avros... you've the look of a Traladaran troublemaker to me! Know that we are proper servants of the Church of Karameikos, here!"

 

[Voidrazor]

Vellekhyr sighs, and his expression sours slightly at being called a 'mope'. But his underlying demeanor of indulgence hardens into something much colder and more deadly at Georg's leer and words. "Long have I and mine been a friend to this land. But never have I received such a warm welcome. I suspect that the grace you have shown, corporal, to a noble of the firstborn in circumstances of misadventure, shall long be remembered in the halls of Etharch Lowryllyth. And it shall be an honor to pass word to your superiors of the degree of courtesy and knightly manner with which my companions and I have been treated."

(Should I roll some dice?)

 

[engrishonly]

While looking at Vellekhyr, the Corporal of the Watch scratches at the scruffy growth of hair on his pock-marked face. "A fine hall, I'm sure this Etharch keeps. With finely clothed gentlefolk, I hope. It's my business no Chaos-loving riff-raff enter these walls, and it's my business to guard against lax ways from setting in here... else my master, the Castellan, would not have made me Corporal of the Watch!

"The Keep's provisioner is just around yon' corner, sir. I'd advise you to find some decent clothes, lest you continue to wag your silver tongue at the officers of the Watch, and truly try our patience. We are a Law-abiding people, sir, and we've little tolerance for Outlandish ways."

ooc: You'll have to push it further & make an actual mess if you want to earn Artha from your Instincts here...