Heir to the Throne - Beginning
Log Info
- Title: Heir to the Throne - Beginning
- GM: Harkashan
- Place: Duivia Dukedom, Kingdoms of Myrddion
It isn't just raining. It's pouring. Which has no doubt failed to help any of the Adventurers with any kind of seasickness. The boat coming to this small portion of the Duivia Dukedom, right on the border between Axbronia and Nulgab ownership luckily managed to moor at an inlet with a ruined port town that has not seen anybody living there in decades. Old remains of what was no doubt once a thriving port city.
Walking through what remains of this city is perhaps more depressing than the weather itself. Overgrown stone, broken roofs. A church in the distance, where the rain hits the exposed and rusted bell. Once dedicated to Serriel, it now lies as broken as the rest of this town.
Yet, the Adventurer Guild's brief requested to meet here, and the request has notably been kept hush-hush. The group soon is approaching the only place with lights on. A Tavern with a sign that hangs off of one lonely chain link that is trying its very best to remain relevant. Yet it doesn't appear to have a leaking roof like some of the other houses nearby.
Lightning keeps the place lit. Eerie shadows reaching out towards the intrepid adventurers, yet leaving them no worse for wear, no matter how often they might reach them. It would appear that shelter, and the truth to this obnoxiously vague request to meet, lie within that Tavern...
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Part 1: The Beginning
Being on the sea wasn't something Warrick was used to. It was more airships. Safe to say he was a tad unstable when he went on solid ground. Donning an oil slicked cloak and hood to ward off the rain, he didn't particularly like what he was seeing.
Doubly so when they got to the broken down church. He makes a Serrielite religious gesture towards it, pulling out his helmet and slipping it on under the hood with a click. With one hand on the carrying handle on his crossbow slung over his shoulder, her clears his throat. "I like not this place, it reminds me of the aftermath of the Wights. I'd thought my ancestor's homelands would be more..." he trails off, shaking his head as he steps towards the Tavern. Hush hush jobs were his least favorite.
Menel has never been one much for ships, but he can make due where he has to. After a few days on board though, it feels almost strange to be on land again. It's not really notable to anyone else, but it is certainly notable to him that his stance is somewhat different than it usually is. He's gotten to know the others at least a bit on the trip; at least those he's less familiar with. Of course, they've gotten to know him a bit too. He's a gregarious sort of guy, friendly an affable. He easily talks about any subject really; save that of his past.
Oh, Menel is quick enough to talk about some guild job or another, but when it comes to anything more concreate about his history he tends to brush it off with a smile and a shrug. Something tells that there's a story there though... He spends hours each day practicing with his swords. Sparing with any that'll have him. He has layers of scars on his back, a network of layers and layers sprawled across his flesh. Seen when it gets too hot practicing with a shirt on, and quickly hidden whenever someone looks at them overly long.
Now that they've reached the destination, Menel isn't any more subdued than before, offering a warm smile to Warrick's concern. "I've never been here before. Perhaps it's just this region." He seems to look at the bright side of things more often than not. "You think they'll serve us a nice cup of tea? This rain is chilly." The swordsman shivers once unhappily and heads into the tavern.
Anyone who thinks Myrddion is nothing more than gleaming castles and rolling fields needs to have their head examined. But even Harshad is slightly taken aback at this corner of the great kingdoms. With the rain pounding down, it's a thoroughly unpleasant journey by boat -- even if Harshad's made the trek before.
Once ashore, he stretches a bit, wrapped in a heavy oilcloth cloak and hood similar to Warrick's. Beneath the cloak is the clink of light mail, and the creak of his leathers. As the group makes its way through the nigh-deserted city, the half-oruch glances at the others. "Are you sure we're in the right town? This place looks like a battlefield a week later."
Zofija, the tall, somewhat imposing arvek-nar who was part of the adventuring party was perhaps unsurprisingly absent for the majority of the boat ride. Such was the risk when one decided to take a gryphon out on a boat, so the cavalier was not far from the stables built into the boat at any one time. With the boat making landfall finally, the moment it was within docking distance, the large beast had already leapt over the side of the boat to glide to shore, leaving the arvek-nar to wait to leave with the others. "Weird to see a port town in a state like this at all, 'specially in these parts." Zofija grunts, readjusting her packs and weaponry. "Dunno if I even heard of this place before, might not've bothered to bring it up. Seems a bit of an isolated spot to go to. Hope that whatever they want is above board, so I didn't waste my time coming here. Still got a few oaths and all that."
GAME: Zofija rolls knowledge/local: (11)+8: 19 GAME: Harshad rolls knowledge/local: (11)+8: 19
"This one does not like this place." Cuemoni has already decided that, as the rain had made a nice mess of the red symbols that are painted onto her turquoise scales. What are protective symbols and marks of her position as a Shaman of her tribe have gone into the wash. Which is to be expected, and the markings are largely ceremonial more than anything, but that does not mean that she likes it.
She looks at allies that are both familiar and old to her, peering at them with golden eyes. "This one is not from here, and will rely on everyone's expertise. But this one can keep others healed and mended." She's very serious on that note.
Pulling near the rear is a drink-soaked alley cat, misplaced in the storm. Carver bears the indignity of pounding rain and salt in the air without complaint, but the matted hair and sullen eyes beneath her pulled hood is a book left open to read. This sucks. This sucks a lot and she wants to go back home.
She has resorted to wrapping her bow in oiled leather to keep the instrument of her work dry until it is needed.
"Not like the books say, innit? Beautiful countryside and romance. Here, feels like all gods came together for once with agreement to piss over t'is place like a night after a bender. Let's get to the creepy point of the spear and be quick t'it."
The Tavern, aptly named 'The Thunderous Boar', has only one of its windows not fully blacked out. Light only able to really come in through the door. As the group eventually steps outside of the Tavern itself, and either Knock on the Door, or otherwise open it, they are met with... a woman.
Harsh and sharp in her facial angles. White hair that has largely been shaven, and severe scars across her face. The sharp ears make her heritage most obvious. Though one might not have expected Llyranesi with a more amazonian build, a massive hammer on their backs, and wearing full plate armor.
She takes a moment to look at the weathered and rained upon lot, and considers them for a good long moment. Staring at them, blocking their paths. The scent of warm food and the inviting nature of shelter being denied them as the woman gazes upon them.
"I see the Gods' speach of good tidings was not unearned." The woman then remarks, and steps aside. Having decided she likes the look on their faces, and steps aside. "In." She remarks sharply. "Do not keep the young Lord waiting."
Within, it is a bit wet near the door. No perfect seal, it would seem, streaking water onto the stone floor. A grand table has been set up, no doubt once a dining table for the tavern. But much else has been done with it. The walls are now lined with books, from start to finish.
Sitting at the table nearby, a similar armored - but much more welcoming looking young man motions to the table, and stands up welcoming. "Sorry for miss Olrun's behavior. Please. Come in. Make merry." He offers to them with youthful warmth... yet a stateliness to him.
Menel gives Zofija a scandalized look before he reaches the door. "Does the guild normally hand out jobs that are not... on the up and up?" He rather hopes that this is not the case, but he hasn't exactly done a lot of jobs for the guild yet. Perhaps they're handing out all sort so of jobs he doesn't know about.
He doesn't seem the least bit intimidated by Miss Olrun, offering her a polite nod of his head. "Grateful for your shelter from the rain." He murmurs as he enters, and flashes another smile at the man at the end of the table. "Ah, you're too kind!" He sits down cheerfully and makes himself comfortable by pushing the seat away and crossing his arms over his chest low. He seats himself close to Harshad, whom he has perhaps the most familiarity with.
Warrick slides the visor up on his helmet with a 'snick', throwing a side eye towards the cheery Menel. The once guard was more than often up for sparring with the swordsman, while it wasn't his forte, he could still hold his own. "A region should not look like this," he says somberly. "Either it means a fight broke out, or the state responsible is failing its people." A glance is shot towards the church of civilization before sighing and heading inside. "I sure hope they have tea."
But he can't help but suppress a snort at Carver's antics. At least that kid always brings a joke to these ventures. Knocking his boots off at the door, he can't help but do a brief scan of the place before doffing his helmet again and- he's stopped by an intimidating Llyranesi. The sharpness of her tongue gets a reflexive bow of his head. "Of course, ma'am."
Warrick slowly looks about the walls, his footsteps ending up to the side and near the head of the table. "It is of no worry, sir," he grunts, taking off his cloak to hang on the back of the chair. The state of a commandeered tavern isn't touched on just yet.
Harshad gives Menel a slightly sour look. "You probably should've brought your own. I'll be happy if the roof doesn't leak and the fireplace works." The half-orc plods along with the others, though he gives Carver a slightly sympathetic grin. "Yeah. This used to be a major seaport, till the ducal lands got eaten up by their neighbors. Now all the traffic goes to Horskirk -- which isn't that much better but at least there's people there."
When the door opens, Harshad gives the elf-woman a flinty, blank stare back, betraying absolutely nothing. Either she'll let them in or she won't. When she steps back, though, he gestures to get the others inside as well. "Rainin' so hard we could've sailed the boat right up to the tavern," he comments. Then he looks around, and his heavy brows come together in puzzlement at the renovations. Tilting his head at their host, he simply grunts, touching his brow before peeling off his cloak. Beneath, the ne'er-do-well wears a fine-mesh shirt of glimmering mail, and he takes a seat next to Menel. Once that's done, he fishes out his pipe, and gives their hosts an inquiring look -- asking politely for permission.
"Sometimes the folks who post listings aren't vetted properly enough, or they find a way to lie. That's our lot isn't it? We don't work officially, so there's the deniability." They grunt in Menel's direction. Zofija spends some time outside, taking a look around. Then, guiding the large gryphon off to one side of the building, out of sight of the main street. "Yeah, I know it sucks, but a bit of rain's good for character. Lemme know if you see anythting suspicious, right?" The arvek-nar insttructs, patting the gryphon on the beak before she goes back to join the others. "Well, I know why I don't recognize this place, was before my time." Zofija grunts. "Noble disputes, and without a reason to have someone else in charge, other ports were more convenient. Still, bit weird, isn't it? Most folks don't just leave stone buildings behind in a few decades, you'd think there'd be some people hanging on to the place." They muse before the door opens. The arvek-nar squints back at the woman, nodding to her once they were let inside, where she takes some time to wring out her hat.
"Zofija Vought, formerly of the blar cavalry regiments and knight Errant of the Scales and Myrrish Skyguard." She greets, doffing her hat and bowing. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Cuemoni stares back placidly at the llyranesi woman, saying nothing while she measures up the group, and she takes a seat at the end of the table rather far from the young man. It's a bit of a delicate negotiation with the chair. She is, after all, a sith-makar, and they have different needs for seats. Eventually, however, she manages.
She looks at Harshad holding out his pipe and murmurs, "This one can light it for you if no one objects to the cleansing of smoke." Helpful healer that she is, although she might be confused on why Harshad wants to light the pipe.
Ever seen eyebrows dance? Carver's does in surprise at Meaty Elf, then some more in 'APPRECIATION' of meaty elf. She even turns her head to continue her intense cross cultural physiology exam made flesh, which leaves her distracted enough that she bumps hard into Warrick. Ack!
She does not quite tumble to the ground but it's only by virtue of grabbing onto his arm hard to steady herself. "Righ'. Sorry, Pops."
Focus. She eyes the rest of the room to still her heart, finding books boring enough to bring the heartrate back down. Nothing of note there but the Little Lord is curious enough to maintain her attention.
Bryn doesn't hate the rain. Well, she can't make it stop raining, so what good does complaining about it do? She isn't about to complain about the current accomodations, either: any port (or tavern in a port) in a storm is better than none. She does glance at Menel and Zofija at talk of guild motives, but she doesn't have any experience to judge upon, either. In fact, she just started working on her first.
There is a definite protective nature to Olrun, as Menel steps by the woman. Giving him a notably look as he manages to show politeness. Watching the others carefully as the rest begins to trudge in, until she finally closes the door.
"I promise you, ser, the fireplace works." The stately young man answers Harshad, as he makes commentary. Waiting with introductions until everyone is seated. At the inquiry about the pipe, he nods his head. "Go ahead. My father oft enjoyed the pipe. I came to appreciate the complex aromas that would lay within his study." He remarks in a way that makes it hard to dislike the young man - probably approaching his early twenties.
As Zofija steps in and announces her former rank as part of the Skyguard, there's a small twinkle in the man's eyes. One that gets... tempered... as Olrun takes up a place besides him, and places the heavy Earth Breaker onto the ground. Loudly enough to make a 'stubtle' point.
"Ahem. Right. Thank you for joining us, miss Zofija. And I promise you, this isn't some creepy ne'er-do-well kind of request I've asked you all here for." The young man notes. "At least... well, I will let you be the judge of that. You are Adventurers. You have the right to deny my request of course." He notes, as he sits back down, then leans back and raises his posture.
"Thank you all for coming. I admit, I have rehearsed this a few times now. But I think I'm going to break script a bit - seeing as the Adventurer's Guild has sent so many of you here." He remarks in a way that is clearly meant to lighten the mood a bit. Olrun nods, and steps away for the time being. Leaving her hammer with its pole up next to the young man, and moves to get some Tea, Bread, Butter, and Honey for the group. She doesn't take long to return.
"I am Gran'it Von Stein. Son to Nicolas Von Stein, and rightful heir to the Throne of the now fallen Von Stein Dukedom. I wish to clear the name of my family, and to free my people from oppression by the Duivia Dukedom." He finally gives the bottom line of what he has asked them for here.
GAME: Warrick rolls knowledge/nobility: (4)+4: 8 GAME: Harshad rolls knowledge/local: (20)+8: 28 GAME: Bryn rolls knowledge/nobility: Trained Use Only: 0 GAME: Zofija rolls knowledge/nobility: (13)+4: 17 GAME: Bryn rolls knowledge/local: Trained Use Only: 0
Menel, comfortable now, brightens considerably as food and drink is brought out. Hopping to his feet to assist in the setting of the table very politely. "My gratitude again, for your fine hospitality. Bread *and* honey?" He smiles warmly and once the food is settled he takes his seat again. Now he loads up a piece of bread with honey and butter, pouring himself some tea as he listens to the young lord talk about why they've been gathered.
"I have to admit that I know nothing of lords or dukedoms sir." He offers politely to Gran'it. "So if you don't mind elaborating a bit? Perhaps particularly on the bit about what we can do to help, and who this Duivia is and what they're up to? If you don't mind."
Warrick is jostled from the bump, him holding up the arm firmly. There's the briefest moment of him looking distant, before shaking his head and looking down slightly at Carver. There's a quick glance between her and the elf before he clears his throat. "Eyes up," he grunts to her, before patting her shoulder and letting her go.
He didn't have an input for the smoking, but he saw that introductions were going around. Ah. "Warrick Retzner, former Alexandrian Watch and retired Arbalest Division sharpshooter," he introduces, bowing before taking his seat when the host does. He listens to the assignment raptly before his brows shoot up. "... I see why the posting was hush-hush."
He runs a hand over where Carver grabbed on to, which was just covered in armor at present. Menel had pressing points, a journal appears in his hand after taking it out, gauntlets removed to keep the pages from getting sodden. Note taking.
The arvek-nar stops for a moment, grunts, and elbows Carver in the ribs. "Eyes up, I know she's pretty, but we need to focus on what we're here to do." Zofija states bluntly, moving to a spot at the table. There's a pause as she squints in Olruch's direction, and the arvek-nar unstraps her own earthbreaker, which is dropped a bit more loudly than necessary against the ground before she takes her seat. "Just making it clear where I stand and what I can do before we start, Gran'it Von Stein." She grunts, settling into the chair. "That's a real bold claim to make though, all I know is your dukedom was absorbed for some reason or other."
Harshad immediately begins filling his pipe with shredded pipeweed and herbs, a mixture from southern Alexandros. "Hmm," he says a bit noncommitally, before getting up momentarily to retrieve a burning twig from the fire. Once his pipe is properly lit, he sits back down.
"When I was young," Harshad remarks, "I was told about the fate of your dukedom by one of the sisters. Though she was noticeably... cynical about the motivations of the Duivia Domain." The half-orc's lips quirk up. "I will say, that if you are who you say you are, the Duivians are going to be very unhappy as they thought your family was extinct."
The notions of dukedoms and other things are difficult for Cuemoni to wrap her head around. Where she's from, such hierarchies are not a thing. Let alone long-lost heirs to dukedoms. Or thrones. Closest that exists is the Silver Empress of Am'shere, and Cuemoni's people are so isolated that the Empress's existence matters rather little in Cuemoni's life. Her tail even forms its closest approximation to a question mark as it twitches. "This one greets you... Throne-sitter?"
Cuemoni admittedly doesn't know what this person's title is. "Ay. This one apologizes. This one is very far from here and does not know the protocol." She looks at Harshad, grateful that he seems to know something. "What is the nature of the oppression?" she asks at last.
Bryn knows only a few of those she travelled with, and even then 'knows' is more akin to 'seen them before today.' She listens to the broad reasons why they are here, wondering if any of her grandmother's tales come to mind with the names dropped. None come to at the moment; either they were never told or she should have listened better. She squats onto an empty seat hesitates about 0.01 seconds, and then asks, "How is it we go about clearing names in your case?"
Zofija takes some time to settle into her seat, shaking out her hat away from the table, where she paused, deep in thought. "Hmm. Last I heard, you were supposed to be dead, no offence. Whole family at that. Duvia's had proof that you were demon summoning. That being said, well, they probably planned on you all being dead, didn't they? What with most people being pretty surprised that it would have happened." The arvek-nar muses. "Pretty serious accusations, but I feel like there's a lot missing. If the Duvia family had the wrong of it, sure, I'll listen."
It isn't clear which hurts more, Warrick's disappointment or the arvek-nar's surprisingly dense elbow, but Carver's soaked petulance sours the already terrible mood as she tosses her wrapped bow onto the table in front of her as she sits. The political intrigue is of little interest to her, beyond that it is the crux of their reason to be here. "I'm Asana." There isn't much to go on there. No grand titles or a quick summary of recent accomplishments with which to measure her worth.
As Menel inquires on the Duivia Dukedom, he answers; "Well, sir, you would be finding yourself within the Duivia Dukedom right now. Which is made up of 5 regions. Zinargzig, land-bound to the north-west. Nulgab, serving as the center of the Dukedom, and center of land-trade. Raz, north-east of Nulgab, with its capital of Raz. Well known for its Paladins and Duivia University. Then, connected to Nulgab, as a peninsula, is Axbronia. With its capital and main port city - Horskirk. And finally, V'eld - my former home, with its capital of Urah. Well known for its gem exports. The island we find ourselves on now - to the south-east of it all, is co-owned by Axbronia and Nulgab, but neither really want much to do with it."
He takes out a scroll, and then offers everyone a map of the area.
At Harshad's mention, there's a wry look on the young man's face. "Yes... which is why this is indeed so Hush-hush. If they knew I was still alive, training here, basically... forming a rebellion. They'd come with all their might and crush my life before I knew it." He admits with a bow of his head.
Then, looking to Cuemoni, he shakes his head. "Someone else sits on my seat, madamme. Just call me Gran'it. In truth, I am no different from any of you. Though Birthright carries meaning in these lands, that doesn't mean it has to for you people." He notes humbly.
As Bryn asks what accusations there are, Zofija helpfully answers those - while Olrun takes her place back besides the youth. Taking note of the other Earthbreaker which had been so loudly set to the ground. There is... appreciation there. "I can attest to the young man being the rightful heir. I have stood as the Warmaster to the Von Stein family for countless Generations." Something that those with know-how of nobility may be reminded of in that moment, as she speaks that fact back into existence.
Gran'it continues; "I was joined at the hip to my family. I never saw any kind of devil summoning myself. But... I..." He seems hesitant. Olrun crosses her arms, looking at the youth. "Tell them." She declares. The two share a look for a moment.
"Right. I guess there is no real running around the matter, is there?"
He takes out a necklace from under his clothing.
"The Rumors are only partially right. See, the Von Stein Dukedom is under a Curse. A Devil made a contract with a far-flung forebearer of the Duivia Dukedom's Duke, who cursed the Von Stein region. It returns from the hells, every quarter-century. Only a blade wielded by a Von Stein can slay that Devil. It is a matter that the Dukedom kept under wraps, for various political reasons. My sister was in fact researching how to undo the curse at its core."
GAME: Bryn rolls 1d20+int+1: (16)+int+1: 17
Menel winces, his portion of the bread and honey long gone by the time that the explanation is complete. (It is truly as though the food vanishes into thin air around this man.) "A devil." His voice is hard for the first time, his expression no longer showing even a trace of a smile and its no wonder. A fiend is no smiling, laughing matter. "Are you at liberty to discuss the nature of this curse? I mean... If you can slay the thing I'm not surprised that you're in hiding, or in training."
He would after all, if he were in a similar position, do much the same. Though he notes that at least one of his questions has gone unanswered as of yet. "Is that what we're here for? To help train you into shape for fighting fiends?" Menel sounds a bit doubtful. "Or have you something else in mind?"
GAME: Zofija rolls knowledge/nobility: (11)+4: 15
Warrick squints a little at the rightful overthrowing of Von Steins, him scribbling down more notes as the others speak. There's a glance to Carver as she sits, a bit of softness crossing the hard faced man. Some clinking of cups, and he pours some tea for himself and Carver. He slides it in front of her. "Maybe impress this lord and you'll impress more than just him," he quietly encourages, giving the same pat on the back before returning to his notetaking.
Maps, exports, affiliations and territories are thrown about, Warrick's pen scribbling and page flipping becomes a constant background noise. He lets out a lofty sigh after all of that, him leaning back in his chair and picking up his tea to thwart his cramping hand. "Staging a rebellion to overthrow a false claim to the throne, and in the same stroke, sever a curse that plagues the same lands to a throne that covers up the problem." A sigh escapes him. "Well, if this is all true, Serriel would be right mad at that state of things, so... like Menel said, what do you have in mind?"
Harshad puffs on his pipe, listening to Gran'it lay out his case. At the mention of fiends, though, he shudders. "Oh, wonderful. So there really is a fiend involved in this." He takes his pipe out of his mouth, and points the stem at Gran'it and Olrun. "Tell me you've at least got a weapon that'll hurt them."
The half-orc rubs the bridge of his nose, before putting his pipe back into his mouth. "Fine. We're here, we might as well tackle the problem." He tilts his head towards Warrick. "What he said. Do we have a plan? One that hopefully gives us good odds?"
A rumbling noise leaves Cuemoni at the talk of fiends. "Dangerous," she remarks. "That explains why you have sought out others to help you. This one does not have much experience with fiends, but this one can attempt to help nonetheless." At the very least, she can help heal. Fire's not much help against fiends.
She nods in response to Menel. "Knowing what the curse is may help in breaking it," she replies. "To borrow a softskin way of thinking: if one understands the lock, one can open it without the key." Not that she and Zeke have problems with locks.
Bryn makes an ugly face at the reveal of devils and curses. Well, uglier than usual: a tusked scowl below scrunched caterpillar brows. "That's a hells of a vurse. Long one, too.. even for a devil. Grandmother talked of things like that, but most weren't so long. The thing gets what it wants and moves on. Is it supposed to be getting something when it comes around? It getting anything now? Seems a long time to wait..."
Then her brow scrunches more: now less scowling and more thinking. "And what about this blade? Can't see that any ol' pigsticker would do, so it something special? Do you have it?" A pause as she looks over the youth appraisingly. "How strict is it on the wielding? What if you were holding it and someone swung you...?" Maybe she's already thinking about those 'not having the key' parts.
"Only makes sense they'd do that if they found out, doesn't it? They'd be justified, just finishing up their crusade from before." Zofija shrugs, finishing up her drink, but not having touched the food yet. "And it'd be a loose end tied off all neat like."
There's a pause, and there's a barking laugh from the cavalier. "Damn, guess you aren't just a legend yet, Olrun the Thunderous. Gods I heard a few tales about your exploits back with the knights. You'd have to be nuts to try to impersonate you, after all." She continues, still laughing. Laughter that dies down after some time. "So, they just had a half truth, and might've set this up for their own gain." She adds, growing a bit more angered. "Well, there's the justification I need, right? If they were doing this to claim the land and put it at risk, if this devil is set to return soon. They've clearly been found in deriliction of their duties to the Myrrish kingdoms."
GAME: Warrick rolls knowledge/local: (13)+5: 18
"Seems like your bloodline got a debt," Carver says. "Only one kinda person that persistent and it's tax collectors." Framing outsider horrors with a mortal spin makes it easier for her to follow this conversation. "And, its return comes jus' in time for you to what, win glory and the admiration of the people you once ruled. So... that's lucky for you, I guess." She throws back her hood and shakes herself like a wet dog. Shiver-Shiver.
"Can't imagine why you want to. Duty is the death of choice. Jus' gilded chains that smell of perfume."
"Can help you all the same. People what live here don't deserve to be afearin' no devil."
"I... fear I wasn't around when it was cast upon my family." Gran'it notes, before turning to Olrun. "But I was. The curse was simple. A desire of Ruination for the Von Stein Kingdom, and all the land they have ever held as their domain - to let it become owned by the Devil which they called upon." She pauses for a moment, furrowing her brow. "Though the Devil's name was never called out. Which has made it so difficult to deal with over the generations." She explains.
"And the Oruch speaks true. It can't just be any blade. Cidolfus took the blade my father once wielded as his own. It now sits behind his throne in Horskirk, rumors say." There's a grimace at this matter.
Olrun in the meantime, bows her head towards Zofija. "Very much still around. And indebted to return my Liege to the throne he rightfully deserves." She answers firmly.
Gran'it then adds; "The issue is larger than this however. While I do wish to ensure the Devil does not rise, and take over the former Von Stein territory -- I could do that anonymously. I could enlist, and aid in its defeat... somehow maybe lay hands back upon the Starblade." He starts, shaking his head for a moment, before pounding his fist to the table.
"But the problem is the people! The oppression from the Duivia Dukedom." Though to most who are not familiar with these lands, would perhaps have no idea what he speaks of. The land is actually known to be quite prosperous and well kept. The people seem perfectly happy within Duivia Dukedom.
"I cannot just stand by." Yet, Gran'it speaks of something, as if everyone should just be aware of something. He seems to be looking to Warrick in particular as he mentions this. After all, he has called forth the name of Serriel!
Olrun interjects, "The young heir means to say, he is thankful for your offers of assistance. But the situation is... more complicated than it seems at the surface."
GAME: Zofija rolls knowledge/local: (18)+8: 26 GAME: Harshad rolls knowledge/local: (8)+8: 16
Menel blinks at the lord Gran'it blankly. "Sorry to say lord, but I'm not from around here. And no news of any oppression has reached Alexandria as of yet." He gives the man an apologetic look. "At least none that I've heard. So if it's not a sword you're looking to claim, or a fiend you're looking to slay..."
The question obviously is... what DOES the young lord want?
Where are her manners?! There's the offerings of food she hadn't partaken of... which she corrects by grabbing up some bread and heartily tearing a mouthful from. There's also the matter of her name, when others made introductions. "Bin-" She takes a moment to chew and swallow before launching any more bits; that would be wasteful. "Brynhildragar." There. Manners managed.
"What is it you want us to do?" she finishes Menel's implied question with less implication.
Warrick quirks a brow at Zofija's outburst, him finding himself sitting up a little straighter as Olrun is apparently far more decorated than he realized. He's half sketching out the ways one must go about tackling this, several things are crossed out. Only for his attention to snap back up from the pounding on the table. He locks eyes with the young lord. "Duivia Kingdom,-" he speaks up, glancing to Menel, "-is known to assign jobs and professions to its citizens. While that is... not ideal, it can work. What's stranger is that they also assign their hobbies. While output from the Kingdom is good and people seem happy... you only need to look at Charn to see how that is truly going."
He (in a much less hearty manner than that of Bryn) partakes of some bread. "So. You need to recover this blade." Check mark on the journal. "Learn the true name of this devil." Check. "Slay it." Check. "Overthrow the current sitting lord." Check. "And rally the people to break free of this... system." Check.
Warrick bites down on the bread. "Alright. Serriel as my witness, I'll help. Cynthia is going to lose her marbles when I get home after this."
Harshad stares at Gran'it unflinchingly, smoking his pipe. "You talk about how oppressed they are, friend, but I hadn't heard that. Granted, I was on the wrong side of the Kingdoms when I was here, and... maybe things have changed in the last few years."
The half-orc takes a drink, before continuing. "I know it was pretty heavily regimented. People got assigned jobs -- not based on what they wanted but what the rulers thought was necessary. And you wonder about places like that. What do they do with troublemakers?" He gives a sardonic grin. "Someone like me, for example."
Cuemoni partakes of the food. She is not rude, and food is a hospitality offered in Am'shere as part of the greeting of new people--it would be rude to decline. (Although insisting that one does not need food and then eating it anyway is a cultural custom, too, at least in her tribe.) "They assign hobbies?" she asks of Warrick, her tail rattling a little into a shape not unlike a confused exclamation mark. "This is strange. This one has never heard of such a thing."
She huffs as she finishes eating something that probably shouldn't be eaten with fingers (or in her case, claws), but she manages it anyway, even keeping clean. Years of eating tlahcos that can be a bit messy teaches one how to eat smart. "This one does not know if this one would appreciate such a thing. How does one enjoy a hobby assigned to them? Ay."
"Well, glad to have a living legend around, a lot more useful that way." Zofija snorts, finally tucking in to some of the food as well."
Something Carver says makes the arvek-nar pause, look at them, and blink after Gran'its explanation. "You know, there was one thing that was bugging me in particular about this place. The fact that it's empty in twenty four years. Mentioned it before. It's, weird. Generations would stay in a place like this since it's their home, you know? Means a lot to people. Like they didn't have a choice to stay."
"I heard rumors, people kind of turned a blind eye because of productivity, most people do."
"They'd make you disappear, Harshad, or so people claim." Zofija grunts in the oruch's direction. "Course, no actual proof of that, but well, there's only so many people that can disappear under such circumstances."
"And you know, people change. Everyone does, that's just life, isn't it?" The arvek-nar points out. "Would you be happy with one hobby in your life, never trying new things, even just to challenge yourself? I don't think I would, but I've heard that no one there actually wants to try anything. It's just accepted whatever you get told you're supposed to do there."
As Warrick begins to explain his understanding of the situation, finally, Gran'it nods his head. "I know... it's quite a list of things." He remarks. After all, this is one hell of an ask of a group of Adventurers. How does that even work, when it comes to helping a young prince basically overthrow a Kingdom? Does the Adventurer's Guild even want anything to do with that kind of action, when the public viewpoint on this may be so negative?
Still, he can't help but let his shoulders relax a bit and let out a sigh at Warrick's admission to want to help.
"You'd be made to... disappear." He then tells Harshad. "We have proven records that some of the people that have... disappeared... are sent to the Gem Mines." He explains. "And most of the people of this city we are in right now, were..." He raise his hands and quote-unquote-fingers; "Relocated.... to various parts of the Dukedom. Some even having their families torn apart. After all, this used to be a major part of Von Stein loyalists."
He tilts his head a bit to the side. "I travel amongst my people sometimes, incognito. I see the hope kind of... being gone from their faces." He then puts a few little figurines on the table.
"So there's a few things I want to start with." He then notes.
"There's a lot of Loyalists still at V'eld. If we can retake the castle there, it would help create the foundations of a rebel army." He begins. "But that's when the timer starts, you know?" He notes, before touching another figurine. "There's the Gem Mines, where people are being sent. They aren't going to be fighters down there, but... they're my people."
He then touches a few other spots. "If you rather have more proof, or investigate what the social system does and how it works, we can go to any of the Duivia capitals. Probably stay away from Axbronia and Zinargzig. Axbronia because it's the Seat of Power for Duivia, and Zinargzig because... well... the basilisk population is a bit high at the moment."
Bryn is scowling again at mention of Charn. And it only gets deeper. Lack of choices. Oppression. Not learning new things. Maybe to brighten that up, she gives Harshad a tusky grin. "Nothing wrong with making some trouble. That's what they want, in a way, right?" She thumbs at Gran'it. Grins wider.
Then the grin vanishes and her head snaps back around to Gran'it. "Wait. Get disappeared?! Like get nabbed, chained and carted off?! I just got out of a Charn cage a few days ago..." A pause. "So I may have experience getting disappeared, but I ain't so keen on doing it again so soon..."
Harshad furrows his brows. "Figures. Whenever something looks too good to be true, it usually is too good to be true." He taps his fingers nervously on the table's surface, before picking up a chunk of bread and tearing into it.
Bolting down the bread, he looks at the figurines. "I know this sounds crass, but I think we should hit the Gem Mines first. Gems will buy you mercenaries and adventurers. Even spell-slingers, if you can find really nice gems." He grins back at Bryn. "Rummaging in the other cities... I hate to say it but if someone screws up, it could all lead back to us. Better to go ahead and secure our hideout now."
"This one is inclined to agree with Harshad," Cuemoni replies, "especially as this one is not from here and... is prominent like a brightly-colored bird." She takes another bite of bread and pauses for a moment. "Sore thumb. That is the idiom. Sticks out like a sore thumb." Cuemoni doesn't have thumbs in the same sense that other people do in this room.
She clears her throat. "It is also the work that this one is best at. This one is not good at diplomacy with the softskin peoples yet."
Warrick nods once towards Gran'it. "War isn't a simple thing," he notes, resting his cheek on a fist. Noting the figurines, he takes further notes down. Bryn's revelation gets a quirked brow. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen to you, don't worry."
He glances to Harshad. "... counterpoint- hitting the mines would more than likely raise suspicion in other cities. If we have information, then we can hit where it hurts better." His attention goes to the map. "... but, the waters means information travels slow. Hrm."
The once-guard closes his eyes. "... my vote is for information gathering. But I do not mind if that is the losing vote."
Bryn looks from Harshad, to Cuemoni, to Warrick, then exhales a breath. "I've got as many sore thumbs as they do," one of them jabs at Cuemoni. "And I ain't much for sneaking around town, but can try."Now she eyes Harshad again, and rolls her shoulders. "Got out before, should be easier knowing about it going into it, this time. Some shiny gems don't sound too bad, neither." After a moment, she adds, "For the rebellion and all."
"I'm with the old man," Carver pipes in. "We don't know nothin' about this country, might besides wot we 'eard by rumors. We need to see its rivers, its woods, speak with people, get a feel and maybe find a secret or two in the act. Then we can go rabblin' for rebellion and take something big like a whole castle or these mislabeled slaver pits."
Warrick sighs.
Carver smiles, gap toothed and all.
"I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemies." Gran'it answers Bryn as they mention former captivity. "Maybe... avoid that as a plan. Me and Olrun can of course also assist. But we have to be careful. If we get spotted and recognized, it could jeopardize all of this even earlier than taking action." He notes - but he's clearly not above putting himself in danger for this. Something that has Olrun gripping the handle of her Earth Breaker a bit firmly.
"If you choose the mines, I'll get a ship set up to try and pull people out, and temporarily house them here. We should be able to avoid attention. But I agree it'll draw attention." He then looks to Olrun, who nods her head.
"I can put you into contact with a Spy contact in any of the major cities. Just let me know what city you'd like to infiltrate."
"You know, I was kind of worried when we were coming here that it'd be something about Sedition. That tends to be how things can be here, sometimes." Zofija chuckles, reaching for another drink. "I guess I wasn't wrong in the end, but it's for a just cause in this case."
"A few options, it seems." The Arvek-nar grunts. "We've got the benefit of them not knowing you're alive, or that people are working against them, for now. But that won't last forever, especially depending on what we do."
The cavalier takes another drink, and grins at the older Elf before she continues. "While liberating the mines might be best, depending on how they're being treated, they may be a liability if we don't have a safe place for them. But if they know that a castle has been taken, they might lock down the mines hard. Real difficult when there's only one entrance."
"And you know, that crusade that they put out, seems like it wasn't completely on the up and up, they're hiding something, and if we can prove that this was just a power grab on their part, then breaking any support they have from the greater myrrish kingdoms could be important." She considers. "And well, you know. We all know we need to fight for what's right, but I'd rather not have to kill any of my brothers or sisters in the skyguard if I can help it."
Harshad hmmms, looking at Warrick. "He does have a point. Tell you what, watchman, I'll meet you halfway. Let's case the mines first before we knock them over." He offers a crooked grin. "We can also spend some time doing some poking around the other cities. Pick up whatever we can. Going into this blind... not a good idea."
He turns to look at Gran'it. "A question. Have you tried to approach anyone outside of the dukedom? Aside from us, obviously. Who else might know you're around?"
GAME: Bryn rolls 1d20+intelligence+1: (1)+1+1: 3 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Bryn rolls 1d20+intelligence+1: (20)+1+1: 22 GAME: Carver rolls Knowledge/religion: (4)+3: 7
Warrick glances at Carver's grin, him exhaling once more and shaking his head. Though, it was difficult to hide the faint upward tug at his lips. Listening to the options, he taps his pen against his book. But Harshad and Zofija gets it to stop and scribble more. "Right, outside political forces, good point. That can be the step after information gathering and the mines. Present case, gain support of the greater kingdoms. May make the castle taking harder but it would be more just."
He nods once towards Harshad. "Casing is a good idea. And can make a snap judgement to go in."
For all her scowling at the idea before, Bryn seems to convinced herself it isn't so bad. Maybe its the thought of all the sparkly. In fact, her brows go up this time and she points a finger (not a sore thumb) at Harshad. "That's a damned good idea. We don't get caught, we learn more. We do get caught, we're already at the mines! Short walk. No nasty cart rides." That last bit sours her look from, but it passes quickly enough.
Because her eyes widen and her pointing finger snaps. "Kor's Adamant Abs! That's what they follow! Kor, I mean, not his-anyway... I remember hearing they got a stronghold in ...Raz?" She looks to Olrun and Gran'it for affirmation. She doesn't wait for it before sharing, "We oughtta say away from there if we can."
Carver nods, finding no immediate disagreeable notion to latch onto. Preferences aside, of course. "Dodge crusaders, not too hard. They makes lots of noises bangin' around like blacksmith's wet dreams."
"I have not." Gran'it answers. "Rumors travel quick within Myrddion. What's more, due to the existing economic agreements that a lot of Dukedoms have established since Duivia's re-establishment - it is risky to try and gain an allegiance with a political entity right now. They have good reason to... well... not side by me."
He sighs. "Evidence is a difficult matter, when you come to a political party. Because you need more than evidence. Every interaction is a trade of sorts. And right now, I have nothing to offer them." Unfortunately, politics is hard.
There's a nod at the mention of Raz. "Unbundun may be your best place then. I'll make preparations. You are welcome to stay here - we have sleeping cots. Or you can head back out - and I will contact you when the Spymaster at Ubundun is ready to receive you."
"This one is grateful for any and all hospitality that you offer," Cuemoni is quick to supply, bowing her head. "It is probably best to remain here and to take cots. The way back to Alexandria is long. And longer still for this one, as this one lives outside of Alexandria." There are no 'straight shot' airships from Myrddion to her humble little house in the woods with Zeke.
"This one has no further questions or ideas," she supplies additionally. "This one is eager to assist when the time comes."
There's a sound of pen on paper as a line gets crossed out. "I see," Warrick notes. That avenue is out of the question.
He makes a little face before shaking his head. "Korite crusaders sounds like a pain. No offence," he splays a hand out to the table. "I'm not the best at infiltrating, but I can at least glean things from books if need be."
His book closes with a dull thud. "I'll stay here. No point going back at present. Besides, my daughter things I'm gone for a bit, I wouldn't want her to ruin what ever it is she is doing at the house."
In Alexandria, a teenager is bringing in armfuls of groceries that is nothing but fruits. "I'm gonna make the sickest smoothie."
"I'm sure she's fine," Warrick shrugs. "Anyways, I'm used to roughing it. Need me to review anything tactics wise?"
"Right, the law only matters when it's convenient. I forgot about that." Zofija sighs, running one hand down her face. "Suppose that's why I've gotta be here in the first place after all."
"Well, seems like I've got my work cut out for me then. Well, we do." The arvek-nar shrugs, looking to the others. "I can sleep in here, but I need a place for Screech to shelter that won't be a problem, since they're probably pissed at me. That said, I'll probably need to buy some supplies for this at some point. She adds, sounding genuinely frustrated at the thought of making such purchases.
"Agreed. Let's not wander around. We don't want anyone wondering who the strangers might be." Harshad offers a grin as he taps out his pipe. "Besides, I've slept in worse places. This isn't bad."
He glances around at Warrick's comment. "Though no offense, but I'm glad I brought my deck of cards. Might not be much else to do besides reading here."
"There's a few nearby warehouses that are empty, with big doors." Olrun answers Zofija. "I can go outside with you and guide you to a spot. Sky-cavalier." The woman remarks, using an aging name for Zofija's role.
"Have a roof here," Bryn points out, "which is more than I got there, so I'm fine right here. Besides, harder to sneak around the more around you gotta sneak. No reason to go back, really."
OOC
The map of the area: https://i.imgur.com/a9fKeh6.png
