"Second Son of a Second Son" - An Aquerra Story Hour (*finally* Updated 04/19)
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues” 1
The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were led back to the New Harbinger Citadel, and given an opportunity to wash up and change clothes for dinner with Lord Swann and his family. Timotheus brought the letter from ‘Jeffry’ he had found in Oroleniel’s house over to Bleys to keep with the spellbook.
“Don’t read it,” Tim said when Bleys made to open it. “It is personal and has nothing to do with what is going on, but it should be kept safe with his things.”
As they gathered in the common area waiting to be summoned, Markos made a face at Telémahkos. “You are wearing armor,” the mage said. Telémahkos reacted by pulling his cloak around his shoulders to cover where his chain shirt was visible under his shirt.
“So?”
“That’s bad manners,” Markos said. “I mean, even I know that much…”
“Markos is correct,” Bleys said in his even tone. “Do you expect foul play?”
“Well, someone is trying to kill me,” Telémahkos said. “It is not about not trusting Lord Swann…”
“And yet, that is how it will be perceived…” Bleys replied. Telémahkos sighed angrily and stomped back to his cell to remove the chain shirt.
“Don’t worry, cousin! I got your back!” Timotheus called after him.
As Telémahkos came back down the hall, he noted some kind of creature floating down the hall towards the common room ahead of him. It was a levitating fleshy disk with two eyestalks atop it and several tentacles hanging beneath it. It was a dull gray color covered in spots of soft blue. It expelled gas from beneath its body through a tightened bladder and it scuttled along weirdly.
“A flumph!” Timotheus said happily as the thing entered the room, the fine flowery smell of its motivating gas filling the room. Telémahkos entered behind it.
“Didn’t your family have one?” Victoria asked with some shock.
“Oh, yeah up in Pyla’s there’s one, but I don’t spend much time there,” Tim replied.
“We had one briefly when I was young, but my father kept asking about what it’d be like in a soup…” Telémahkos said.
“Oh my!” The flumph’s voice was odd. It emerged from a broad bill-like mouth. It was deep and it cadence was odd. “The Signers of the Charter of Scheireiland are to follow me to dinner… I am called Prestik!”
The young nobles followed the flumph out of the common room and down the hall to the narrow steps that led to the Lord’s dining room.
They found the dining room to be much as they remembered it from their last dinner with the court of House Swann - a large chamber decorated with marble, with a broad open window with intricately carved painted wooden shutters that overlooked the harbor and Drie-Hoek Bay, shining in the dying light of the evening sun And for the most part the guests were the same. There was Novaluna Julia Swann, cousin of the lord, and sister to Sir Septimias Benedict Swann, who being involved in the fight against the Gold Straw Lizardfolk in the Crossroads Bog was not present. Julia was pretty and plump, and had cut her hair nearly to the scalp, save for some clumps of long hair near the front she had slicked back. It was an to unusual length for a Thrician of either gender. Sitting across from her was Octavia Camilla Swann, pale and petite, who sat beside the middle-aged Decima Aurora Swann, who Timotheus waved to enthusiastically. She had a nervous demeanor and a swollen face. Sir Decimus Wilmus Swann was not present, having traveled to the Golden Tower of the West to winter on the Captured Sea with his wife’s family. Among the guests was also Tiperol Dust, the Grand Vizier of the court, with his dusky skin and pointed dark beard, and Corwin Locksley, a man with long straight blond hair and soft features. And finally there was a man some inches shy of six feet with a bit of accustomed comfort about his belt, but who nonetheless was handsome. He had a gleam in his eye that was warm and appealing. He stood as the Signers entered, and greeted them. It was Novius Sebastian Swann, uncle to the Lord and youngest brother of the exiled Regent.2
The servants closed the shutters and drew thick maroon curtains over them, as a chilling draft had been coming through it, and lamps and candles were lit.
The long table had three large bowls full of small bright red apples, chunks of smoked cheese and three large porcupine-apples. As soon as Timotheus sat and smiled at everyone he reached for one of the apples and took a big bite, which made everyone turn and look at him. The Lord had not arrived or been announced. No one was supposed to touch the food yet. Quickly, Julia Swann grabbed an apple as well and took an even larger and louder bite, and then smiled weakly at everyone at the table, but her eyes rested longest on Markos who was fighting to contain a laugh. Octavia Camilla Swann turned up her nose, and Decima Aurora tittered behind a kerchief. Telémahkos, Victoria and Laarus all glared at Timotheus, and the brawny warrior shrugged with embarrassment.
A moment later Lord Swann was announced, breaking the tension.
“I see you have met my wise and well-traveled uncle, Novius,” Young Lord Swann said, gesturing to him. “He is often abroad taking care of our House’s mercantile interests…”
“Really? Where have you traveled?” Victoria asked Novius, and he shared a tale of Haffar’s Port and the simultaneous increase in wealth and crime in that infamous city.
“In your opinion, what would it take to crack down on the increased piracy in the Wizard’s Sea?” Victoria asked.
“If you ask me, what we need do is go to the Kingdom of Herman Land’s aid against its traitorous protectorate,” Lord Swann interjected. “The sooner things normalize in the east, the sooner they will normalize here… But while more than half of Herman Land’s western fleet is in the east…?”
The table fell to a discussion of the merits and pitfalls of aiding Herman Land in their war, and the potential for unrest and chaos to spread across central Aquerra if Thricia were to do such a thing. Timotheus, who had little interest in world politics, fell to talking to Decima about her son Heydricus, who was being fostered at High Talon. “He’s doing great! He’s settled down a lot… He hasn’t broken any bones that I know of for a good while now…”
The dinner seemed to fly by with course after course of local favorites - thick white karnemilke, served with squares of hard bread, large plates of stampot and rookworst sausage, for dessert they enjoyed the sweetness of vla, a kind of milk custard covered in a variety of spices, but by this time, they had moved from the table, and were gathered in small groups talking around the dining room’s large hearth.3
Julia Swann spoke to Markos and Bleys, expressing disappointment at her inability to go the Academy of Wizardry as she would have liked, but mentioned having a chance to attend the University of Thricia in the coming year.
“The University has a broader spectrum of academic interest,” Markos said.
“Yes, they will instruct anyone,” Bleys deadpanned. Julia could not help but smile and quickly look to see Markos’ reaction.
“…Only because they have better teachers…” Markos responded.
“The Academy focuses on quality not quantity,” Bleys said.
Before they could go on entertaining Julia with their banter, a servant came over to fetch Bleys. There was a citadel guard at the door to the dining room, waiting to escort him to see Oroleniel the Salmon. Markos and Telémahkos moved to follow, but the guard raised his hand. “The Lord has said only Master Bleys…”
Markos grumbled, and Telémahkos looked to Bleys, but they watch-mage’s face revealed no fear or worry.
“I have been bringing your colleague his meals for these many weeks,” the guard said, conversationally as he brought Bleys to another part of the citadel, an area that Bleys had never visited. The guard was young, with a reddish-brown beard and no mustache in the typical House Swann style. He wore a yellow tabard with a black swan upon it. Bleys expected to be led down towards the dungeons, but instead he was lead along long hallways that ran towards the rear wing of the immense structure. “I lament that there has been no elven food to bring him, however…”
Bleys the Aubergine said nothing in return.
“Do you know any elven foods?” the guard stopped and looked at him smiling.
“No.”
“I thought you might suggest some… But you do not know any elven foods? Do you know any elven at all?” the guard asked. He continued to lead the way.
“No,” Bleys replied. “What is your name?”
“Jeffry, sir…”
“Why do you ask these things?”
“I just thought Master Oroleniel might prefer to converse in his own tongue,” the guard suddenly seemed a bit nervous to Bleys. “It might make him more comfortable to speak in the language of his people… If only there was a way for you to understand him if he spoke in that tongue…”
A moment later they arrived at thick wooden door reinforced by bands of black steel. Jeffry took a key from his belt and slipped the key in the lock gently, but before turning it, knocked loudly. “Master Oroleniel, you have a visitor!” He called through the door before shoving it open. It was clearly heavy and fit snugly into its frame.
Beyond the door was something that was far from the cell one might imagine someone accused of treason would reside in. It was decorated and furnished as a fancy sitting room with a cot holding a feather mattress in one corner. There was a desk and small table with a tray of food. The room had its own potbelly stove, and a night table with a large bronze basin. There was a narrow shaft in the opposite wall, about two feet high and one foot wide, through which cold air seeped out. It must have lead to a window that overlooked the bay. Oroleniel the Salmon came around the table and folded his hands in front of him.
“At last…”
Jeffry left them, and Oroleniel gestured for Bleys to sit across him at the table.
“It is good that we can finally speak privately,” Bleys said.
“Yes, it is…” Oroeleniel opened his eyes and looked at Bleys from beneath his brow, while quickly touching two cupped fingers to his ear. He cocked his head back to the window shaft. Bleys nodded his understanding.
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“It is good to have friends,” Novius Sebastian Swann said to the other Signers back in the dining room as he finished a harrowing tale of escape from pirates. They drank brandy and munched on warmed pastries filled with a warm sweet milk paste. Lord Septimias Giaus Swann had left with his Vizier soon after Bleys had, and Decima Aurora Swann excused herself soon after that.
“Yes, it is,” Victoria agreed. Novius seemed to address her more than the others, and had stopped his story on at least two occasions to ask her opinion on some fine point of battle or honor.
“And it is in times of adversity that the fastest friendships are forged,” the smiling man continued. Telémahkos. Timotheus and Markos all took sidelong glances at Laarus. “And sometimes unusual ones…”
“Speaking of unusual, have you ever traveled to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West? What do you know of the state of trade between our nations?” Telémahkos asked.
“Well… I of course would not know too much of that… But I have been to that strange land, though not very populated parts… It was back in my adventuring days…” Novius began another tale.
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Back in the small room where Oroleniel the Salmon was being held, the half-elven watch-mage moved the tray over and placed down a lacquered wooden board covered in letters, numbers and other symbols. The words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the top left and right corner respectively. In his hands he held a wooden ring that held a lens.
Bleys walked over from the stove, from where he had placed a small log inside, rubbing soot between his fingers. As he sat back down across from Oroleniel looking at the board, he pressed his finger on the edge of the plate, taking a few grains of salt.
“Since you are a diviner, I assume you know what this is?” Oroleniel asked.
“Yes, though I have never used one,” Bleys replied. “I always thought it was more an implement of witchcraft… Though there are some divinatory spells I have heard of that could use such a board as a focus… Why do you have it?”
“A curiosity I thought you might appreciate,” Oroleniel said, but as he spoke, he moved the lens set in the wooden frame over the letters, spelling out, “Signal to me.” He turned the board around.
“Would you mind if I spoke some in elvish?” Oroleniel asked in his mellifluous tongue.
Bleys nodded and then spoke some arcane words, casting comprehend languages.
“I am sure you have many questions to ask me, so why don’t you ask them,” Oroleniel said, continuing in elvish.
“Why don’t you just tell me what happened when you left here with Sir Septimias Benedict Swann?” Bleys asked.
Oroleniel nodded and began a long detailed account of the ride out to Bog End and then out into the Crossroads Bog. He spoke in common, but included asides and opinions in elvish and used the lens to point to ‘no’ when he was stretching some truth. He told of how Sir Septimias Benedict Swann’s over-confidence and desire for glory led him to make poor choices, and it was his fault the men-at-arms died, drawn into deep bogs by crafty muckdwellers that had nothing to do with Chok’tem’s tribe.
“Parleying with the lizardfolk once we actually found them was nearly impossible,” Oroleniel explained. “Sir Septimias was infuriated, certain that the muckdwellers were obeying the Goldstraw tribe, and he interpreted any act on their part that was not immediate obedience and surrender as threatening. While on watch one morning, I spotted lizardfolk approaching and went ahead to parley before Sir Septimias could wake up, but he found us and immediately accused me of being a traitor, but as my people say…”
And now Oroleniel the Salmon spoke in the elven tongue, but rather than any saying, he added to his tale. “Actually, he caught me the second time when we were trying to arrange for a way to pass the whereabouts of the evil lizardfolk back to me so I might lead the knights towards lizardfolk that actually are hostile…”
“Did you not try to explain yourself to Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.
“Of course, but he was not about to listen to me or believe Chok’tem that a splinter group of his tribe had turned to worshiping the serpent god and were up to no good,” the half-elf explained, switching back to common tongue. “It was evident that he was unwilling to make any distinctions between lizardfolk.”
“What did you do then?” Bleys asked.
“Well, I was forced to use my magic to keep him and his men from killing Chok’tem and his rangers,” Oroleniel said. “And then of course, I had to flee myself when he threatened me with arrest…”
“And this was before or after Sir Septimias went to Gullmoor?” Bleys asked.
“After, I went with him to Gullmoor to recoup and gather more men,” Oroleniel answered. “When Sir Quintus Gosprey heard the news he hurried out to the bog with his squire and were never heard from again… It is said they both perished in the bog. Let me say a prayer for his soul in the tongue of my people…” But he did not say a prayer, instead he said, “Quintus and his squire were still alive last I saw them, and aiding Chok’tem in rooting out the evil lizardfolk who have abandoned their tribe… Furthermore, he believes that this is all a distraction to keep attention away from something going on in Moraes Heng, but he was never able to figure out exactly what, or explain why he thought this…”
Bleys nodded solemnly, but Oroleniel continued in elvish. “It is imperative that no one know of his survival so that he may continue to work unhindered and he not be forced to choose to fight against his comrades in arms.”
“And what would you have me do?” Bleys asked.
“It is imperative that you go to the Crossroads Bog and figure out what is going on for yourself and put an end to this needless violence,” Oroleniel said. “You and I both know that Chok’tem and his people may not want violence and want nothing more to contribute to cause of Thricia, but they will defend themselves if attacked and these honorable creatures will be driven off for having caused no ill.”
“I agree,” Bleys said. “Tell me, what do you know of MacHaven?”
“The bandit leader? Not much…”
“Do you think he is involved?”
“Before I decided to sneak back into New Harbinger to get my spellbook, I heard word in Bog End that the bandits were becoming more brazen…” Oroleniel replied. “It may be they are involved in whatever is going on, but I cannot say for sure…”
“Was Lorkas Twelf among those sent out of Gullmoor to aid Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.
“Actually, he was… How did you know?” Oroleniel was looked puzzled.
“He is the only man aside from Sir Quintus that I know out of Gullmoor,” Bleys said.
“I believe he can be trusted to listen to reason…” Oroleniel said in Elvish again. “Tell me, I have been cut off from news here… How goes the Lizardbane’s efforts to slay or drive off the Goldstraw?”
“The lord informed us that he was able to burn down one of their villages and smash a number of lizardfolk eggs with the aid of Thricius of Anhur…”
Oroleniel’s head drooped. “That will make reconciliation even more difficult, if not impossible… But still, it must be attempted…”
“Now, what of this book? The Pillars of Thricia?” Bleys asked.
“Of that I cannot tell you…” Oroleniel looked down. “But I can say that I have no seditious intent against Thricia. The book was a gift and an intellectual curiosity…”
“Who gave it to you?” Bleys asked.
“I cannot say,” the half-elf watch-mage replied. He looked up.
“Lord Swann plans to bring this matter to the Margrave,” Bleys said.
Oroleniel laughed. “Let him! The Margrave has better things to do than to deal with this misunderstanding! The young lord will find himself adequately chastened for his overreaction and for imprisoning a watch-mage!” The half-elf smiled more broadly than Bleys had ever witnessed, and he winked and touched two fingers to his ear again.
“Very well, if there is nothing else I shall inform my companions of what is going on and we shall return to that area and investigate…” Bleys said.
“Yes, my advice is to either go into the Crossroads Bog and seek out the splinter group, or to go to Moraes Heng and see if you can get to the bottom of whatever is going on there, as the involvement of the soldiers from Gullmoor in the bog skirmishes means there is no one looking out for the people and lands there…”
Bleys nodded. Oroleniel the Salmon wished him well and that the gods watch over their efforts to bring justice to the land. They both stood and Bleys the Aubergine shook his colleague’s hand. He knocked on the door, and was led back to the dining room to meet up with the others.
…to be continued…
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Notes:
1 Session #29 was played on Sunday, April 13, 2008 in Brooklyn, New York.
2 The disagreement over Gaius taking power upon reaching 18 years of age rather than waiting until he was 21 as his father had willed and as his uncle, the regent, felt should be case, led to Octavian Benedict Swann being unofficially exiled from the court.
3 Special thanks to Markos’s player, John G. for doing research on some foods to use as local delicacies.
The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were led back to the New Harbinger Citadel, and given an opportunity to wash up and change clothes for dinner with Lord Swann and his family. Timotheus brought the letter from ‘Jeffry’ he had found in Oroleniel’s house over to Bleys to keep with the spellbook.
“Don’t read it,” Tim said when Bleys made to open it. “It is personal and has nothing to do with what is going on, but it should be kept safe with his things.”
As they gathered in the common area waiting to be summoned, Markos made a face at Telémahkos. “You are wearing armor,” the mage said. Telémahkos reacted by pulling his cloak around his shoulders to cover where his chain shirt was visible under his shirt.
“So?”
“That’s bad manners,” Markos said. “I mean, even I know that much…”
“Markos is correct,” Bleys said in his even tone. “Do you expect foul play?”
“Well, someone is trying to kill me,” Telémahkos said. “It is not about not trusting Lord Swann…”
“And yet, that is how it will be perceived…” Bleys replied. Telémahkos sighed angrily and stomped back to his cell to remove the chain shirt.
“Don’t worry, cousin! I got your back!” Timotheus called after him.
As Telémahkos came back down the hall, he noted some kind of creature floating down the hall towards the common room ahead of him. It was a levitating fleshy disk with two eyestalks atop it and several tentacles hanging beneath it. It was a dull gray color covered in spots of soft blue. It expelled gas from beneath its body through a tightened bladder and it scuttled along weirdly.
“A flumph!” Timotheus said happily as the thing entered the room, the fine flowery smell of its motivating gas filling the room. Telémahkos entered behind it.
“Didn’t your family have one?” Victoria asked with some shock.
“Oh, yeah up in Pyla’s there’s one, but I don’t spend much time there,” Tim replied.
“We had one briefly when I was young, but my father kept asking about what it’d be like in a soup…” Telémahkos said.
“Oh my!” The flumph’s voice was odd. It emerged from a broad bill-like mouth. It was deep and it cadence was odd. “The Signers of the Charter of Scheireiland are to follow me to dinner… I am called Prestik!”
The young nobles followed the flumph out of the common room and down the hall to the narrow steps that led to the Lord’s dining room.
They found the dining room to be much as they remembered it from their last dinner with the court of House Swann - a large chamber decorated with marble, with a broad open window with intricately carved painted wooden shutters that overlooked the harbor and Drie-Hoek Bay, shining in the dying light of the evening sun And for the most part the guests were the same. There was Novaluna Julia Swann, cousin of the lord, and sister to Sir Septimias Benedict Swann, who being involved in the fight against the Gold Straw Lizardfolk in the Crossroads Bog was not present. Julia was pretty and plump, and had cut her hair nearly to the scalp, save for some clumps of long hair near the front she had slicked back. It was an to unusual length for a Thrician of either gender. Sitting across from her was Octavia Camilla Swann, pale and petite, who sat beside the middle-aged Decima Aurora Swann, who Timotheus waved to enthusiastically. She had a nervous demeanor and a swollen face. Sir Decimus Wilmus Swann was not present, having traveled to the Golden Tower of the West to winter on the Captured Sea with his wife’s family. Among the guests was also Tiperol Dust, the Grand Vizier of the court, with his dusky skin and pointed dark beard, and Corwin Locksley, a man with long straight blond hair and soft features. And finally there was a man some inches shy of six feet with a bit of accustomed comfort about his belt, but who nonetheless was handsome. He had a gleam in his eye that was warm and appealing. He stood as the Signers entered, and greeted them. It was Novius Sebastian Swann, uncle to the Lord and youngest brother of the exiled Regent.2
The servants closed the shutters and drew thick maroon curtains over them, as a chilling draft had been coming through it, and lamps and candles were lit.
The long table had three large bowls full of small bright red apples, chunks of smoked cheese and three large porcupine-apples. As soon as Timotheus sat and smiled at everyone he reached for one of the apples and took a big bite, which made everyone turn and look at him. The Lord had not arrived or been announced. No one was supposed to touch the food yet. Quickly, Julia Swann grabbed an apple as well and took an even larger and louder bite, and then smiled weakly at everyone at the table, but her eyes rested longest on Markos who was fighting to contain a laugh. Octavia Camilla Swann turned up her nose, and Decima Aurora tittered behind a kerchief. Telémahkos, Victoria and Laarus all glared at Timotheus, and the brawny warrior shrugged with embarrassment.
A moment later Lord Swann was announced, breaking the tension.
“I see you have met my wise and well-traveled uncle, Novius,” Young Lord Swann said, gesturing to him. “He is often abroad taking care of our House’s mercantile interests…”
“Really? Where have you traveled?” Victoria asked Novius, and he shared a tale of Haffar’s Port and the simultaneous increase in wealth and crime in that infamous city.
“In your opinion, what would it take to crack down on the increased piracy in the Wizard’s Sea?” Victoria asked.
“If you ask me, what we need do is go to the Kingdom of Herman Land’s aid against its traitorous protectorate,” Lord Swann interjected. “The sooner things normalize in the east, the sooner they will normalize here… But while more than half of Herman Land’s western fleet is in the east…?”
The table fell to a discussion of the merits and pitfalls of aiding Herman Land in their war, and the potential for unrest and chaos to spread across central Aquerra if Thricia were to do such a thing. Timotheus, who had little interest in world politics, fell to talking to Decima about her son Heydricus, who was being fostered at High Talon. “He’s doing great! He’s settled down a lot… He hasn’t broken any bones that I know of for a good while now…”
The dinner seemed to fly by with course after course of local favorites - thick white karnemilke, served with squares of hard bread, large plates of stampot and rookworst sausage, for dessert they enjoyed the sweetness of vla, a kind of milk custard covered in a variety of spices, but by this time, they had moved from the table, and were gathered in small groups talking around the dining room’s large hearth.3
Julia Swann spoke to Markos and Bleys, expressing disappointment at her inability to go the Academy of Wizardry as she would have liked, but mentioned having a chance to attend the University of Thricia in the coming year.
“The University has a broader spectrum of academic interest,” Markos said.
“Yes, they will instruct anyone,” Bleys deadpanned. Julia could not help but smile and quickly look to see Markos’ reaction.
“…Only because they have better teachers…” Markos responded.
“The Academy focuses on quality not quantity,” Bleys said.
Before they could go on entertaining Julia with their banter, a servant came over to fetch Bleys. There was a citadel guard at the door to the dining room, waiting to escort him to see Oroleniel the Salmon. Markos and Telémahkos moved to follow, but the guard raised his hand. “The Lord has said only Master Bleys…”
Markos grumbled, and Telémahkos looked to Bleys, but they watch-mage’s face revealed no fear or worry.
“I have been bringing your colleague his meals for these many weeks,” the guard said, conversationally as he brought Bleys to another part of the citadel, an area that Bleys had never visited. The guard was young, with a reddish-brown beard and no mustache in the typical House Swann style. He wore a yellow tabard with a black swan upon it. Bleys expected to be led down towards the dungeons, but instead he was lead along long hallways that ran towards the rear wing of the immense structure. “I lament that there has been no elven food to bring him, however…”
Bleys the Aubergine said nothing in return.
“Do you know any elven foods?” the guard stopped and looked at him smiling.
“No.”
“I thought you might suggest some… But you do not know any elven foods? Do you know any elven at all?” the guard asked. He continued to lead the way.
“No,” Bleys replied. “What is your name?”
“Jeffry, sir…”
“Why do you ask these things?”
“I just thought Master Oroleniel might prefer to converse in his own tongue,” the guard suddenly seemed a bit nervous to Bleys. “It might make him more comfortable to speak in the language of his people… If only there was a way for you to understand him if he spoke in that tongue…”
A moment later they arrived at thick wooden door reinforced by bands of black steel. Jeffry took a key from his belt and slipped the key in the lock gently, but before turning it, knocked loudly. “Master Oroleniel, you have a visitor!” He called through the door before shoving it open. It was clearly heavy and fit snugly into its frame.
Beyond the door was something that was far from the cell one might imagine someone accused of treason would reside in. It was decorated and furnished as a fancy sitting room with a cot holding a feather mattress in one corner. There was a desk and small table with a tray of food. The room had its own potbelly stove, and a night table with a large bronze basin. There was a narrow shaft in the opposite wall, about two feet high and one foot wide, through which cold air seeped out. It must have lead to a window that overlooked the bay. Oroleniel the Salmon came around the table and folded his hands in front of him.
“At last…”
Jeffry left them, and Oroleniel gestured for Bleys to sit across him at the table.
“It is good that we can finally speak privately,” Bleys said.
“Yes, it is…” Oroeleniel opened his eyes and looked at Bleys from beneath his brow, while quickly touching two cupped fingers to his ear. He cocked his head back to the window shaft. Bleys nodded his understanding.
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“It is good to have friends,” Novius Sebastian Swann said to the other Signers back in the dining room as he finished a harrowing tale of escape from pirates. They drank brandy and munched on warmed pastries filled with a warm sweet milk paste. Lord Septimias Giaus Swann had left with his Vizier soon after Bleys had, and Decima Aurora Swann excused herself soon after that.
“Yes, it is,” Victoria agreed. Novius seemed to address her more than the others, and had stopped his story on at least two occasions to ask her opinion on some fine point of battle or honor.
“And it is in times of adversity that the fastest friendships are forged,” the smiling man continued. Telémahkos. Timotheus and Markos all took sidelong glances at Laarus. “And sometimes unusual ones…”
“Speaking of unusual, have you ever traveled to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West? What do you know of the state of trade between our nations?” Telémahkos asked.
“Well… I of course would not know too much of that… But I have been to that strange land, though not very populated parts… It was back in my adventuring days…” Novius began another tale.
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Back in the small room where Oroleniel the Salmon was being held, the half-elven watch-mage moved the tray over and placed down a lacquered wooden board covered in letters, numbers and other symbols. The words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the top left and right corner respectively. In his hands he held a wooden ring that held a lens.
Bleys walked over from the stove, from where he had placed a small log inside, rubbing soot between his fingers. As he sat back down across from Oroleniel looking at the board, he pressed his finger on the edge of the plate, taking a few grains of salt.
“Since you are a diviner, I assume you know what this is?” Oroleniel asked.
“Yes, though I have never used one,” Bleys replied. “I always thought it was more an implement of witchcraft… Though there are some divinatory spells I have heard of that could use such a board as a focus… Why do you have it?”
“A curiosity I thought you might appreciate,” Oroleniel said, but as he spoke, he moved the lens set in the wooden frame over the letters, spelling out, “Signal to me.” He turned the board around.
“Would you mind if I spoke some in elvish?” Oroleniel asked in his mellifluous tongue.
Bleys nodded and then spoke some arcane words, casting comprehend languages.
“I am sure you have many questions to ask me, so why don’t you ask them,” Oroleniel said, continuing in elvish.
“Why don’t you just tell me what happened when you left here with Sir Septimias Benedict Swann?” Bleys asked.
Oroleniel nodded and began a long detailed account of the ride out to Bog End and then out into the Crossroads Bog. He spoke in common, but included asides and opinions in elvish and used the lens to point to ‘no’ when he was stretching some truth. He told of how Sir Septimias Benedict Swann’s over-confidence and desire for glory led him to make poor choices, and it was his fault the men-at-arms died, drawn into deep bogs by crafty muckdwellers that had nothing to do with Chok’tem’s tribe.
“Parleying with the lizardfolk once we actually found them was nearly impossible,” Oroleniel explained. “Sir Septimias was infuriated, certain that the muckdwellers were obeying the Goldstraw tribe, and he interpreted any act on their part that was not immediate obedience and surrender as threatening. While on watch one morning, I spotted lizardfolk approaching and went ahead to parley before Sir Septimias could wake up, but he found us and immediately accused me of being a traitor, but as my people say…”
And now Oroleniel the Salmon spoke in the elven tongue, but rather than any saying, he added to his tale. “Actually, he caught me the second time when we were trying to arrange for a way to pass the whereabouts of the evil lizardfolk back to me so I might lead the knights towards lizardfolk that actually are hostile…”
“Did you not try to explain yourself to Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.
“Of course, but he was not about to listen to me or believe Chok’tem that a splinter group of his tribe had turned to worshiping the serpent god and were up to no good,” the half-elf explained, switching back to common tongue. “It was evident that he was unwilling to make any distinctions between lizardfolk.”
“What did you do then?” Bleys asked.
“Well, I was forced to use my magic to keep him and his men from killing Chok’tem and his rangers,” Oroleniel said. “And then of course, I had to flee myself when he threatened me with arrest…”
“And this was before or after Sir Septimias went to Gullmoor?” Bleys asked.
“After, I went with him to Gullmoor to recoup and gather more men,” Oroleniel answered. “When Sir Quintus Gosprey heard the news he hurried out to the bog with his squire and were never heard from again… It is said they both perished in the bog. Let me say a prayer for his soul in the tongue of my people…” But he did not say a prayer, instead he said, “Quintus and his squire were still alive last I saw them, and aiding Chok’tem in rooting out the evil lizardfolk who have abandoned their tribe… Furthermore, he believes that this is all a distraction to keep attention away from something going on in Moraes Heng, but he was never able to figure out exactly what, or explain why he thought this…”
Bleys nodded solemnly, but Oroleniel continued in elvish. “It is imperative that no one know of his survival so that he may continue to work unhindered and he not be forced to choose to fight against his comrades in arms.”
“And what would you have me do?” Bleys asked.
“It is imperative that you go to the Crossroads Bog and figure out what is going on for yourself and put an end to this needless violence,” Oroleniel said. “You and I both know that Chok’tem and his people may not want violence and want nothing more to contribute to cause of Thricia, but they will defend themselves if attacked and these honorable creatures will be driven off for having caused no ill.”
“I agree,” Bleys said. “Tell me, what do you know of MacHaven?”
“The bandit leader? Not much…”
“Do you think he is involved?”
“Before I decided to sneak back into New Harbinger to get my spellbook, I heard word in Bog End that the bandits were becoming more brazen…” Oroleniel replied. “It may be they are involved in whatever is going on, but I cannot say for sure…”
“Was Lorkas Twelf among those sent out of Gullmoor to aid Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.
“Actually, he was… How did you know?” Oroleniel was looked puzzled.
“He is the only man aside from Sir Quintus that I know out of Gullmoor,” Bleys said.
“I believe he can be trusted to listen to reason…” Oroleniel said in Elvish again. “Tell me, I have been cut off from news here… How goes the Lizardbane’s efforts to slay or drive off the Goldstraw?”
“The lord informed us that he was able to burn down one of their villages and smash a number of lizardfolk eggs with the aid of Thricius of Anhur…”
Oroleniel’s head drooped. “That will make reconciliation even more difficult, if not impossible… But still, it must be attempted…”
“Now, what of this book? The Pillars of Thricia?” Bleys asked.
“Of that I cannot tell you…” Oroleniel looked down. “But I can say that I have no seditious intent against Thricia. The book was a gift and an intellectual curiosity…”
“Who gave it to you?” Bleys asked.
“I cannot say,” the half-elf watch-mage replied. He looked up.
“Lord Swann plans to bring this matter to the Margrave,” Bleys said.
Oroleniel laughed. “Let him! The Margrave has better things to do than to deal with this misunderstanding! The young lord will find himself adequately chastened for his overreaction and for imprisoning a watch-mage!” The half-elf smiled more broadly than Bleys had ever witnessed, and he winked and touched two fingers to his ear again.
“Very well, if there is nothing else I shall inform my companions of what is going on and we shall return to that area and investigate…” Bleys said.
“Yes, my advice is to either go into the Crossroads Bog and seek out the splinter group, or to go to Moraes Heng and see if you can get to the bottom of whatever is going on there, as the involvement of the soldiers from Gullmoor in the bog skirmishes means there is no one looking out for the people and lands there…”
Bleys nodded. Oroleniel the Salmon wished him well and that the gods watch over their efforts to bring justice to the land. They both stood and Bleys the Aubergine shook his colleague’s hand. He knocked on the door, and was led back to the dining room to meet up with the others.
…to be continued…
----------------------------------------------------
Notes:
1 Session #29 was played on Sunday, April 13, 2008 in Brooklyn, New York.
2 The disagreement over Gaius taking power upon reaching 18 years of age rather than waiting until he was 21 as his father had willed and as his uncle, the regent, felt should be case, led to Octavian Benedict Swann being unofficially exiled from the court.
3 Special thanks to Markos’s player, John G. for doing research on some foods to use as local delicacies.
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A couple of things:
Julia is Little Ben's (the family nickname for Sir Lizardbane) sister, not brother.
Sir Decimus Wilmus is married to Anwyn Schemerhorn. Novius Varius is his late older brother.
The former Regent is Octavion Benedict, not Septimias.
I'm sure you regret that naming convention as much as I do. I apolgize for that but all I can say in my own defense is that hindsight is 20/20.
More, please!
Julia is Little Ben's (the family nickname for Sir Lizardbane) sister, not brother.
Sir Decimus Wilmus is married to Anwyn Schemerhorn. Novius Varius is his late older brother.
The former Regent is Octavion Benedict, not Septimias.
I'm sure you regret that naming convention as much as I do. I apolgize for that but all I can say in my own defense is that hindsight is 20/20.
More, please!
handforged
First Post
And the plot thickens...
Did you actually use a quija board in play? It is an interesting way to pass messages silently.
I am curious to see where this all goes, it seems that the Signers could gain a significant enemy in House Swann.
~hf
Did you actually use a quija board in play? It is an interesting way to pass messages silently.
I am curious to see where this all goes, it seems that the Signers could gain a significant enemy in House Swann.
~hf
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
You know, originally I wanted to - but I was also looking for a way to balance the fact that that whole scene involved only one character, and while I am all for letting individual PCs get their spotlight, I knew if I actually used a quija board it would have been a lot longer and involved of a scene than it was and harder for me to move back and forth between Bleys's conversation with Oroleniel and the dinner conversation of the other PCs.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues” (part 2 of 3)
The after dinner drinks and desserts were being finished up. Novius Sebastian Swann was speaking quietly with Markos in one corner of the room, sharing one last drink, and Victoria and Laarus had had a long and detailed conversation about the citadel’s defenses, while Timotheus and Telémahkos got drunk out of boredom. As Novius left he took a moment to say good night to everyone, pausing a bit longer with Victoria, gently taking her hand, but shaking it with respectful firmness.
Tabitha Mark had informed Bleys that the Lord would be calling on him the next day to discuss what she referred to as ‘the interrogation,’ and the watch-mage asked for her to arrange for a message he would write to be sent to Terrance the Yellow in the Steads. “Do me a favor?” Markos asked Victoria as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way back to their guest quarters. “Could you make some time to pay a visit to Novius Swann while we are here?”
“To what end?” Victoria asked. Timotheus began to grin, and gave his cousin an elbow.
“Just to say ‘good day’ to be personable…” Markos replied lamely. “I mean… I think he is like us… older, but once a young noble adventurer… He would be a good ally to have… Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you should have no trouble talking to him, Vee… You are so personable!” Timotheus was fighting back laughter.
“I don’t know how I could have gotten that reputation,” Victoria frowned.
“You are such a chatterbox!” Tim teased.
“She speaks when she has something important to say,” Laarus came to his companion’s defense. “Unlike most people…”
Timotheus rolled his eyes at the young priest.
“So will you do it?” Markos asked the militant.
“If I have time I will see if I can see him…” Victoria replied with a tone that did not fill Markos with confidence. He pouted.
Down in the common room they fell to talking what Oroleniel had said to Bleys. The purple-robed mage broke it down to a basic choice, “Go into the bog and seek out Chok’tem and Sir Quintus, or go to Moraes Heng and look into whatever is going on there, which Oroleniel could tell me little about…”
“The problem with the bog is that we will run afoul of Sir Septimias and the other knights,” Victoria said.
“Couldn’t we get a warrant for Quintus’ arrest? That way we can get by the knight unmolested,” Markos suggested.
“Everyone thinks he is dead and it should remain that way,” Bleys said looking around to get a sense of how easy it would be for them to be overheard.
“Is being overheard a real danger?” Timotheus asked. Bleys nodded. The brawny warrior hurried to his cell and fetched his lyre, and dragging a chair over by the door he began to strum it with no talent as he had been doing on occasion lately. The poorly plucked notes echoed in the outer hall.
“Chok’tem and his people can hide indefinitely, including from us if they did not know we were coming,” Bley said. “I think whatever is happening in the bog, the real issue is in the Vale.”1
“What is the source of this notion?” Victoria asked.
“I am drawing my own conclusions…” Bleys began.
“Oh! The Academy allows that?” Markos interrupted with a wide self-congratulatory grin.
Bleys simply continued. “Moraes Heng has wealth and prestige, what does the bog have? Peat moss and lizardfolk and muckdwellers… The former seems more likely the target of a plot if the soldiers of Gullmoor are drawn off to fight the Goldstraw.”
“I vote for doing what Bleys says,” Timotheus said, calling over from the doorway. He had been barely listening.
“If we have to do one of these two things, I think we should go into the bog,” Laarus said, speaking for the first time. His head had been bowed, taking in everyone’s speculation and questions. “At least there we have a lead. We have no idea where to begin at Moraes Heng…”
“What say you, Telémahkos?” Victoria asked. The blond Briareus looked up startled. He had barely been following the discussion at all. Instead, he was tracing out circles and lines and names on a blank page in a journal his cousin carried, but never used.
“Well, I’ve been working on something else, though I must admit I only half-remember my lessons on the connections between the various noble houses, but I have come to some conclusions,” Telémahkos pressed the pages of book flat and looked very satisfied with himself. “If you think about the bond between Wetherwax and Tenbrook, but Tenbrook and Swann are rivals, right? And then over here, you have Devenpeck and Vandermok, and keeping in mind that the Heralds are trying to break free of the control of the Coopers…”
“Telémahkos!” Bleys’ voice rose as it rarely did, stopping the dandyish Briareus short. “What bearing does this have on the matter at hand and the decision we must make?”
“I just feel like we’ve been acting without enough information…” Telémahkos replied.
“Get to the point…” Bleys said, flatly, but after a few more minutes of long-winded introduction, all Telémahkos could come up with was that he felt that the Vandermoks might behind the plot against the Wetherwax fleet. “If they are involved in what is going on here, weakening House Swann, who are allies of Wetherwax, when the blow comes, Devenpeck, Vandermok’s bannermen, will be in a position to take up the slack…”
“You have not said anything I have not already considered,” Bleys said. “We have no evidence…”
“How can we find some?” Markos asked, suddenly interested in Telie’s diagrams.
“By following the leads we have whether they end up connected to the rivalry of the noble houses or not,” Victoria said. “It makes no sense to worry about this now.”
“I concur,” said Bleys. “None of this has any bearing…”
“No! Don’t forget the savage tide and the pearls of power!” Markos interrupted. “This can all be connected!”
“They are not pearls of power,” Bleys said, glaring at Markos.# “And sitting here dreaming up connections will not make them so. We have a decision to make here, bog or vale, which shall it be?”
“Vale,” Markos acquiesced.
“Yep, I say the same,” Timotheus called over.
“I disagree that there are only two options,” Laarus suddenly said.
“Yes, have we considered the possibility of freeing Oroleniel?” Telémahkos offered.
“Have you gone mad?” Victoria asked. Bleys and Laarus simply stared at Telémahkos, while Markos laughed.
“I just thought we could use his help…” He added weakly.
“This was not the third option I had in mind, “ Laarus said, letting the topic drop. “I was referring to our need to seek out the former member of the organization we find ourselves at odds with… and our trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West.”2
“There is that…,” Telémahkos said.
“The bog or the vale? These avenues aid small groups, but when the Savage Tide comes all of Thricia shall be endangered,” Laarus stood, and grew flush as he was prone to do when speaking with passion, because of his pale complexion.
“Oh? What does going down there have to do with that?” Timotheus said, turning his in his seat to face the group, and laying off strumming his lute.
“The Mind of Oberah gave us Torn’s name… It spoke of the savage tide that helped wipe out the Ancients…” Laarus explained, his voice growing louder. “It said we should act with alacrity!”3
“I think he may be right…” Telémahkos said with reluctance. Timotheus went back to playing.
“We are only involved in this by our own choice,” Laarus said, calming down some. “The trip to see this man involves a higher duty…”
“You are wrong,” Bleys said flatly, standing as well. “I have a duty to Oroleniel the Salmon, not only because we are both watch-mages, but because he became involved with the Goldstraw at my behest… Furthermore, the people of Thricia will be aided now if we stamp out this threat of rogue lizardfolk, MacHaven’s Brood and whatever corruption may be afoot in Gullmoor… And while we have reasons to seek out this Torn, the word of a mysterious oracle that claims to be from ‘beyond time and space’ is not the foremost of those…”
“Not to mention the problematic nature of pre-destination, which is something I have been thinking about in regards to this oracle and how it knew we would be where we were and when…” Markos piped up. In fact…” He was drowned out by Telémahkos’ angry voice as he and Laarus fell to arguing about what choice to make. The blond Briareus had changed his mind again, convinced by Bleys’ words and his general dislike of Laarus.
“It is a matter of time!” Laarus insisted. Victoria wandered over to where Timotheus continued to play, growing bored of the fighting, and waiting for everyone else to decide before giving her own opinion, as was her habit in these cases. “May I play with your lute?” She asked Tim.
“You can play with my lute anytime!” Timothus handed it over and waggled his eyebrows, smiling widely. Victoria glared at him as she grabbed the instrument and turned away, plucking cautiously at the strings, as if it might spring a trap.
“The last point and most important reason that we cannot ignore this matter and go to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, is that we still need to contact Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax for his aid in securing us passage there, and that alone may take weeks, in the meantime we can look into this…”
It was finally agreed to drop the trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West as an immediate option and a vote was taken regarding which avenue to investigate. The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland chose to look into the Vale (aka Moraes Heng) unanimously.4
Ralem, the 22nd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Early the next morning, Bleys the Aubergine was called before Lord Septimias Gaius Swann, and the watch-mage decided to bring Telémahkos Briareus with him. He carried ‘the Pillars of Thricia’ with him.
“And what did you learn from your traitorous brethren?” Lord Swann asked. He was sitting and eating breakfast in a small private dining room, noted for a wall of shelves holding steins of various kinds and origins. Bleys and Telémahkos were made to stand before the Lord’s table, while Tiperol Dust, the grand vizier, stood to his Lord’s left.
“Not much,” Bleys replied. “And I am not wholly convinced that he is traitorous, but rather that this is some form of misunderstanding exacerbated by zealousness…”
“Really?” Lord Swann looked up and looked right into Bleys’ eyes. The watch-mage noted the youth in the Lord’s face. In the morning light coming through a nearby open window, he seemed almost child-like.
“Yes, Lord,” Bleys said. “My companions and I plan to head out to the area of the Vineyard Vales to investigate a lead that Oroleniel supplied us with…”
“The Vale? What are you going there for? The stories of the bugs?”
“Bugs, sir?” Telémahkos dared to ask.
Lord Swann shot him a look, and then turned back to Bleys. “Locusts and other insects have destroyed much of this year’s vintage. It is unfortunate, but not unheard of…”
“The locusts could be the lizardfolk channeling dark powers…” Telémahkos suggested. Lord Swann leaned over to his vizier, who shook his head.
“If there is a connection between the trouble in the Crossroads Bog and the locusts, then word should be sent to the Lizardbane so that he might release some of the Viceroy’s men to return and check on it. To send the Signers would be to insult the viceroy by meddling in his domain…” The vizier said.
“Or…” Telémahkos pushed, continuing to address Septimias Gaius Swann. “You could send us to aid him under your writ as Lord, but to be used as he needs…”
“Hmm,” The vizier rubbed his chin and smiled, as if seeing Telémahkos for the first time. “That would be a wise approach…”
Lord Swann waved his hand dismissively. “I had another, more important mission in mind for you and your companions, Master Bleys…” He paused and looked at them both. “I was hoping you’d do me the favor of bringing this seditious book to the Margrave and inform her of our dilemma and the danger of these Pillars…” Lord Swann patted the book where it lay on the table. “I can arrange for a ship to carry you all to the City of the Spices as soon as tomorrow…”
“Well, an audience is inevitable and it makes sense to get it over with as soon as possible for Oroleniel’s sake, however, I am duty bound to look into the circumstances of his alleged crimes firsthand, and that means going to the Vales,” Bleys replied. “We would be more than honored to take the book afterward…”
Young Lord Swann took a deep breath, and he dropped his fork into his bowl of oatmeal and fruit so that it clattered loudly. He slowly got to his feet, resting his hands on the table. He was barely taller than Telémahkos, and much shorter than both Bleys and his vizier. “Of course… If you feel you must do this, then you must, but while I’d prefer this matter taken care of sooner. Why not take the book with you and continue your journey northward from there…? ”
“And we were to be stopped along the way, the book found on us? Would we then not be the seditious ones?” Bleys asked.
“I shall write a letter marked with my seal making you official custodians of the book…”
“Since you are offering to write letters, might we trouble you for an introduction to the viceroy of Gullmoor?” Telémahkos reached, and the lord grit his teeth and nodded.
“It shall be yours…” He said.
“Oh! And since you can arrange for a ship, and the journey to the City of the Spices from Gullmoor is much greater than to just go to Moraes Heng and back, mighten we leave the book here, and then return when we are done and travel by ship then…?” Telémahkos flashed his widest smile.
There was a long pause, and the vizier leaned over and whispered in the lord’s ear. The young man nodded, “Of course…”
Bleys and Telémahkos were dismissed.
Isilem, the 23rd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Some time after noon the next day, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland found themselves approaching the village of Bog End once again. Bleys and Telémahkos had informed their companions of what Lord Swann had said and wanted of them, and how they had managed to change his mind, or at the very least get him to agree to a compromise. Timotheus was angered, objecting to being considered a mere messenger boy by the lord, and Markos was disgusted when he found out the promise to passage to the City of Spices did not include passage back. Laarus of Ra concluded that the Lord and/or the Grand Vizier was trying to be rid of them and hopefully put as much distance between them and whatever was going on in the bog or in the Vineyard Vales.
“It seems to suggest we made the correct choice in taking this route,” the young priest said, and while Markos opened his mouth to comment, for once he thought better of it, and just closed it right back again.
It was a windy day, and though they were kept warm by their pace and the sun, whenever they slowed it cut them deep. It robbed them of much desire to talk.
“Let’s check in on Wallaby and see if taking out those bandits was a good idea,” Telémahkos yelled,5 spurring his horse to get ahead of the others. But as the trail rounded the first house of Bog End, looking all the more shabby under the full light of day, he noticed that the yellow sign was gone. The wide front door was covered with the wooden barrier the halfling used to close it down at night.
He pulled up in front of it and looked around. The hamlet was quiet, but as the other nobles caught up it was broken by a familiar annoying voice.
“Hey ya! Lookie who it is!” It was Tavius. The lanky man squinted and grinned and then spat. He wore his tall waders and a leather cap that held fishing hooks and a lure.
“Ugh,” Telémahkos did not bother hiding his dislike of the party’s one-time guide.6
“What happened here? Where is Wallaby Wringneck?” Bleys asked Tavius as he rode up.
“What do you think happened?” Tavius said, smirking.
“I am asking you what did happen…” Bleys reiterated.
“Can’t you figure it out?” Tavius asked.
“Did someone harm him? Or kidnap him?” Bleys asked.
“And who might do that?” Tavius asked.
“MacHaven’s Brood?” Timotheus said, shaking head at Tavius’ obtuseness.
Tavius rolled his eyes and slouched in exasperation.
”What? He’s not a wizard like in the old stories. He won’t just appear because you said his name,” Timotheus said.
“You don’t have to be a wizard to hear a rumor about me talking about you,” Tavius replied.
“Where are the soldiers of Gullmoor? Are they not charged with keeping these lands safe?” Bleys asked.
“Off hunting greenbacks! What else?” Tavius replied. “Will you be going back into the bog? Need a guide? I been raking it in hand over fist since this whole thing started.”
“We aren’t going there… We’re going up to Moraes Heng,” Timotheus said.
“The Vineyard Vales? Well, why didn’t you say? I know the Vales like the back of my hand,” Tavius stood up straight and saluted. “You’ll need my guiding skills!”
“He’s got a point,” Timotheus turned to the others. “We will need help finding leads…”
Laarus objected to re-hiring the man, but he was outvoted. Even Victoria voted against the young priest of Ra. Tavius fetched his pony, and soon they were off again.
It was another three hour climb, the bog peeling away from a step hill trail choked on both sides with bright chokeberry shrubs and fragrant wintersweet, but as it grew even more steep the black earth gave way to stone in sharp angles covered in black moss.
At one point, when Telémahkos was near the front, Tavius slowed his space to come up beside him.
“Listen, let me know if you need me to slow ‘em down… Na’mean?” Tavius winked.7
Bleys, overhearing, spurred his horse to catch up to them. “Why would Telémahkos wish to slow us down?”
“I have no idea what he’s taking about,” Telémahkos said. He turned to Tavius with anger in his eyes. “There is no reason to delay!”
Tavius snickered and rode to the front again. Bleys continued to ride abreast of Telémahkos.
…to be continued…
-----------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
1 “The Vineyard Vales” is another name for the steads of Moraes Heng. It is also the name of an adventure from Dungeon Magazine, issue #23 (published May/June 1990), written by Randy Maxwell.
2 The Signers received information from Joezyn Barhyte regarding the location of Stanislaw Torn, the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, in Session #22
3 See Session #21
4 Don’t ask me how they came to a unanimous decision after all their bickering, I just know it was marked down in the notes that they did.
5 The Signers defeated Furious Garry and his men in Wallaby’s pub in Session #28.
6 Tavius acted as their guide back in Session #2.
7 Telémahkos paid Tavius of Bog End extra silver to delay the group’s journey into Crossroads Bog when the man first acted as their guide. Again, see Session #2.
The after dinner drinks and desserts were being finished up. Novius Sebastian Swann was speaking quietly with Markos in one corner of the room, sharing one last drink, and Victoria and Laarus had had a long and detailed conversation about the citadel’s defenses, while Timotheus and Telémahkos got drunk out of boredom. As Novius left he took a moment to say good night to everyone, pausing a bit longer with Victoria, gently taking her hand, but shaking it with respectful firmness.
Tabitha Mark had informed Bleys that the Lord would be calling on him the next day to discuss what she referred to as ‘the interrogation,’ and the watch-mage asked for her to arrange for a message he would write to be sent to Terrance the Yellow in the Steads. “Do me a favor?” Markos asked Victoria as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way back to their guest quarters. “Could you make some time to pay a visit to Novius Swann while we are here?”
“To what end?” Victoria asked. Timotheus began to grin, and gave his cousin an elbow.
“Just to say ‘good day’ to be personable…” Markos replied lamely. “I mean… I think he is like us… older, but once a young noble adventurer… He would be a good ally to have… Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you should have no trouble talking to him, Vee… You are so personable!” Timotheus was fighting back laughter.
“I don’t know how I could have gotten that reputation,” Victoria frowned.
“You are such a chatterbox!” Tim teased.
“She speaks when she has something important to say,” Laarus came to his companion’s defense. “Unlike most people…”
Timotheus rolled his eyes at the young priest.
“So will you do it?” Markos asked the militant.
“If I have time I will see if I can see him…” Victoria replied with a tone that did not fill Markos with confidence. He pouted.
Down in the common room they fell to talking what Oroleniel had said to Bleys. The purple-robed mage broke it down to a basic choice, “Go into the bog and seek out Chok’tem and Sir Quintus, or go to Moraes Heng and look into whatever is going on there, which Oroleniel could tell me little about…”
“The problem with the bog is that we will run afoul of Sir Septimias and the other knights,” Victoria said.
“Couldn’t we get a warrant for Quintus’ arrest? That way we can get by the knight unmolested,” Markos suggested.
“Everyone thinks he is dead and it should remain that way,” Bleys said looking around to get a sense of how easy it would be for them to be overheard.
“Is being overheard a real danger?” Timotheus asked. Bleys nodded. The brawny warrior hurried to his cell and fetched his lyre, and dragging a chair over by the door he began to strum it with no talent as he had been doing on occasion lately. The poorly plucked notes echoed in the outer hall.
“Chok’tem and his people can hide indefinitely, including from us if they did not know we were coming,” Bley said. “I think whatever is happening in the bog, the real issue is in the Vale.”1
“What is the source of this notion?” Victoria asked.
“I am drawing my own conclusions…” Bleys began.
“Oh! The Academy allows that?” Markos interrupted with a wide self-congratulatory grin.
Bleys simply continued. “Moraes Heng has wealth and prestige, what does the bog have? Peat moss and lizardfolk and muckdwellers… The former seems more likely the target of a plot if the soldiers of Gullmoor are drawn off to fight the Goldstraw.”
“I vote for doing what Bleys says,” Timotheus said, calling over from the doorway. He had been barely listening.
“If we have to do one of these two things, I think we should go into the bog,” Laarus said, speaking for the first time. His head had been bowed, taking in everyone’s speculation and questions. “At least there we have a lead. We have no idea where to begin at Moraes Heng…”
“What say you, Telémahkos?” Victoria asked. The blond Briareus looked up startled. He had barely been following the discussion at all. Instead, he was tracing out circles and lines and names on a blank page in a journal his cousin carried, but never used.
“Well, I’ve been working on something else, though I must admit I only half-remember my lessons on the connections between the various noble houses, but I have come to some conclusions,” Telémahkos pressed the pages of book flat and looked very satisfied with himself. “If you think about the bond between Wetherwax and Tenbrook, but Tenbrook and Swann are rivals, right? And then over here, you have Devenpeck and Vandermok, and keeping in mind that the Heralds are trying to break free of the control of the Coopers…”
“Telémahkos!” Bleys’ voice rose as it rarely did, stopping the dandyish Briareus short. “What bearing does this have on the matter at hand and the decision we must make?”
“I just feel like we’ve been acting without enough information…” Telémahkos replied.
“Get to the point…” Bleys said, flatly, but after a few more minutes of long-winded introduction, all Telémahkos could come up with was that he felt that the Vandermoks might behind the plot against the Wetherwax fleet. “If they are involved in what is going on here, weakening House Swann, who are allies of Wetherwax, when the blow comes, Devenpeck, Vandermok’s bannermen, will be in a position to take up the slack…”
“You have not said anything I have not already considered,” Bleys said. “We have no evidence…”
“How can we find some?” Markos asked, suddenly interested in Telie’s diagrams.
“By following the leads we have whether they end up connected to the rivalry of the noble houses or not,” Victoria said. “It makes no sense to worry about this now.”
“I concur,” said Bleys. “None of this has any bearing…”
“No! Don’t forget the savage tide and the pearls of power!” Markos interrupted. “This can all be connected!”
“They are not pearls of power,” Bleys said, glaring at Markos.# “And sitting here dreaming up connections will not make them so. We have a decision to make here, bog or vale, which shall it be?”
“Vale,” Markos acquiesced.
“Yep, I say the same,” Timotheus called over.
“I disagree that there are only two options,” Laarus suddenly said.
“Yes, have we considered the possibility of freeing Oroleniel?” Telémahkos offered.
“Have you gone mad?” Victoria asked. Bleys and Laarus simply stared at Telémahkos, while Markos laughed.
“I just thought we could use his help…” He added weakly.
“This was not the third option I had in mind, “ Laarus said, letting the topic drop. “I was referring to our need to seek out the former member of the organization we find ourselves at odds with… and our trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West.”2
“There is that…,” Telémahkos said.
“The bog or the vale? These avenues aid small groups, but when the Savage Tide comes all of Thricia shall be endangered,” Laarus stood, and grew flush as he was prone to do when speaking with passion, because of his pale complexion.
“Oh? What does going down there have to do with that?” Timotheus said, turning his in his seat to face the group, and laying off strumming his lute.
“The Mind of Oberah gave us Torn’s name… It spoke of the savage tide that helped wipe out the Ancients…” Laarus explained, his voice growing louder. “It said we should act with alacrity!”3
“I think he may be right…” Telémahkos said with reluctance. Timotheus went back to playing.
“We are only involved in this by our own choice,” Laarus said, calming down some. “The trip to see this man involves a higher duty…”
“You are wrong,” Bleys said flatly, standing as well. “I have a duty to Oroleniel the Salmon, not only because we are both watch-mages, but because he became involved with the Goldstraw at my behest… Furthermore, the people of Thricia will be aided now if we stamp out this threat of rogue lizardfolk, MacHaven’s Brood and whatever corruption may be afoot in Gullmoor… And while we have reasons to seek out this Torn, the word of a mysterious oracle that claims to be from ‘beyond time and space’ is not the foremost of those…”
“Not to mention the problematic nature of pre-destination, which is something I have been thinking about in regards to this oracle and how it knew we would be where we were and when…” Markos piped up. In fact…” He was drowned out by Telémahkos’ angry voice as he and Laarus fell to arguing about what choice to make. The blond Briareus had changed his mind again, convinced by Bleys’ words and his general dislike of Laarus.
“It is a matter of time!” Laarus insisted. Victoria wandered over to where Timotheus continued to play, growing bored of the fighting, and waiting for everyone else to decide before giving her own opinion, as was her habit in these cases. “May I play with your lute?” She asked Tim.
“You can play with my lute anytime!” Timothus handed it over and waggled his eyebrows, smiling widely. Victoria glared at him as she grabbed the instrument and turned away, plucking cautiously at the strings, as if it might spring a trap.
“The last point and most important reason that we cannot ignore this matter and go to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, is that we still need to contact Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax for his aid in securing us passage there, and that alone may take weeks, in the meantime we can look into this…”
It was finally agreed to drop the trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West as an immediate option and a vote was taken regarding which avenue to investigate. The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland chose to look into the Vale (aka Moraes Heng) unanimously.4
Ralem, the 22nd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Early the next morning, Bleys the Aubergine was called before Lord Septimias Gaius Swann, and the watch-mage decided to bring Telémahkos Briareus with him. He carried ‘the Pillars of Thricia’ with him.
“And what did you learn from your traitorous brethren?” Lord Swann asked. He was sitting and eating breakfast in a small private dining room, noted for a wall of shelves holding steins of various kinds and origins. Bleys and Telémahkos were made to stand before the Lord’s table, while Tiperol Dust, the grand vizier, stood to his Lord’s left.
“Not much,” Bleys replied. “And I am not wholly convinced that he is traitorous, but rather that this is some form of misunderstanding exacerbated by zealousness…”
“Really?” Lord Swann looked up and looked right into Bleys’ eyes. The watch-mage noted the youth in the Lord’s face. In the morning light coming through a nearby open window, he seemed almost child-like.
“Yes, Lord,” Bleys said. “My companions and I plan to head out to the area of the Vineyard Vales to investigate a lead that Oroleniel supplied us with…”
“The Vale? What are you going there for? The stories of the bugs?”
“Bugs, sir?” Telémahkos dared to ask.
Lord Swann shot him a look, and then turned back to Bleys. “Locusts and other insects have destroyed much of this year’s vintage. It is unfortunate, but not unheard of…”
“The locusts could be the lizardfolk channeling dark powers…” Telémahkos suggested. Lord Swann leaned over to his vizier, who shook his head.
“If there is a connection between the trouble in the Crossroads Bog and the locusts, then word should be sent to the Lizardbane so that he might release some of the Viceroy’s men to return and check on it. To send the Signers would be to insult the viceroy by meddling in his domain…” The vizier said.
“Or…” Telémahkos pushed, continuing to address Septimias Gaius Swann. “You could send us to aid him under your writ as Lord, but to be used as he needs…”
“Hmm,” The vizier rubbed his chin and smiled, as if seeing Telémahkos for the first time. “That would be a wise approach…”
Lord Swann waved his hand dismissively. “I had another, more important mission in mind for you and your companions, Master Bleys…” He paused and looked at them both. “I was hoping you’d do me the favor of bringing this seditious book to the Margrave and inform her of our dilemma and the danger of these Pillars…” Lord Swann patted the book where it lay on the table. “I can arrange for a ship to carry you all to the City of the Spices as soon as tomorrow…”
“Well, an audience is inevitable and it makes sense to get it over with as soon as possible for Oroleniel’s sake, however, I am duty bound to look into the circumstances of his alleged crimes firsthand, and that means going to the Vales,” Bleys replied. “We would be more than honored to take the book afterward…”
Young Lord Swann took a deep breath, and he dropped his fork into his bowl of oatmeal and fruit so that it clattered loudly. He slowly got to his feet, resting his hands on the table. He was barely taller than Telémahkos, and much shorter than both Bleys and his vizier. “Of course… If you feel you must do this, then you must, but while I’d prefer this matter taken care of sooner. Why not take the book with you and continue your journey northward from there…? ”
“And we were to be stopped along the way, the book found on us? Would we then not be the seditious ones?” Bleys asked.
“I shall write a letter marked with my seal making you official custodians of the book…”
“Since you are offering to write letters, might we trouble you for an introduction to the viceroy of Gullmoor?” Telémahkos reached, and the lord grit his teeth and nodded.
“It shall be yours…” He said.
“Oh! And since you can arrange for a ship, and the journey to the City of the Spices from Gullmoor is much greater than to just go to Moraes Heng and back, mighten we leave the book here, and then return when we are done and travel by ship then…?” Telémahkos flashed his widest smile.
There was a long pause, and the vizier leaned over and whispered in the lord’s ear. The young man nodded, “Of course…”
Bleys and Telémahkos were dismissed.
Isilem, the 23rd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Some time after noon the next day, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland found themselves approaching the village of Bog End once again. Bleys and Telémahkos had informed their companions of what Lord Swann had said and wanted of them, and how they had managed to change his mind, or at the very least get him to agree to a compromise. Timotheus was angered, objecting to being considered a mere messenger boy by the lord, and Markos was disgusted when he found out the promise to passage to the City of Spices did not include passage back. Laarus of Ra concluded that the Lord and/or the Grand Vizier was trying to be rid of them and hopefully put as much distance between them and whatever was going on in the bog or in the Vineyard Vales.
“It seems to suggest we made the correct choice in taking this route,” the young priest said, and while Markos opened his mouth to comment, for once he thought better of it, and just closed it right back again.
It was a windy day, and though they were kept warm by their pace and the sun, whenever they slowed it cut them deep. It robbed them of much desire to talk.
“Let’s check in on Wallaby and see if taking out those bandits was a good idea,” Telémahkos yelled,5 spurring his horse to get ahead of the others. But as the trail rounded the first house of Bog End, looking all the more shabby under the full light of day, he noticed that the yellow sign was gone. The wide front door was covered with the wooden barrier the halfling used to close it down at night.
He pulled up in front of it and looked around. The hamlet was quiet, but as the other nobles caught up it was broken by a familiar annoying voice.
“Hey ya! Lookie who it is!” It was Tavius. The lanky man squinted and grinned and then spat. He wore his tall waders and a leather cap that held fishing hooks and a lure.
“Ugh,” Telémahkos did not bother hiding his dislike of the party’s one-time guide.6
“What happened here? Where is Wallaby Wringneck?” Bleys asked Tavius as he rode up.
“What do you think happened?” Tavius said, smirking.
“I am asking you what did happen…” Bleys reiterated.
“Can’t you figure it out?” Tavius asked.
“Did someone harm him? Or kidnap him?” Bleys asked.
“And who might do that?” Tavius asked.
“MacHaven’s Brood?” Timotheus said, shaking head at Tavius’ obtuseness.
Tavius rolled his eyes and slouched in exasperation.
”What? He’s not a wizard like in the old stories. He won’t just appear because you said his name,” Timotheus said.
“You don’t have to be a wizard to hear a rumor about me talking about you,” Tavius replied.
“Where are the soldiers of Gullmoor? Are they not charged with keeping these lands safe?” Bleys asked.
“Off hunting greenbacks! What else?” Tavius replied. “Will you be going back into the bog? Need a guide? I been raking it in hand over fist since this whole thing started.”
“We aren’t going there… We’re going up to Moraes Heng,” Timotheus said.
“The Vineyard Vales? Well, why didn’t you say? I know the Vales like the back of my hand,” Tavius stood up straight and saluted. “You’ll need my guiding skills!”
“He’s got a point,” Timotheus turned to the others. “We will need help finding leads…”
Laarus objected to re-hiring the man, but he was outvoted. Even Victoria voted against the young priest of Ra. Tavius fetched his pony, and soon they were off again.
It was another three hour climb, the bog peeling away from a step hill trail choked on both sides with bright chokeberry shrubs and fragrant wintersweet, but as it grew even more steep the black earth gave way to stone in sharp angles covered in black moss.
At one point, when Telémahkos was near the front, Tavius slowed his space to come up beside him.
“Listen, let me know if you need me to slow ‘em down… Na’mean?” Tavius winked.7
Bleys, overhearing, spurred his horse to catch up to them. “Why would Telémahkos wish to slow us down?”
“I have no idea what he’s taking about,” Telémahkos said. He turned to Tavius with anger in his eyes. “There is no reason to delay!”
Tavius snickered and rode to the front again. Bleys continued to ride abreast of Telémahkos.
…to be continued…
-----------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
1 “The Vineyard Vales” is another name for the steads of Moraes Heng. It is also the name of an adventure from Dungeon Magazine, issue #23 (published May/June 1990), written by Randy Maxwell.
2 The Signers received information from Joezyn Barhyte regarding the location of Stanislaw Torn, the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, in Session #22
3 See Session #21
4 Don’t ask me how they came to a unanimous decision after all their bickering, I just know it was marked down in the notes that they did.
5 The Signers defeated Furious Garry and his men in Wallaby’s pub in Session #28.
6 Tavius acted as their guide back in Session #2.
7 Telémahkos paid Tavius of Bog End extra silver to delay the group’s journey into Crossroads Bog when the man first acted as their guide. Again, see Session #2.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues” (part 3 of 3)
Gullmoor was a small square fortress of gray stone adjacent to (but slightly above) a fortified village surrounded by a wall of thick tar-covered logs. The fort and village overlooked the trail, which they could see made its way down to the great plateau of Moraes Heng. The wind here was especially cold, and to their right they could see the green of Drie-Hoek Bay. They could smell it on the air for some time, even though this was the first time since leaving Bog End it came into view.
“You know… Maybe we shouldn’t go to Gullmoor…” Telémahkos said.
“Why not?” asked Bleys.
”What if the Viceroy is involved in whatever is going on?” Telémahkos said. “He could delay us, or refuse us passage in Moraes Heng…”
“If that were to happen we’d have to go back to the bog regardless,” Bleys replied. “If we were to go on to Moraes Heng without presenting ourselves to the viceroy we would be putting ourselves under suspicion and breaking etiquette. We have a letter from Lord Swann that you wisely procured. It shall be all we need…”
When asked what he knew of the viceroy, all Tavius had to say was that he was “a mean old man.”
The smell of sea salt on the air actually increased as they made their way up to Gullmoor. As they passed through the village towards the gate, they could see a depression in the earth near the middle of the village, and small blasts of sea water occasionally echoed from deep within sending small streams of foam to slip back down into the cave at the depression’s center.1 A couple of gulls were slowly circling the hole. There was downcast aura to the village. The houses were shabby and dark, and those near the center of town crusted with sea salt. The villagers looked up at them as they walked their horses to the gate, but said nothing.
“Who goes there?” the guard at the gate to Gullmoor called down. He was dressed in studded leather and wrapped in a dirty fur cloak, and held a spear.
“We are the Sons of Thricia, also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland,” Timotheus called up.
“…And the Scions of Thricia,” Markos added.
“Damn it!” Timotheus hissed. “No one knows what a ‘scion’ is. Soon they’ll be calling us ‘scullions’.”
“Yes! Tell the noble Viceroy that the Scions of Thricia are here with a letter of introduction from Lord Swann in New Harbinger and seek an audience with him,” Telémahkos called up, as Timotheus scowled, obviously unhappy with the name.2
The young nobles were allowed into the dreary courtyard and met by the steward, Nikloge Nogent. The mousy middle-aged man gave them a subdued greeting, took the letter of introduction from Telémahkos and had them wait. There were several buildings within Gullmoor’s walls. After being made to wait nearly forty minutes, they were led into the largest and most central of the structures. It was sprawling low-built building in the style of the old meadhalls. Some young men led the party’s horses off to a stable.
Before entering the Viceroy’s audience chamber, the Signers were asked to leave large or extraneous weapons behind, and to peace-knot their swords. Telémahkos looked to Bleys and then Timotheus nervously. The watch-mage ignored him, but his cousin smiled to dismiss the worry.
The audience chamber was dim, and flanked on two sides by two great hearths decorated with a variety of stuffed birds. Braziers burned low as they entered, but servants were adding fuel to make them glow more brightly. Augustin Demius Gosprey III, the viceroy of Moraes Heng and lord of Gullmoor had creases on his face that aged him beyond his years. The hair left on his balding pate was startling white, as was his beard. He wore no mustache in an allusion to the Swann-style, but the length and fullness of his beard asserted his difference. He had thin, but broad shoulders, and his long legs suggested an imposing height when standing. Wrapped in a thick dark blue woolen robe, he was seated upon a large chair propped up with pillows, and accompanied by a man in red robes, with a goatee and a shaved head, and the steward.
The young nobles bowed and were introduced by the steward. The man in the red robes was identified as Kaj Kahn, the viceroy’s court wizard. The man spoke with a slight accent that marked him as not Thrician born.
“So, you have been sent by Lord Swann?” the viceroy asked.
“No,” Laarus replied, much to everyone’s surprise.
“So my secretary lied?” Augustin raised his eyebrows.
“No, sir…” Telémahkos said, stepping forward. “What my companion meant to say is that when we informed the Lord of our intention to come here he was only happy to write us a letter of introduction to aid us on our way, but it was not his idea to send us…”
“Hmmm… Yes, well…” The viceroy thought this over for a long uncomfortable moment. “So what brings you here?”
Telémahkos went into truncated account of the party’s adventures in the Crossroads Bog and negotiations meeting with Chok’tem of the Goldstraw Tribe of lizardfolk. He then explained how Oroleniel the Salmon had accompanied Sir Septimias Benedict Swann at the behest of Bleys. “And so, as you can imagine… We feel somewhat responsible for this situation and feel like there has been some kind of misunderstanding…”
”Ah, yes… I heard that you had fallen for the lizardman lies,” the viceroy said.
“Not lies, my lord…” Victoria of Anhur interjected. “These creatures seemed sincere in their desire to ally themselves with Thricia and House Swann…”[sup3[/sup]
“We have reason to believe that an internal conflict among the lizardfolk has led to this current situation, but it is only a small minority of the Goldstraw. The majority of the tribe are innocent of wrong-doing,” Telémahkos said. “We think perhaps this is all a distraction from what is happening in the Vineyard Vales…”
“You mean the locusts?”
“Yes, the locusts…” Telémahkos nodded. “We think they may be being summoned specifically to destroy the harvest.”
“How do you know this?”
“Information I gained from Oroleniel while we were in New Harbinger,” Bleys answered.
“But isn’t he a rogue watch-mage?” the Viceroy asked.4
“That remains to be seen,” Telémahkos said. “And by investigating the lead he gave us we may be able to settle that matter one way or another…”
The viceroy was quiet for another long moment, looking at Telémahkos intently. He then cleared his throat and spoke again, “I know your father. He is a good man, a man after my own heart… We have played King’s Men many times…”
”I hope to show some of his wisdom as I grow older…” Telémahkos smiled.
The old man coughed out what might have been a laugh. “With my men chasing after lizardmen in the bog, I would be a poor steward of these lands if I did not take advantage of your presence to at least rule out treachery in the Heng… You have my leave to inquire there and determine if there is an unnatural source for these insects.”
“So perhaps we might get a writ with your seal, explaining that we travel and inquire with your blessing?” For the second time in two days Telémahkos found himself pushing a noble of higher station.
The viceroy was quiet again, but finally nodded. “You shall have your writ.”
“My lord, may I ask after your eldest son? The militant of Anhur?” Victoria asked.
“Thricius… He is not the eldest. My eldest has joined the knights and warriors gathered by House Roose to deal with the hobgoblins reported in the Schrabs,” Augustin replied. “Thricius left for the bog three days ago, after having returned to recoup and gather more men…”
Soon after, the Viceroy excused himself and wished the Signers luck in their search, and offered them a place to stay if they wanted to head out in the morning. However, the young nobles were eager to proceed and left right after the steward brought them the writ with the viceroy’s seal.
Moraes Heng was a large verdant plateau several miles long and wide that hung several hundred feet above the north edge of the Crossroads Bog. The top of the plateau was carved in great green ridges that divided up the land into large steads. The trail led down to the plateau and soon they were riding in the shadow of one of the ridges as the sun was disappearing ahead of them. A wooden sign posted where the trail on out to the Vales branched pointed out the way to different steads. To the right was the Greylight Stead and the Gosprey Steads, and to the left was the Winter, Tarchon and Vanderboren Steads.
“Vanderboren?” Telémahkos asked aloud.
“Lavinia’s parents did own property throughout Thricia,” Bleys said. “Perhaps that is a place to seek information…”
“Or the Winter Stead, Bleys…” Timotheus suggested, speaking with a patronizing tone.
“What is it we are looking for here?” Laarus asked, still clearly annoyed with having to come here at all.
“Bandits…” Timotheus replied.
The land about them was bound by low stone walls that curved up and down over the ridges. Vines and drooping trees were thick along the borderlands, but everywhere they went they saw signs of destruction. Leaves and fruit devoured and ruined.
They spotted a group of people coming up the trail in the opposite direction. It was an extended family of about sixteen people along with two large wagons covered drawn by oxen and three dogs.
Greeted by the young nobles, the people stopped and the patriarch of the family did most of the talking. He was a careworn man whose many winters were visible in the creases on face, but he was still hearty and strong. He told a sad tale of how the locusts had devoured the plot of land his family worked for a local landlord. They were moving to New Harbinger.
When asked about the locusts, the man described how at first larger and larger swarms were arriving, but then there were smaller swarms of larger locusts.
“How large?” Telémahkos asked. The man held his hands about two and a half feet apart.
“Those are some locusts!” Timotheus swore.
“And so late in the season…” The man added.
“This has to be a coincidence…” Telémahkos murmured, still thinking about the Vanderborens. Then he spoke up. “What can you tell us about the Vanderboren stead?”
The man could not say much, except that the owners had died and the place had skipped a growing season. He added that only the largest estates that could afford to absorb the loss of the grapes and other crops were still functioning.
Thanking them for their help, Bleys gave the man three pieces of silver for his trouble, and Victoria added four of her own. The man’s eyes lit up in response to their generosity. “What do you call yourselves?” he asked.
“The Scions of Thricia,” Telémahkos quickly replied before anyone else could, but the man looked confused.
“It means ‘children of…’” Timotheus said with a snicker.
As the carts pulled away, the young nobles noticed a group of small children hanging out of the back of one. “Thank you Children on Thricia!” They cried, waving and smiling.
After another fifteen minutes of slow riding in the gathering gloom, they saw a sign pointing to a gap in the hedge ahead of them and to the left. “Winter Stead,” it read. The wind died down and loud munching and buzzing sound came swelling out from behind he hedge. The party slowed down. Bleys the Aubergine put an arrow to his bow, and Victoria called to Anhur, casting regenerate light wounds on Timotheus.
Tavius slowed down his pony and moved to the far side and the rear of the line. Telémahkos had his horse inch towards the gate now visible in the gap in the hedge with Bleys and Tim close behind. It was then that several large locusts, a couple nearly five feet long, came bounding over the hedge at them.
Telémahkos spurred his horse and charged, lowering his lance to catch it on it back, spurting ichor as tried to hop away. Victoria lowered her spear and charged in as well, but the thing hopped at the last minute and she missed. Bleys put some room between him and the other bugs, firing an arrow that bit into earth ineffectively.
The battle did not last long. The locusts fought more out of instinct, not malice, going for whatever was aggressive and near them, but just as likely to hop away as they tried to make their way across the road to the stead grounds on the other side. Telémahkos screamed, as one of the bigger locusts spat some kind of acidic goo at him, despite the fact that he raised his shield to block the worst of it.
Timotheus dismounted, swinging his flail and issuing commands. “Encircle and kill! Go for the weakened ones! Don’t let yourself get surrounded!”
Markos cast acid arrow and fried the biggest one, and then urged his horse on to kick at another, crushing its head. The insect’s legs spasmed futilely. Unfortunately, another hopped by and spat at Markos, and though he avoided the worst of it, he felt his stomach turn, sickened by the acrid stench of the substance.5
Several more of the locusts were crushed as Victoria turned her horse to go to the aid of Laarus, who dismounted and had three near him. Markos tried to get his horse to kick again, but it was obstinate. Bleys had a similar problem with his mount. He tried an arrow from point blank range, but the horse stepped away from the monstrous insect, throwing off his aim.
It soon became clear that they were in the midst of a leaping migration, as most of the bugs simply leapt past them after a quick bite or spit, landing on the opposite hedge and munching on it.
“Markos! Use that smoke spell of yours! Bugs hate smoke!” Timotheus called.6
Suddenly there was loud cacophonous buzzing from within the Winter Stead, and a great swarm of locusts not as monstrous in size as some of the others, but no less frightening and relentless came leaping over the hedge. Victoria’s horse screamed as the thousands of biting insects descended on her and her mount, obscuring them. The militant of Anhur was mostly protected by her armor, but the horse had no such protection. Bugs splattered against her swinging morningstar, but there were too many for it do make much difference.
“Tymon! We need fire!” Telémahkos called to his manservant, who having dismounted, began to rummage through a pack for torches and flint as he moved over to join Markos.
“May the water gathered up from the world by the sun drown these insects!” Laarus prayed to Ra, creating water above the swarm so that it crashed down upon them. Scores of locusts dropped to the ground, their wings damp, but there were many more swarming about Victoria. Bracing herself against the pummeling bugs and many bites, she called to Anhur and cast cure light wounds on her horse.
Timotheus moved to aid Victoria, grinning madly with the staccato crunch of locusts against his flail. Bleys moved to her other side and did the best he could to lessen the swarm by smacking locusts out of it with the flat of his saber. With an arcane word Markos lit a torch Tymon pulled out, and the swarm instinctively moved away, leaving Victoria to envelope Timotheus. Telémahkos rushed over, grabbing the torch from Tymon and waving the flame at the swarm. Locusts smoked and burned and the swarm leapt again, landing on the opposite hedge and immediately beginning to devour it.
Now that the locusts had passed, the young nobles were able to catch their breath, and Telémahkos walked over to the gate to look into the Winter Stead. The others gathered behind him and took in the devastation beyond. The locusts had eaten everything that had once grown within. All that was left were withering vines on countless trellises. The trail beyond led to a large manor house. A man came out from around the side of the house carrying a large torch. He was middle-aged, but still head of long curly red-brown hair beneath a knit cap. He wore a cudgel at his side and was accompanied by two younger men, also with clubs and torches.
“Hail and well met!” He called. Some barking dogs came up the path behind and were quickly hushed. “Run afoul of the swarms, have ya?”
His name was Kelsey Winter, and he was the steward of the this stead, working for his cousin Rafael Winter. Bleys nodded his recognition of the name.7
“I’m glad someone is finally looking into this,” he said when Telémahkos introduced them as the Scions of Thricia, Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland. He went on to tell them that he thought something was afoot. “Sure, locusts have been a problem in the past, but never this late in the season, and did you see the size of some of them?”
They asked if they were still on the trail for the Vanderboren Stead and he confirmed that they were, though they would pass the sizeable Tarchon Steads first.
“Has there been anyone out of the ordinary around?” Telémahkos asked. “Strangers?”
“Strangers? Well, there are those men working up at the Vanderboren Stead,” He said. “But Miss Lavinia and a band of adventurers in her employ came through not long ago and confirmed that yes they were working for her…”
“What was strange about them?” Bleys asked.
“Kept to themselves… I went out greet them and offer them help and got a cold shoulder,” Kelsey went on. “Maybe they sensed I was checking them out and didn’t like it, but still I was trying to be neighborly… They seemed like hard men, more like hunters than men to work in a vineyard…”
“And you said Lavinia was here? How long ago?” Telémahkos asked.
Two weeks was the answer. It did not take much to also confirm that the band of adventurers were Maeve the Mauve and the Jade Ravens, now simply calling themselves ‘the Ravens’.
Thanking Kelsey, they rode on. Hoping to reach the Tarchon Steads before nightfall.
End of Session #29
--------------------
Notes:
1 ‘Salthole’ leads to sea caves that allows the tide to rise up into the depression.
2 At this point in the campaign there were still frequent disagreement about the group’s name both in and out of character.
3 The Signers and Chok’tem negotiated an agreement in Session #3.
4 Watch-mages that violate the rules and restrictions of their order are called “rogue”.
5 Sickened characters suffer a -2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
6 Timotheus was referring to the smoke version of the pyrotechnics spell.
7 Rafael Winter is a well-known member of the Winter Family who owns a great deal of land and mercantile businesses, but does not seem to have any desires to attain noble status.
Gullmoor was a small square fortress of gray stone adjacent to (but slightly above) a fortified village surrounded by a wall of thick tar-covered logs. The fort and village overlooked the trail, which they could see made its way down to the great plateau of Moraes Heng. The wind here was especially cold, and to their right they could see the green of Drie-Hoek Bay. They could smell it on the air for some time, even though this was the first time since leaving Bog End it came into view.
“You know… Maybe we shouldn’t go to Gullmoor…” Telémahkos said.
“Why not?” asked Bleys.
”What if the Viceroy is involved in whatever is going on?” Telémahkos said. “He could delay us, or refuse us passage in Moraes Heng…”
“If that were to happen we’d have to go back to the bog regardless,” Bleys replied. “If we were to go on to Moraes Heng without presenting ourselves to the viceroy we would be putting ourselves under suspicion and breaking etiquette. We have a letter from Lord Swann that you wisely procured. It shall be all we need…”
When asked what he knew of the viceroy, all Tavius had to say was that he was “a mean old man.”
The smell of sea salt on the air actually increased as they made their way up to Gullmoor. As they passed through the village towards the gate, they could see a depression in the earth near the middle of the village, and small blasts of sea water occasionally echoed from deep within sending small streams of foam to slip back down into the cave at the depression’s center.1 A couple of gulls were slowly circling the hole. There was downcast aura to the village. The houses were shabby and dark, and those near the center of town crusted with sea salt. The villagers looked up at them as they walked their horses to the gate, but said nothing.
“Who goes there?” the guard at the gate to Gullmoor called down. He was dressed in studded leather and wrapped in a dirty fur cloak, and held a spear.
“We are the Sons of Thricia, also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland,” Timotheus called up.
“…And the Scions of Thricia,” Markos added.
“Damn it!” Timotheus hissed. “No one knows what a ‘scion’ is. Soon they’ll be calling us ‘scullions’.”
“Yes! Tell the noble Viceroy that the Scions of Thricia are here with a letter of introduction from Lord Swann in New Harbinger and seek an audience with him,” Telémahkos called up, as Timotheus scowled, obviously unhappy with the name.2
The young nobles were allowed into the dreary courtyard and met by the steward, Nikloge Nogent. The mousy middle-aged man gave them a subdued greeting, took the letter of introduction from Telémahkos and had them wait. There were several buildings within Gullmoor’s walls. After being made to wait nearly forty minutes, they were led into the largest and most central of the structures. It was sprawling low-built building in the style of the old meadhalls. Some young men led the party’s horses off to a stable.
Before entering the Viceroy’s audience chamber, the Signers were asked to leave large or extraneous weapons behind, and to peace-knot their swords. Telémahkos looked to Bleys and then Timotheus nervously. The watch-mage ignored him, but his cousin smiled to dismiss the worry.
The audience chamber was dim, and flanked on two sides by two great hearths decorated with a variety of stuffed birds. Braziers burned low as they entered, but servants were adding fuel to make them glow more brightly. Augustin Demius Gosprey III, the viceroy of Moraes Heng and lord of Gullmoor had creases on his face that aged him beyond his years. The hair left on his balding pate was startling white, as was his beard. He wore no mustache in an allusion to the Swann-style, but the length and fullness of his beard asserted his difference. He had thin, but broad shoulders, and his long legs suggested an imposing height when standing. Wrapped in a thick dark blue woolen robe, he was seated upon a large chair propped up with pillows, and accompanied by a man in red robes, with a goatee and a shaved head, and the steward.
The young nobles bowed and were introduced by the steward. The man in the red robes was identified as Kaj Kahn, the viceroy’s court wizard. The man spoke with a slight accent that marked him as not Thrician born.
“So, you have been sent by Lord Swann?” the viceroy asked.
“No,” Laarus replied, much to everyone’s surprise.
“So my secretary lied?” Augustin raised his eyebrows.
“No, sir…” Telémahkos said, stepping forward. “What my companion meant to say is that when we informed the Lord of our intention to come here he was only happy to write us a letter of introduction to aid us on our way, but it was not his idea to send us…”
“Hmmm… Yes, well…” The viceroy thought this over for a long uncomfortable moment. “So what brings you here?”
Telémahkos went into truncated account of the party’s adventures in the Crossroads Bog and negotiations meeting with Chok’tem of the Goldstraw Tribe of lizardfolk. He then explained how Oroleniel the Salmon had accompanied Sir Septimias Benedict Swann at the behest of Bleys. “And so, as you can imagine… We feel somewhat responsible for this situation and feel like there has been some kind of misunderstanding…”
”Ah, yes… I heard that you had fallen for the lizardman lies,” the viceroy said.
“Not lies, my lord…” Victoria of Anhur interjected. “These creatures seemed sincere in their desire to ally themselves with Thricia and House Swann…”[sup3[/sup]
“We have reason to believe that an internal conflict among the lizardfolk has led to this current situation, but it is only a small minority of the Goldstraw. The majority of the tribe are innocent of wrong-doing,” Telémahkos said. “We think perhaps this is all a distraction from what is happening in the Vineyard Vales…”
“You mean the locusts?”
“Yes, the locusts…” Telémahkos nodded. “We think they may be being summoned specifically to destroy the harvest.”
“How do you know this?”
“Information I gained from Oroleniel while we were in New Harbinger,” Bleys answered.
“But isn’t he a rogue watch-mage?” the Viceroy asked.4
“That remains to be seen,” Telémahkos said. “And by investigating the lead he gave us we may be able to settle that matter one way or another…”
The viceroy was quiet for another long moment, looking at Telémahkos intently. He then cleared his throat and spoke again, “I know your father. He is a good man, a man after my own heart… We have played King’s Men many times…”
”I hope to show some of his wisdom as I grow older…” Telémahkos smiled.
The old man coughed out what might have been a laugh. “With my men chasing after lizardmen in the bog, I would be a poor steward of these lands if I did not take advantage of your presence to at least rule out treachery in the Heng… You have my leave to inquire there and determine if there is an unnatural source for these insects.”
“So perhaps we might get a writ with your seal, explaining that we travel and inquire with your blessing?” For the second time in two days Telémahkos found himself pushing a noble of higher station.
The viceroy was quiet again, but finally nodded. “You shall have your writ.”
“My lord, may I ask after your eldest son? The militant of Anhur?” Victoria asked.
“Thricius… He is not the eldest. My eldest has joined the knights and warriors gathered by House Roose to deal with the hobgoblins reported in the Schrabs,” Augustin replied. “Thricius left for the bog three days ago, after having returned to recoup and gather more men…”
Soon after, the Viceroy excused himself and wished the Signers luck in their search, and offered them a place to stay if they wanted to head out in the morning. However, the young nobles were eager to proceed and left right after the steward brought them the writ with the viceroy’s seal.
Moraes Heng was a large verdant plateau several miles long and wide that hung several hundred feet above the north edge of the Crossroads Bog. The top of the plateau was carved in great green ridges that divided up the land into large steads. The trail led down to the plateau and soon they were riding in the shadow of one of the ridges as the sun was disappearing ahead of them. A wooden sign posted where the trail on out to the Vales branched pointed out the way to different steads. To the right was the Greylight Stead and the Gosprey Steads, and to the left was the Winter, Tarchon and Vanderboren Steads.
“Vanderboren?” Telémahkos asked aloud.
“Lavinia’s parents did own property throughout Thricia,” Bleys said. “Perhaps that is a place to seek information…”
“Or the Winter Stead, Bleys…” Timotheus suggested, speaking with a patronizing tone.
“What is it we are looking for here?” Laarus asked, still clearly annoyed with having to come here at all.
“Bandits…” Timotheus replied.
The land about them was bound by low stone walls that curved up and down over the ridges. Vines and drooping trees were thick along the borderlands, but everywhere they went they saw signs of destruction. Leaves and fruit devoured and ruined.
They spotted a group of people coming up the trail in the opposite direction. It was an extended family of about sixteen people along with two large wagons covered drawn by oxen and three dogs.
Greeted by the young nobles, the people stopped and the patriarch of the family did most of the talking. He was a careworn man whose many winters were visible in the creases on face, but he was still hearty and strong. He told a sad tale of how the locusts had devoured the plot of land his family worked for a local landlord. They were moving to New Harbinger.
When asked about the locusts, the man described how at first larger and larger swarms were arriving, but then there were smaller swarms of larger locusts.
“How large?” Telémahkos asked. The man held his hands about two and a half feet apart.
“Those are some locusts!” Timotheus swore.
“And so late in the season…” The man added.
“This has to be a coincidence…” Telémahkos murmured, still thinking about the Vanderborens. Then he spoke up. “What can you tell us about the Vanderboren stead?”
The man could not say much, except that the owners had died and the place had skipped a growing season. He added that only the largest estates that could afford to absorb the loss of the grapes and other crops were still functioning.
Thanking them for their help, Bleys gave the man three pieces of silver for his trouble, and Victoria added four of her own. The man’s eyes lit up in response to their generosity. “What do you call yourselves?” he asked.
“The Scions of Thricia,” Telémahkos quickly replied before anyone else could, but the man looked confused.
“It means ‘children of…’” Timotheus said with a snicker.
As the carts pulled away, the young nobles noticed a group of small children hanging out of the back of one. “Thank you Children on Thricia!” They cried, waving and smiling.
After another fifteen minutes of slow riding in the gathering gloom, they saw a sign pointing to a gap in the hedge ahead of them and to the left. “Winter Stead,” it read. The wind died down and loud munching and buzzing sound came swelling out from behind he hedge. The party slowed down. Bleys the Aubergine put an arrow to his bow, and Victoria called to Anhur, casting regenerate light wounds on Timotheus.
Tavius slowed down his pony and moved to the far side and the rear of the line. Telémahkos had his horse inch towards the gate now visible in the gap in the hedge with Bleys and Tim close behind. It was then that several large locusts, a couple nearly five feet long, came bounding over the hedge at them.
Telémahkos spurred his horse and charged, lowering his lance to catch it on it back, spurting ichor as tried to hop away. Victoria lowered her spear and charged in as well, but the thing hopped at the last minute and she missed. Bleys put some room between him and the other bugs, firing an arrow that bit into earth ineffectively.
The battle did not last long. The locusts fought more out of instinct, not malice, going for whatever was aggressive and near them, but just as likely to hop away as they tried to make their way across the road to the stead grounds on the other side. Telémahkos screamed, as one of the bigger locusts spat some kind of acidic goo at him, despite the fact that he raised his shield to block the worst of it.
Timotheus dismounted, swinging his flail and issuing commands. “Encircle and kill! Go for the weakened ones! Don’t let yourself get surrounded!”
Markos cast acid arrow and fried the biggest one, and then urged his horse on to kick at another, crushing its head. The insect’s legs spasmed futilely. Unfortunately, another hopped by and spat at Markos, and though he avoided the worst of it, he felt his stomach turn, sickened by the acrid stench of the substance.5
Several more of the locusts were crushed as Victoria turned her horse to go to the aid of Laarus, who dismounted and had three near him. Markos tried to get his horse to kick again, but it was obstinate. Bleys had a similar problem with his mount. He tried an arrow from point blank range, but the horse stepped away from the monstrous insect, throwing off his aim.
It soon became clear that they were in the midst of a leaping migration, as most of the bugs simply leapt past them after a quick bite or spit, landing on the opposite hedge and munching on it.
“Markos! Use that smoke spell of yours! Bugs hate smoke!” Timotheus called.6
Suddenly there was loud cacophonous buzzing from within the Winter Stead, and a great swarm of locusts not as monstrous in size as some of the others, but no less frightening and relentless came leaping over the hedge. Victoria’s horse screamed as the thousands of biting insects descended on her and her mount, obscuring them. The militant of Anhur was mostly protected by her armor, but the horse had no such protection. Bugs splattered against her swinging morningstar, but there were too many for it do make much difference.
“Tymon! We need fire!” Telémahkos called to his manservant, who having dismounted, began to rummage through a pack for torches and flint as he moved over to join Markos.
“May the water gathered up from the world by the sun drown these insects!” Laarus prayed to Ra, creating water above the swarm so that it crashed down upon them. Scores of locusts dropped to the ground, their wings damp, but there were many more swarming about Victoria. Bracing herself against the pummeling bugs and many bites, she called to Anhur and cast cure light wounds on her horse.
Timotheus moved to aid Victoria, grinning madly with the staccato crunch of locusts against his flail. Bleys moved to her other side and did the best he could to lessen the swarm by smacking locusts out of it with the flat of his saber. With an arcane word Markos lit a torch Tymon pulled out, and the swarm instinctively moved away, leaving Victoria to envelope Timotheus. Telémahkos rushed over, grabbing the torch from Tymon and waving the flame at the swarm. Locusts smoked and burned and the swarm leapt again, landing on the opposite hedge and immediately beginning to devour it.
Now that the locusts had passed, the young nobles were able to catch their breath, and Telémahkos walked over to the gate to look into the Winter Stead. The others gathered behind him and took in the devastation beyond. The locusts had eaten everything that had once grown within. All that was left were withering vines on countless trellises. The trail beyond led to a large manor house. A man came out from around the side of the house carrying a large torch. He was middle-aged, but still head of long curly red-brown hair beneath a knit cap. He wore a cudgel at his side and was accompanied by two younger men, also with clubs and torches.
“Hail and well met!” He called. Some barking dogs came up the path behind and were quickly hushed. “Run afoul of the swarms, have ya?”
His name was Kelsey Winter, and he was the steward of the this stead, working for his cousin Rafael Winter. Bleys nodded his recognition of the name.7
“I’m glad someone is finally looking into this,” he said when Telémahkos introduced them as the Scions of Thricia, Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland. He went on to tell them that he thought something was afoot. “Sure, locusts have been a problem in the past, but never this late in the season, and did you see the size of some of them?”
They asked if they were still on the trail for the Vanderboren Stead and he confirmed that they were, though they would pass the sizeable Tarchon Steads first.
“Has there been anyone out of the ordinary around?” Telémahkos asked. “Strangers?”
“Strangers? Well, there are those men working up at the Vanderboren Stead,” He said. “But Miss Lavinia and a band of adventurers in her employ came through not long ago and confirmed that yes they were working for her…”
“What was strange about them?” Bleys asked.
“Kept to themselves… I went out greet them and offer them help and got a cold shoulder,” Kelsey went on. “Maybe they sensed I was checking them out and didn’t like it, but still I was trying to be neighborly… They seemed like hard men, more like hunters than men to work in a vineyard…”
“And you said Lavinia was here? How long ago?” Telémahkos asked.
Two weeks was the answer. It did not take much to also confirm that the band of adventurers were Maeve the Mauve and the Jade Ravens, now simply calling themselves ‘the Ravens’.
Thanking Kelsey, they rode on. Hoping to reach the Tarchon Steads before nightfall.
End of Session #29
--------------------
Notes:
1 ‘Salthole’ leads to sea caves that allows the tide to rise up into the depression.
2 At this point in the campaign there were still frequent disagreement about the group’s name both in and out of character.
3 The Signers and Chok’tem negotiated an agreement in Session #3.
4 Watch-mages that violate the rules and restrictions of their order are called “rogue”.
5 Sickened characters suffer a -2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
6 Timotheus was referring to the smoke version of the pyrotechnics spell.
7 Rafael Winter is a well-known member of the Winter Family who owns a great deal of land and mercantile businesses, but does not seem to have any desires to attain noble status.
I'm really enjoying the depth of the Swann territories that they're exploring. I appreciate the range of different terrains and sites that encompass their holdings.
Now if only they weren't such pricks...and by that I mean all the Swanns they'd met that far, though maybe Novius Sebastian may have been a refreshing change, had they spoken with him much.
Now if only they weren't such pricks...and by that I mean all the Swanns they'd met that far, though maybe Novius Sebastian may have been a refreshing change, had they spoken with him much.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #30 – “The Vineyard Vales”(part 1 of 3) 1
“Do you think these locusts could represent some form of the savage tide?” Markos asked. The Scions of Thricia were riding as fast as they dared westward on Moraes Heng’s lower road. Soon the Tarchon Steads came into view. Though the gloom of evening was only just gathering, they carried lit torches in case they ran across more of the insects.
“We do not know what this savage tide is,” Bleys said.
“We know that it has something to do with the ‘pearl of power’ that the bullywugs venerated,” Markos explained. “And we know the pearl transformed the smuggler’s of Kraken’s Cove into some kind of monstrous frog-men… Sounds like a savage tide to me…”#
“And do not forget what the Mind of Oberah told us,” Laarus said.#
The Tarchon Steads were much larger than any of the other estates they had passed. A wide road led towards a great grid of fields and vineyards.
The steward was one Baxter Morningfire. He was suspicious of the Signers at first, and as a result they were suspicious of him. But his attitude changed when he saw the note from the viceroy and learned they were there to investigate the infestation of locusts. Also, he knew of them by reputation.
“It is you who aided my master’s son when his master had gone missing…” Baxter said.
”Who is you master?” Bleys asked.
“Sir Valerius Euthymius Tarchon,” the steward replied.# The knight was not present, as he had rode off to the bog with his men when the news of Sir Quintus Gosprey’s disappearance (and that of his son) had reached him. “He should be returning tomorrow at some time, at least temporarily. You are welcome to make camp on our lands and await his arrival. I am sure my master would be honored to meet you…”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Laarus replied. “Tell us, how has the plagues of locusts effected these lands?”
“We have been fortunate…” Baxter said. “While these steads have suffered some, the size of our lands has made it possible for us to harvest some of our late season crops… Other smaller steads have not been so lucky…”
Telémahkos and Timotheus were for staying the night, but the others wanted to move on immediately when Baxter Morningfire confirmed Kelsey Winter’s estimation of the men working at the Vanderboren Estate.2
“Lavinia has reason to be cautious,” Telémahkos said after they thanked the steward and hurried on their way. Night was falling more rapidly, Ra’s Glory racing towards its rest in the Realm of Anubis for the night. “Perhaps the standoffishness of her men is on her order…”
“Perhaps,” replied Bleys. “But that remains to be seen…”
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“Hold! Hail! Well met!” One of the stead hands called out to them as they made their way up the road towards the long house near the entrance to the Vanderboren Stead. In the dying light, they could see men milling around the long low building and its nearby smaller structures. Along their left was a row of huge cylindrical hay bales, spaced about ten to fifteen apart and running about 150 yards out to the buildings. The man remained a good eighty feet ahead of them.
“We are the Scions of Thricia,” Timotheus called out, taking a moment to sneer at his cousin as he said the name. “Also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland! We are investigating the troubles here in Moraes Heng!”
“No troubles here!” The man called back.
“Giant bugs?” Timotheus asked.
“No issues,” the man called back. The young nobles all looked at each other with suspicion in their eyes.
“We are also looking to stay the night here,” Timotheus said. “Night is falling and we have traveled far…”
“Not possible…” the man said. “We have strict orders from the owners of this land…”
“I am Telémahkos of House Briareus, friend of Lavinia Vanderboren. Bring your master to us…”
”Of course!” The man called back. “Please wait where you are!” He turned and began to march quickly towards the longhouse. He gave a few sharp whistles and signaled with a finger. Some of the workers milling around began to jog out to the other side of the great hay bails, and there was some other activity that was hard to make out in the growing gloom. Bleys lit a torch and held it aloft, as Markos cast prestidigitation. The watch-mage then cast protection from arrows on Timotheus, wary of the men who have moved out of view.
“Bleys, if we are attacked do we fight or do we leave?” Timotheus asked quietly.
“When I am attacked, I make it a practice of fighting back,” Bleys answered.
“You’re the boss!” Tim replied.
“He is not the boss!” Markos complained.
“We did once agree that he would be party leader…” Telémahkos responded, and the two of them fell to bickering on the matter.
“Shaddap!” Timotheus barked. “This is not the time! We need to keep our eyes and ears open!”
Two figures were approaching from the longhouse. One stopped about 100 feet away, but the second approached to about thirty feet, waving a greeting.
Timotheus noticed yet another figure moving out behind the coils of hay. “This does not feel right,” he murmured.
“Victoria…” Bleys turned and whispered to the militant. “Ride casually around the back of the hay… Send word back of what you see…”
Victoria of Anhur nodded, and slowly turned her horse, Ironsides, to go around the back of the line of hay.
“Telémahkos accompany her part of the way,” the watch-mage signaled, and the blond Briareus obeyed.
“Where are your friends riding off to?” the approaching man asked. He was perhaps 30 years old, with long brown hair and a long drooping mustache. He had a hard look, carried himself with confidence. He wore studded leather armor and carried a long sword at his side.
“We did not want to appear too intimidating in our discussions,” Bleys answered. “They are just looking around…”
“We would rather you did not,” the man said, and he called to them. “Please halt!” Victoria stopped at the edge of the track, and Telémahkos turned his horse to ride back.
“Who are you?” Timotheus asked.
“I am called Gerloch. I am the foreman here…” He answered. “I am sorry if we seem unwelcoming, but the owners have left strict instructions that no uninvited guests be allowed on the property… There have been unsavory sorts around…”
“Unsavory sorts?” Bleys asked.
“People seeking to purchase this land from our masters…” Gerloch replied.
“And the locusts? Have they not made this land less valuable?” Bleys asked.
“This land has lain fallow for a season, and thus the locusts had nothing to eat here,” Gerloch explained. “They quickly moved on and we are closing the land down until our masters decide to sell, or prepare for planting in the spring…”
“Well, I am Telémahkos Briareus, of House Briareus and a friend of your mistress, Lavinia Vanderboren,” Telémahkos said, as he rode back up, hearing the end of what the foreman said. “We have been traveling long on the viceroy’s business and need rest. I invoke our rights as nobles to camp on this land, as I know Miss Vanderboren would grant us that if she were here…”
Gerloch shook his head. “Only the Swanns may invoke such a right, sir… My apologies…” He spoke with a flatness that belied any actual regret.
Telémahkos drew the viceroy’s letter from his toga and rode up some more and handed it to the man. “We have a letter with the Viceroy’s mark granting us leave in these lands to investigate these plagues,” he said to the foreman. Gerloch barely looked and handed it back, sighing.
“Very well…” the man said. “Please wait here while I make arrangements for a place for you to make camp…”
“May I compensate you for your troubles?” Telémahkos asked.
“Certainly!” The man perked up and held out a hand into which Telémahkos dropped a silver piece.
Gerloch looked at it, smirked and turned, walking with no hurry back to the long house.
As they waited, Tymon lit up a torch as well, and Tavius, who remained in the rear, hefted a hooded lantern, casting long bouncing shadows of the Signers and their horses.
The young nobles had been waiting a while when Bleys turned his horse and rode slowly back up the track parallel to the great coils of hay. It was then the he saw a shadowy figure race between two of the coils behind the party’s position. Casting message, he warned Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos with three short whispers. He rode closer to the stacks as he passed them trying to get a better look, and then whispered to his companions again, when he heard low sharp whistles on the other side of the hay.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Telémahkos said quietly. “Remember, Lavinia has reason to be cautious and hire mercenaries to aid her…” He turned his horse again, to move towards Bleys.
“She has done it before…” Timotheus nodded.3
“I can hear you skulking there…” Bleys said to the man between the large bales. The watch-mage urged his horse forward and raised his torch to see the man trying to look casual leaning against the great coil. He held a short bow upright on the left side of his body, failing to obscure it from sight.
”I’m not skulking,” the man replied. “Just…uh… checking on the hay bales” He smiled weakly.
“We’re just looking for some flat ground to camp on,” Telémahkos bluffed coming over beside Bleys.
“I am sure the foreman will find you an adequate spot… Wouldn’t want you to get in our way, or have us disturb your rest with our work…” The man turned and put his hand on the coil behind him. “Yep! This bale looks good…” The man began to walk off.
“You know, Brother Laarus…” Tavius moved his pony over adjacent to the young priest. “I didn’t get that good a look at him, but I am pretty sure that foreman is one of MacHaven’s men…” He spoke quietly, looking around with caution.
Laarus nodded and moved next to Timotheus to pass the news. Tim passed the news on to Bleys via the message spell.
“Why would Lavinia have dealings with such men?” Laarus asked Timotheus.
“Because she doesn’t know… Or doesn’t ‘have dealings’… Or, Tavius is wrong,” Timotheus dismissed the suggestion.
“Do you think we’d be in our rights to demand to see whatever papers were signed for these workers’ contractual obligation?” Markos asked Bleys and Telémahkos, riding over to them.
“We are under the viceroy’s aegis,” Telémahkos replied. “We have the right to investigate as we see fit…”
Bleys did not respond, but urged his horse through the dark alley between the tall bales and followed the man who had been lurking there, now moving steadily back in the direction of the longhouse.
“You there! How long until your term of employment is done?” the watch-mage called after him.
“Huh?” The man turned, but continued to take a few steps back. “Until we’re done closing down for the winter, I guess… Maybe another week or two? Gerloch would know best…”
As Bleys continued to question the man, who claimed ignorance on all logistical details of his work, Telémahkos and Markos rode up slowly along the other side of the bails. Markos noticed another of the ‘workers’ lurking in the shadows of the bales and called out to him. “You! Come on out!”
The man was startled and turning, he began to run out the other side of the bales and towards the longhouse.
“Bleys! Should I detain him?” Markos asked by way of the message spell, but the watch-mage noticed the man emerging from the row of hay bales, and left the man he questioned to spur his horse and chase after the runner.
“Stop!” Bleys commanded and the man obeyed when he realized he could not outrun a horse. “Why do you run?”
“I…uh… got startled by your friend,” the man replied. “I thought he was going to jump me…”
“Why would you think that?” Bleys asked. “We are friends of Lavinia Vanderboren and are only seeking a place to stay the night…”
“Sometimes people can pretend to be someone who’s not who they really are…” the man replied.
“What were you doing there in the dark?”
“Keeping an eye on you all to make sure you didn’t try anything sneaky while Gerloch makes arrangements,” the man answered.
After a few more questions, Bleys let the man leave and rode back to join the others, along with Telémahkos and Markos. As he made his way back, Gerloch emerged from the longhouse and called out to them.
“Master Bleys! We have found a place for you to camp!” Gerloch said, approaching. He had another man with him. “Domas, here will lead you there…”
“Gerloch…” Telémahkos said. “We realized we’d be remiss if we did not check your papers for the viceroy…”
”Papers?” Gerloch asked.
“Your contract for work… Anything giving you authority here in the Vanderborens’ absence…” Telémahkos replied.
”Oh… That might take some time to find…” Gerloch said.
“Can you tell us about the circumstances of your hiring?” Bleys asked.
Gerloch explained that a broker who was hired by Lavinia Vanderboren had contacted him and his men. “Soon after we arrived, she and her brother came to check on us and sign the agreement…”
At the mention of Lavinia’s brother, the Signers all looked at each other.
“You mean her brother Lowell?” Bleys asked.
“If they have a brother named Lowell, I don’t know him,” Gerloch replied. “I could have sworn they were orphans…”
“Being orphans doesn’t mean they don’t have other siblings…” Telémahkos said.
“I mean… they are the only Vanderborens left…” Gerloch said. “Vanthus and Lavinia…”
“And they came here, together?” Bleys asked. The foreman nodded. The young nobles all looked to each other again, skeptical.
“Just go and get the papers,” Markos insisted. Gerloch nodded and headed back, signaling for another of the armed field hands to join Domas in front of the party.
…to be continued…
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Notes:
1 Session #30 was played Saturday, April 26, 2008 in Maplewood, New Jersey.
2 In Session #29, Kelsey Winter described them as “hard men” who were very stand-offish.
3 Timotheus was referring to Lavinia’s hiring of the Jade Ravens. See Session #8.
“Do you think these locusts could represent some form of the savage tide?” Markos asked. The Scions of Thricia were riding as fast as they dared westward on Moraes Heng’s lower road. Soon the Tarchon Steads came into view. Though the gloom of evening was only just gathering, they carried lit torches in case they ran across more of the insects.
“We do not know what this savage tide is,” Bleys said.
“We know that it has something to do with the ‘pearl of power’ that the bullywugs venerated,” Markos explained. “And we know the pearl transformed the smuggler’s of Kraken’s Cove into some kind of monstrous frog-men… Sounds like a savage tide to me…”#
“And do not forget what the Mind of Oberah told us,” Laarus said.#
The Tarchon Steads were much larger than any of the other estates they had passed. A wide road led towards a great grid of fields and vineyards.
The steward was one Baxter Morningfire. He was suspicious of the Signers at first, and as a result they were suspicious of him. But his attitude changed when he saw the note from the viceroy and learned they were there to investigate the infestation of locusts. Also, he knew of them by reputation.
“It is you who aided my master’s son when his master had gone missing…” Baxter said.
”Who is you master?” Bleys asked.
“Sir Valerius Euthymius Tarchon,” the steward replied.# The knight was not present, as he had rode off to the bog with his men when the news of Sir Quintus Gosprey’s disappearance (and that of his son) had reached him. “He should be returning tomorrow at some time, at least temporarily. You are welcome to make camp on our lands and await his arrival. I am sure my master would be honored to meet you…”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Laarus replied. “Tell us, how has the plagues of locusts effected these lands?”
“We have been fortunate…” Baxter said. “While these steads have suffered some, the size of our lands has made it possible for us to harvest some of our late season crops… Other smaller steads have not been so lucky…”
Telémahkos and Timotheus were for staying the night, but the others wanted to move on immediately when Baxter Morningfire confirmed Kelsey Winter’s estimation of the men working at the Vanderboren Estate.2
“Lavinia has reason to be cautious,” Telémahkos said after they thanked the steward and hurried on their way. Night was falling more rapidly, Ra’s Glory racing towards its rest in the Realm of Anubis for the night. “Perhaps the standoffishness of her men is on her order…”
“Perhaps,” replied Bleys. “But that remains to be seen…”
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“Hold! Hail! Well met!” One of the stead hands called out to them as they made their way up the road towards the long house near the entrance to the Vanderboren Stead. In the dying light, they could see men milling around the long low building and its nearby smaller structures. Along their left was a row of huge cylindrical hay bales, spaced about ten to fifteen apart and running about 150 yards out to the buildings. The man remained a good eighty feet ahead of them.
“We are the Scions of Thricia,” Timotheus called out, taking a moment to sneer at his cousin as he said the name. “Also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland! We are investigating the troubles here in Moraes Heng!”
“No troubles here!” The man called back.
“Giant bugs?” Timotheus asked.
“No issues,” the man called back. The young nobles all looked at each other with suspicion in their eyes.
“We are also looking to stay the night here,” Timotheus said. “Night is falling and we have traveled far…”
“Not possible…” the man said. “We have strict orders from the owners of this land…”
“I am Telémahkos of House Briareus, friend of Lavinia Vanderboren. Bring your master to us…”
”Of course!” The man called back. “Please wait where you are!” He turned and began to march quickly towards the longhouse. He gave a few sharp whistles and signaled with a finger. Some of the workers milling around began to jog out to the other side of the great hay bails, and there was some other activity that was hard to make out in the growing gloom. Bleys lit a torch and held it aloft, as Markos cast prestidigitation. The watch-mage then cast protection from arrows on Timotheus, wary of the men who have moved out of view.
“Bleys, if we are attacked do we fight or do we leave?” Timotheus asked quietly.
“When I am attacked, I make it a practice of fighting back,” Bleys answered.
“You’re the boss!” Tim replied.
“He is not the boss!” Markos complained.
“We did once agree that he would be party leader…” Telémahkos responded, and the two of them fell to bickering on the matter.
“Shaddap!” Timotheus barked. “This is not the time! We need to keep our eyes and ears open!”
Two figures were approaching from the longhouse. One stopped about 100 feet away, but the second approached to about thirty feet, waving a greeting.
Timotheus noticed yet another figure moving out behind the coils of hay. “This does not feel right,” he murmured.
“Victoria…” Bleys turned and whispered to the militant. “Ride casually around the back of the hay… Send word back of what you see…”
Victoria of Anhur nodded, and slowly turned her horse, Ironsides, to go around the back of the line of hay.
“Telémahkos accompany her part of the way,” the watch-mage signaled, and the blond Briareus obeyed.
“Where are your friends riding off to?” the approaching man asked. He was perhaps 30 years old, with long brown hair and a long drooping mustache. He had a hard look, carried himself with confidence. He wore studded leather armor and carried a long sword at his side.
“We did not want to appear too intimidating in our discussions,” Bleys answered. “They are just looking around…”
“We would rather you did not,” the man said, and he called to them. “Please halt!” Victoria stopped at the edge of the track, and Telémahkos turned his horse to ride back.
“Who are you?” Timotheus asked.
“I am called Gerloch. I am the foreman here…” He answered. “I am sorry if we seem unwelcoming, but the owners have left strict instructions that no uninvited guests be allowed on the property… There have been unsavory sorts around…”
“Unsavory sorts?” Bleys asked.
“People seeking to purchase this land from our masters…” Gerloch replied.
“And the locusts? Have they not made this land less valuable?” Bleys asked.
“This land has lain fallow for a season, and thus the locusts had nothing to eat here,” Gerloch explained. “They quickly moved on and we are closing the land down until our masters decide to sell, or prepare for planting in the spring…”
“Well, I am Telémahkos Briareus, of House Briareus and a friend of your mistress, Lavinia Vanderboren,” Telémahkos said, as he rode back up, hearing the end of what the foreman said. “We have been traveling long on the viceroy’s business and need rest. I invoke our rights as nobles to camp on this land, as I know Miss Vanderboren would grant us that if she were here…”
Gerloch shook his head. “Only the Swanns may invoke such a right, sir… My apologies…” He spoke with a flatness that belied any actual regret.
Telémahkos drew the viceroy’s letter from his toga and rode up some more and handed it to the man. “We have a letter with the Viceroy’s mark granting us leave in these lands to investigate these plagues,” he said to the foreman. Gerloch barely looked and handed it back, sighing.
“Very well…” the man said. “Please wait here while I make arrangements for a place for you to make camp…”
“May I compensate you for your troubles?” Telémahkos asked.
“Certainly!” The man perked up and held out a hand into which Telémahkos dropped a silver piece.
Gerloch looked at it, smirked and turned, walking with no hurry back to the long house.
As they waited, Tymon lit up a torch as well, and Tavius, who remained in the rear, hefted a hooded lantern, casting long bouncing shadows of the Signers and their horses.
The young nobles had been waiting a while when Bleys turned his horse and rode slowly back up the track parallel to the great coils of hay. It was then the he saw a shadowy figure race between two of the coils behind the party’s position. Casting message, he warned Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos with three short whispers. He rode closer to the stacks as he passed them trying to get a better look, and then whispered to his companions again, when he heard low sharp whistles on the other side of the hay.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Telémahkos said quietly. “Remember, Lavinia has reason to be cautious and hire mercenaries to aid her…” He turned his horse again, to move towards Bleys.
“She has done it before…” Timotheus nodded.3
“I can hear you skulking there…” Bleys said to the man between the large bales. The watch-mage urged his horse forward and raised his torch to see the man trying to look casual leaning against the great coil. He held a short bow upright on the left side of his body, failing to obscure it from sight.
”I’m not skulking,” the man replied. “Just…uh… checking on the hay bales” He smiled weakly.
“We’re just looking for some flat ground to camp on,” Telémahkos bluffed coming over beside Bleys.
“I am sure the foreman will find you an adequate spot… Wouldn’t want you to get in our way, or have us disturb your rest with our work…” The man turned and put his hand on the coil behind him. “Yep! This bale looks good…” The man began to walk off.
“You know, Brother Laarus…” Tavius moved his pony over adjacent to the young priest. “I didn’t get that good a look at him, but I am pretty sure that foreman is one of MacHaven’s men…” He spoke quietly, looking around with caution.
Laarus nodded and moved next to Timotheus to pass the news. Tim passed the news on to Bleys via the message spell.
“Why would Lavinia have dealings with such men?” Laarus asked Timotheus.
“Because she doesn’t know… Or doesn’t ‘have dealings’… Or, Tavius is wrong,” Timotheus dismissed the suggestion.
“Do you think we’d be in our rights to demand to see whatever papers were signed for these workers’ contractual obligation?” Markos asked Bleys and Telémahkos, riding over to them.
“We are under the viceroy’s aegis,” Telémahkos replied. “We have the right to investigate as we see fit…”
Bleys did not respond, but urged his horse through the dark alley between the tall bales and followed the man who had been lurking there, now moving steadily back in the direction of the longhouse.
“You there! How long until your term of employment is done?” the watch-mage called after him.
“Huh?” The man turned, but continued to take a few steps back. “Until we’re done closing down for the winter, I guess… Maybe another week or two? Gerloch would know best…”
As Bleys continued to question the man, who claimed ignorance on all logistical details of his work, Telémahkos and Markos rode up slowly along the other side of the bails. Markos noticed another of the ‘workers’ lurking in the shadows of the bales and called out to him. “You! Come on out!”
The man was startled and turning, he began to run out the other side of the bales and towards the longhouse.
“Bleys! Should I detain him?” Markos asked by way of the message spell, but the watch-mage noticed the man emerging from the row of hay bales, and left the man he questioned to spur his horse and chase after the runner.
“Stop!” Bleys commanded and the man obeyed when he realized he could not outrun a horse. “Why do you run?”
“I…uh… got startled by your friend,” the man replied. “I thought he was going to jump me…”
“Why would you think that?” Bleys asked. “We are friends of Lavinia Vanderboren and are only seeking a place to stay the night…”
“Sometimes people can pretend to be someone who’s not who they really are…” the man replied.
“What were you doing there in the dark?”
“Keeping an eye on you all to make sure you didn’t try anything sneaky while Gerloch makes arrangements,” the man answered.
After a few more questions, Bleys let the man leave and rode back to join the others, along with Telémahkos and Markos. As he made his way back, Gerloch emerged from the longhouse and called out to them.
“Master Bleys! We have found a place for you to camp!” Gerloch said, approaching. He had another man with him. “Domas, here will lead you there…”
“Gerloch…” Telémahkos said. “We realized we’d be remiss if we did not check your papers for the viceroy…”
”Papers?” Gerloch asked.
“Your contract for work… Anything giving you authority here in the Vanderborens’ absence…” Telémahkos replied.
”Oh… That might take some time to find…” Gerloch said.
“Can you tell us about the circumstances of your hiring?” Bleys asked.
Gerloch explained that a broker who was hired by Lavinia Vanderboren had contacted him and his men. “Soon after we arrived, she and her brother came to check on us and sign the agreement…”
At the mention of Lavinia’s brother, the Signers all looked at each other.
“You mean her brother Lowell?” Bleys asked.
“If they have a brother named Lowell, I don’t know him,” Gerloch replied. “I could have sworn they were orphans…”
“Being orphans doesn’t mean they don’t have other siblings…” Telémahkos said.
“I mean… they are the only Vanderborens left…” Gerloch said. “Vanthus and Lavinia…”
“And they came here, together?” Bleys asked. The foreman nodded. The young nobles all looked to each other again, skeptical.
“Just go and get the papers,” Markos insisted. Gerloch nodded and headed back, signaling for another of the armed field hands to join Domas in front of the party.
…to be continued…
------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
1 Session #30 was played Saturday, April 26, 2008 in Maplewood, New Jersey.
2 In Session #29, Kelsey Winter described them as “hard men” who were very stand-offish.
3 Timotheus was referring to Lavinia’s hiring of the Jade Ravens. See Session #8.
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