The Reconquista: Part I (Shadows over Istivin)

[Thanee]

Latalya

Latalya jumps off the horse and looks at the checkpoint and the slow progress the people waiting there make. “This could take a while... I wonder what this is all about?”

As on command Noctra dives into the air and circles upwards to gain a view over the high city walls, in order to find out, if anything looks wrong.

Meanwhile the elf watches George making his crude joke, and Latalya opens her mouth to speak once or twice, but doesn't really know what to say about it. At least Anastasia seems to be able to handle the situation without any problems.

 

[Branding Opportunity]

Despite your raised voices this early in the morning, and witty banter, the common folk in line seem to ignore your group for the most part. A few give the speakers some looks, but most have learned not to interfere when rich people with heavy armor and large, sharp weapons argue amongst each other.

After about fifteen minutes, Natalya's small, bat flits down out of the sky, aliting on her shoulder. It begins almost imperceptable squeaks which are unintelligible to you.

OOC: Thanee[SBLOCK]Aieeai, I hate yellow terror in the sky! Why you make me fly around now! Everything looks normal in city, if a little deserted. Aieeei, I want to go somewhere dark![/SBLOCK]

After almost an hour wait, the majority of your group finally reaches the front of the line, and a guardsman clad in shining chainmail with a large hand-and-a-half sword strapped to his back steps forward.

OOC: No amount of protestation of conniving would have gotten you to the front of the line any faster. These are bored guardsman who just love making rich adventurers wait for them.

He gives you all a few appraising glances, then clears his throat to speak, "By the order of her Excellent Magnitude the Marchioness, I am required to ask you the following questions. You are required to answer truthfully. This is for your own protection and that of the people of Istivin. Your cooperation is expected and ... appreciated." After this he smiles, although most of it is lost under this thick, black beard. He pulls out a large ledger and quill and turns to the first of you.

OOC: He turns to George, as he is the closest to him, and says all of these things. He will ask each of you these questions, but you don't all have to answer, and he doesn't ask each person each question: What is your name? What is your purpose in Istivin? How long have you been travelling together? What is your religion? Where did you get that armor? Have you ever been to Saltmarsh? Why not? Have you been having any nightmares lately? What were they about? Have you ever been killed? Have you ever been hurt by undead? How many torches are you carrying? How about gold? Where were those coins minted? Why haven't you spent them yet?

 

[Hypersmurf]

To Reivik he says, "Perhaps ye have a song appropriate for when a companion accuses one of plague in retaliation for losing a horse race?"

"Interestingly," Reivik replies from beside Mavic's stirrup, "there's an old gnome tale... but that involved a climbing contest, not a horse race. The loser spread a rumour that the winner had a halfling for a grandmother, accounting for her prowess in the event. Although that backfired rather badly, when the winner's relatives used assorted illusions to convince the loser that she was being haunted by the ghosts of her own ancestors... more than one of whom looked distinctly halflingish themselves!"

He is on the verge of adding more detail, when he catches himself. "... but... you weren't really interested in hearing all that, were you?"

OOC: Assuming any of the horses are at all burdened, Reivik can keep up just fine on foot. He's far more comfortable jogging, even armored, than he is on horseback...

 

[Hypersmurf]

He gives you all a few appraising glances, then clears his throat to speak, "By the order of her Excellent Magnitude the Marchioness, I am required to ask you the following questions. You are required to answer truthfully. This is for your own protection and that of the people of Istivin. Your cooperation is expected and ... appreciated." After this he smiles, although most of it is lost under this thick, black beard. He pulls out a large ledger and quill and turns to the first of you.

"What is your name?"

"Reivik Dalrak," Reivik answers simply.

"What is your religion?"

The dwarf glances across at the huge hammer on his shoulder, down at the repeated hammer-and-anvil motif in the designs inlaid in his mithral armour, and finally at the hammer symbol on its chain about his neck... then shrugs with a metallic jingle. "My family and clan have always been servants of the Soul-Forger," he replies.

"Where did you get that armor?"

At the question, Reivik's eyes light up.

"That's a very insightful question," he tells the guard enthusiastically. "The Marchioness obviously has her priorities in order. Well, let's see. Back in 451, a vein of mithral was discovered in the Crystalmists. This was a cause for much celebration, and brought joy and great prestige to the clan who discovered it. My great, great grandfather, Anlok Dalrak, was a smith renowned for his work with mithral at the time, and so naturally... no, this is important. Why would she have put the question on your list if she didn't want to know the answer? Naturally, he was called upon to work much of the... will you let me finish? How will you fill out your paperwork if you don't hear the story?"

 

[Thanee]

Latalya

Once Noctra returns, Latalya speaks to her in the same language, then the bat vanishes under her cloak, a shadowy place the tiny bat often favors during the day.

[SBLOCK]“I'm sorry, night owl, you know I only ask you, if it is important...”[/SBLOCK]

Then, the waiting continues.

After a while, Latalya begins to overhear the questions, the guardsmen ask. Shaking her head slightly, she turns to her companions, her words not much more than a whisper.

“There is something very wrong here... This makes no sense at all.”


Later, the guard approaches the elf to ask some questions to her, as well.

What is your name? Latalya answers, but the sound is strange and unfamiliar. The words are impossible to reproduce. Only Noctra clearly understands them.

What is your purpose in Istivin? “Visiting friends.”

How long have you been travelling together? “A few days now.”

What is your religion? “I pray to the elven pantheon. Sometimes.”

Where did you get that armor? “In Keoland. It was a gift.”

Have you ever been to Saltmarsh? “I'm not sure. Where is Saltmarsh?”

Have you been having any nightmares lately? “No, I never have nightmares. I do not sleep or dream like you.”

Have you ever been killed? “No, never.”

Have you ever been hurt by undead? “Not seriously.”

How many torches are you carrying? “None.”

How about gold? “Just enough coins to afford a warm bed and a good meal in a tavern.”

Where were those coins minted? “Well, there's a lion's head on them.”

Why haven't you spent them yet? “Because I prefer to sleep in a warm bed and have a meal in a tavern, while I stay in the city.”

 

[James Heard]

He is on the verge of adding more detail, when he catches himself. "... but... you weren't really interested in hearing all that, were you?"

"No, not really," Mavic replied dryly and turns away as Reivik answered the guardsman's questions.

Soon enough though, Mavic came before the man himself. Over his shoulder, addressing his men, he said, "Reddogs! You will answer these goodmen's questions, once we enter the city we shall find lodging and draw straws for who returns to Istivin crossing to bring Thom and the rest of them their mounts so they can raise a cup as well. Understood?"

Mavic waited patiently for the guardsman to list his entire list of inquiries with a peculiar mixture of haughty superiority and suffering nobility. His chest bowed out proudly, the ruby lion pin of his medal thrust out underneath his unforgiving stare while Eshanna fidgeted from behind him, picking at his cloak for road debris.

He deliberately pulled his hands out from the security of his riding gloves, addressing each point by folding a finger from an open fist.

"One," he said as one finger is pulled out, "I am Mavic Larigne. Two, I am ordered by her Marchioness Emondav to present myself at the mercy of her court to present myself for confirmation of my family's lands, estates, and titles, in the name of Larigne, whomsoever shall hold the title upon which those estates and lands fall upon."

"Three," he wiggled his caloused and somewhat ungracefully scarred fingers, "I mustered the Reddogs in the service of Sterich and pledged them six years ago. Eshanna here has only been with me since Readyr'eat...five years ago?" He looked over his shoulder doubtfully.

"Anyways, we killed the things that hurt her." Suddenly his face broke out into a magnificent and somehow terrifying grin. "That's what we do, you know? Kill things that hurt the things we care about?" The joy expressed in that simple statement of fact was the sort that soured milk in the stomachs of babes. Offhandedly he added, gesturing with his newly freed finger, "Eshanna is a priestess of our lady Wee Jas, that the dead be escorted to their places of glory by magic's chosen keeper."

"Fifth, as a matter of fact I have indeed been to Saltmarsh. I've kinsmen in Salinmoor."

"Sixth, my nightmares are over as soon as my estates are restored and every last giant child bleeds his last blood upon the ground."

"Seventh, for insights into death and misfortune, call my man Merres out. Or Eshanna. Or mistress Mishell. I've lost nothing and sacrificed nothing that dozens of others haven't either. Aye, and less equipped to deal with it." He paused. " The rest of your questions are irrelevant and useless. Why not ask oaths to keep the peace instead? Or bind weapons, or any other myriad solutions that would better secure the Marchioness?"

"Once you've accepted us inside the gates, will we have to perform this charade every time we enter? Should I enquire about making my 'dogs available to the guard? They were acceptable protectors for the people of Istivin during the evacuation, surely they're acceptable now?"

 

[Branding Opportunity]

"Where did you get that armor?"

At the question, Reivik's eyes light up.

"That's a very insightful question," he tells the guard enthusiastically. "The Marchioness obviously has her priorities in order. Well, let's see. Back in 451, a vein of mithral was discovered in the Crystalmists. This was a cause for much celebration, and brought joy and great prestige to the clan who discovered it. My great, great grandfather, Anlok Dalrak, was a smith renowned for his work with mithral at the time, and so naturally... no, this is important. Why would she have put the question on your list if she didn't want to know the answer? Naturally, he was called upon to work much of the... will you let me finish? How will you fill out your paperwork if you don't hear the story?"

The guardsman listens somewhat listlessly as the dwarf goes on about the history of his armor, taking a few notes. After a few minutes he holds up his hands and sighs, stating, "Ah, thank you Master Dalrak, that will be enough. Any more and I would have to call for more parchment. You may pass." At this he gestures toward the nearest city gate, and looks up toward the next person in line.

As you pass you hear the guard muttering under his beard, "By Allitur, why couldn't I have been given KP duty? Anything is better than this. At least there the potatoes don't talk back." He shakes his head and gives the next person a perfunctory smile.

 

[Branding Opportunity]

Where did you get that armor? “In Keoland. It was a gift.”

The guardsman admires you for a moment, although you aren't sure if he's appreciating the workmanship of the armor or the elven woman underneath it. He looks back up at you, "Truly amazing, I have never seen its equal."

Have you ever been to Saltmarsh? “I'm not sure. Where is Saltmarsh?”

The guardsman shrugs his shoulders, "It's a town in southern Keoland, it's of no matter." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes clearly not understanding why he has to ask all of these questions.

Have you been having any nightmares lately? “No, I never have nightmares. I do not sleep or dream like you.”

After you answer he blushes a bit and looks down at the ground, "Ah yes, of course, how silly of me, I should have skipped that question with you, Lady."

Why haven't you spent them yet? “Because I prefer to sleep in a warm bed and have a meal in a tavern, while I stay in the city.”

Glad to be finished with the questioning the dark-haired guardsman notes, "Well thank you for answering the questions, milady. For someone of your stature I would recommend the Gryphon's Arms which is located across the road from the Veins. Tall, white building with a grey, slate roof, you can't miss it. Tell them that Emil sent you, they'll take good care of you." After this he gives a low bow and passes on to the next person.

 

[Branding Opportunity]

"One," he said as one finger is pulled out, "I am Mavic Larigne. Two, I am ordered by her Marchioness Emondav to present myself at the mercy of her court to present myself for confirmation of my family's lands, estates, and titles, in the name of Larigne, whomsoever shall hold the title upon which those estates and lands fall upon."

At this the guardsman's ears perk up and he immediately reevaluates the man in front of him. He nods as Mavic finishes his sentence, then leans in towards him, "Sir, I hope you have some written or other other proof of your claim. I apologize for having to tell you this, but the city is not the same one you left. With all the claimants in town, the Marchioness is cracking down on pretenders and confidence men. Impersonating a member of the nobility has always been a crime in Istivin, but before it only got you a thorough lashing and a few weeks in the jail. Now, those accused of such a crime find themselves quickly in front of a magistrate, and even quicker under the executioner's axe." He points up towards the wall, where far in the distance you can see a number of heads on pikes. He sighs and continues, "It is a time of much insecurity and upheavel I am afraid."

"Three," he wiggled his caloused and somewhat ungracefully scarred fingers, "I mustered the Reddogs in the service of Sterich and pledged them six years ago. Eshanna here has only been with me since Readyr'eat...five years ago?" He looked over his shoulder doubtfully.

He looks up and down the line of similarly clad men and nods, turning back to Mavic, "Although there are no laws barring private forces, I would keep them away from Krelont Keep, Sire. Although our Watch protects the Marchioness, there are companies of soldiers there as well, and they tend to take their job very seriously." Again he leans in again and speaks in a hushed tone, "There have been plots against her Excellency's life. Her protectors tend to ask questions later, if you catch my meaning."

"Sixth, my nightmares are over as soon as my estates are restored and every last giant child bleeds his last blood upon the ground."

The guardsman nods his approval at this answer, although his eyes are filled with sadness as he records the mage's answer.

The rest of your questions are irrelevant and useless. Why not ask oaths to keep the peace instead? Or bind weapons, or any other myriad solutions that would better secure the Marchioness?"

"I aplogize, Sire, but I have my orders." He shrugs apologetically, but skips the rest of the questions.

"Once you've accepted us inside the gates, will we have to perform this charade every time we enter? Should I enquire about making my 'dogs available to the guard? They were acceptable protectors for the people of Istivin during the evacuation, surely they're acceptable now?"

The bearded man nods his head, "Yes, I am afraid you will have to, Sire. These are unsure times." He looks over Mavic's men again, "As for your 'dogs', sire, you'll have to speak with Captain-General Frush O'Suggill at Krelont Keep about that. He handles all recruitment and has been ordered to oversee all new hires and enlisters. He's a good man, he'll take good care of ye." After this he salutes you and gestures that you can pass.

OOC: James[sblock]Knowledge (local) check: roll 20! + 16 = 36. Oh boy, you know a lot about him with a roll like that. You know that Frush O'Suggill has been the Captain-General of the guard for years now. He is a former adventuring hero who came to lead the guard after helping thwart Lolth's designs upon Istivin 14 years ago. He must be in his early fifties by now. After saving Istivin, (and the whole Flanaess) he went on to study at the Furyondian College of War before participating in the Greyhawk Wars. After the signing of the Pact of Greyhawk six years ago he resigned his commission in Furyondy and returned to Keoland to assist in the liberation of Sterich. The Marquis appointed him Captain-General of the Watch soon after that. You know him to be completely loyal to the marichioness and the March, having spilled no small amount of blood in its defense.[/sblock]

 

[Scotley]

Morley Human Ranger

Morley steps up with a bored air. "My name is Morley Stendal, sometimes called One Shot, and I am a citizen of these parts. I'm here on personal business to inquire on some adventurers currently residing in this fair city. I only expect to be here a few days at most. Dreams? I sleep he uninterrupted sleep of one who is at piece with his actions. That is a most unusual question, why do you ask? I have been severely wounded on several occations," Morley pauses to show a few scars, "some of these are from undead, but the flame of life has never been snuffed from me. I am no shade or wraith if that is what you are asking. I am a Ranger and my patron is Berei." At this point he holds up the well worn, but finely carved wooden holy symbol on a leather thong around his neck.